Issue 17: Environment
Frankie Dale
‘ICK’Y ENVIRONMENTS
On paper, he was the dream: tortured, emo, and completely unavailable. We were both pretending to be spontaneous, going on day trips to beaches and skinny dipping in the early hours of the morning. He was the catalyst for my somewhat problematic possessive boyfriend fantasy. The red flags that were his anger problems and daddy issues seemed unimportant in the throes of our passionate trist.
About three weeks into our fiery yet disturbing affair, I started to question why his duvet was wrapped up with duct tape to cover up the gaping holes, and why he insisted on doing nangs on a quiet Tuesday night.
When he would stand up after a moment of post-nut clarity and serenade me with his acoustic guitar, I realised something terrible was happening.
The ‘ick’.
It’s a phenomenon. An overwhelming feeling provoked by something so ridiculous. For me, it’s watching him apply chapstick, or seeing him put his shoes on sock-shoe, sock-shoe. It’s his intense eye contact while he’s going down on you, or it’s as simple as imagining his Subway order.
The ick is something we all have to go through at some point or another. My friend Rosa, long time fellow-sufferer, finds that despite countless entries in her manifestation journal—once the ick is set, the deal is done. Even when you can objectively appreciate that there is nothing wrong with the person you’re talking to, the ick is too strong to deny.
One of my more memorable trysts came with an ick that I'll never be able to shake. After about 45 minutes of him talking at me about how much the Beatles suck and all the different ways I could improve my writing to be more vulnerable, he started playing his ‘original’ songs to me at 3am. This was our second or third sleepover that week, and the last.
Let it be known that I am fully aware people also get the ick from me. Kinda like when a guy doesn’t text me back after I said I wanted to use a condom—he said he didn’t ‘believe’ in them...
Crushes are irrational, in a way. We have no idea who they are, yet we paint this sexy picture of them in our mind—only to be disappointed when we find out they brew their own vape juice. Our new dating culture is essentially this: you either fuck on the first date or you never will. Things are so rushed that you’ll be aware of the fungal infection in between their toes before you know their middle name.
The thing is, falling for someone is fun and the wave of serotonin we get is addictive. For my intense lovers out there, you’ll know that slow just isn't in your vocabulary. You’re always chasing that love high. What comes with this is often a world of hurt. Maybe the simple answer to avoiding this phenomenon is by taking it slow and not intimately getting to know someone ASAP. There’s something beautiful about a relationship built on a foundation of friendship first. Realistically, we don’t always have the patience or
sober-minded clarity to play the long game.
But for some, that’s tedious. Follow your big heart and if the ick comes, take it as a sign from the universe that it wasn’t meant to be. Sometimes, the ick can even act as a more virulent warning beacon than a red flag (which we all love to ignore).
We are all gross at the end of the day so why wait to find out?