Sorry, guys. While I encourage the acquisition of knowledge about how to perform the title’s alternative meaning just as much as the next girl, this column shall discuss a subject of equal yet widely underestimated importance. When a significant portion of our generation has to spend a disturbing amount of time thinking in order to answer the question of how much time has elapsed since their last sober kiss, it is unsurprising that the Dinner Date has become as uncommon at Cornell as (gasp!) staying in on a Thursday night. It seems that what used to serve as the means by which people got to know each other has become a strictly post-hookup activity. I think it’s high time that the Dinner Date makes a Nick-Lachey-circa-2005-style comeback. Thus, I will now embark on an 800-word literary campaign to return to the days when “dating someone” meant just that.
This trend was called to my attention at one of the daily gatherings of my little circle of friends, typically involving an overrated television show, the latest gossip and an entire box of some low-calorie, carbohydrate-rich snack. We were discussing the most recent social experience of my very best friend, Chloe (names have been changed to protect the innocent). As usual, Chloe had a new and nice-looking prospect about whom all of us were ready and willing to hear. She had spoken to him only once at a meeting for some club before he began implementing what I like to refer to as the Facebook Launched Intimate Relationship Trial (Acronym: FLIRT). Just a few hours after their meeting, this eager young gentleman had friended, messaged and invited my friend on a one-on-one, alcohol-free date.
As we scratched our heads and dropped our jaws over his seemingly unconventional behavior, I considered the social implications of our shock. He had met her and decided that he would like the chance to learn more about her. Why did this seem so strange? Was it inappropriate for him to ask her out on an innocent date just because they hadn’t met on the dance floor at a fraternity while slurring their words and grinding to Kanye West? It was then that I realized that this boy’s behavior demonstrated what was actually a much more conventional view of courtship than any of us possessed. I asked myself when the Dinner Date had evolved from the introduction of a possible relationship to a segue between a casual fling and formal hookup.
So, I did what any Cornell student with a thought-provoking empirical question would do: I googled it. The results of my search yielded two fascinating pieces of information. Firstly, there is officially an online dating service for every single religion or ethnicity anyone ever thought of, including Pastaferianism for those of you single spaghetti-worshippers out there. More relevant to my inquiry was the history of dating I found on my hit list just below the website of a man who refers to himself as “The Dating Master” (obviously single).
According to this history, and contrary to popular belief, dating is a relatively new development, as arranged marriages were all the rage until the twentieth century, when people realized that attraction doesn’t magically manifest itself just because parents demand it to do so. It wasn’t until the 1920’s that the unchaperoned dinner date was incorporated into typical courtship ritual; and it wasn’t until the 1960’s that it became even remotely associated with premarital sex. So, somewhere between 1960 and today, the chronological location of the dinner date in a romantic relationship had switched with that of more physically intimate behavior. In other words, getting to know someone the old-fashioned way went out with “good, clean fun.”
What with this new generation’s definition of partying, it is no wonder that physical intimacy acts as the precursor to everything else. Parties as they exist today are not exactly conducive to deep conversations or intense bonding. With rampant inebriation, almost-deafening music and a dancing style that can be classified in no category other than hardcore booty-shaking, sexual stimulation between Cornell students at parties is practically inevitable. Imagine how much simpler having relationships would be if we were able to determine whether or not we actually liked the personality of a person before we became physically involved with them. Think about how much easier it is to get to know someone over dinner than it is to do so screaming over blasting music in the dark basement of a fraternity; and consider how nice it would be if Sunday-morning remorse and beer goggles were the next things to become unfashionable.
I do realize that there is a convenience issue here. Many Cornell students hardly have time to grab a slice of Collegetown Pizza, let alone go out for an extended meal. Going out to eat also presents the entirely separate issue of paying the check, something else that Cornell makes more difficult for both involved parties. It is admittedly more convenient to simply meet up at the nearest frat party or Collegetown bar.
But, what kind of Ivy League school is this? We pride ourselves in our lack of grade inflation and claim to be among the most intelligent, hard-working young adults in the country. Since when do we sacrifice the opportunity to get something better just because it requires a little more effort? I say we aim as high in our love lives as we do in our academia. We can lead American college students in the revolution towards dating from back in the days of good, clean fun, and save the physical stuff, which should also be good and clean, for dessert.
Nikki Nussbaum is a sophomore in the College of Agriculture and Life Sciences . She can be contacted at opinion@cornellsun.com [1]. Cornell Unzipped appears alternate Tuesdays.
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