'Can You Have Sex In A Moonboot?'

‘Can you have sex in a moonboot?’

Thoughts on Getting off on the wrong foot

At what point does putting the best version of yourself forward become a lie?

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This is a story about the dumbest thing I’ve ever done to impress a guy. It involves a sprained ankle, a bunch of helium heart balloons + a lie.

If you’re single + wondering why dating right now feels like cycling through a bunch of the same conversations full of clickbait chat + trendy opinions - it’s because most of us are chronically online, more self-conscious than ever + performing some version of the ‘I’m okay’ show. 

It's incredibly high-risk to reveal too much of yourself in a climate where people can be quick to shut you out if you veer too far left or right of the current zeitgeist. The safer option is to align yourself with an identity that can be condensed into a handful of socially acceptable hashtags, then behave accordingly.

It's created a surreal dating culture starved of authentic connection, and packed with partially performative behaviour. That’s why it feels like you’re doom-scrolling through a bunch of similar-ish meet-cutes that seem somewhat empty right now. People have never been more self-aware, and more terrified to be themselves.

We’re teetering on the edge of a vulnerability drought. 

And it's impacting our ability to connect + fall in love. 

So when you do meet someone you click with right now- 

it feels f*cking electric.

And you want to go hard-out after that bit of hope.

Earlier this year, I met someone. His social media was VERY cool, but it was his dorky vulnerability I found to be infectious. He was a weird kid hiding behind carefully curated packaging.  In the middle of all the cool-guy stuff he had up online, he shared something real. We then went a little deeper over voice notes + that was profoundly hot. 

Which is why everything after felt weighted and important to get right. 

I thought ‘This is rare. Don’t fuck it up.’

He seemed like such a special glitch in the matrix dating-app parade of ‘dude with big fish’ or ‘poly-curious looking for a third’ that I felt I had to be the best possible version of myself to be worthy of this guy’s time. I wanted to be interesting and clever and supremely cool. So I curated the perfect meet-cute, planning everything right down to my nail polish + a notes app list of interesting talking points.

Just before I was due to meet him, disaster struck. I was shooting some promo for my play and tripped over in platforms carrying 100 helium heart balloons through traffic.

The doctor said I had to be in a moon-boot and on crutches for six weeks to prevent damaging my ankle permanently. 

But I was meeting up with this dream guy in real life in 2.

I was mortified.

I didn’t want to rendezvous with potential Prince Charming on crutches.

I found myself spiraling about the boot. I worried he might think less of me for being in one.

The moon-boot was discussed at length.

I weighed up my options. 

I found myself spiraling about the boot. I worried he might think less of me for being in one. My friends advised me that wearing it was for the best and I should just own it. 

“If he’s a good guy he’ll understand.”  

Naturally, I ignored them. 

The media conditions us when it comes to lust and love. We grow up consuming narratives and imagery telling us over and over again, “This is what love looks like and here’s how to get it.’ Whenever I have a date, I put on a push-up bra and buy a new outfit, because somewhere in the back of my skull is Julia Roberts putting on a Red Dress and getting her man. 

Against the advice of everyone, on the day I met this ‘dream’ guy, I allowed my insecure Julia Roberts-loving-self to take over. Not only did I take my moonboot off mid-sprain to impress a boy, I put on an entirely bullshit persona that matched my Instagram game. I tried very hard to be ‘The Girl He Might Like.’ 

I got up at 5am. I curled my hair. I put on my hottest outfit. 

I vomited out achievements + cool-girl energy. At one point I pulled my phone out and forced him to swipe through pictures of my career highlights- 

‘Here’s me being cool and validated by the internet.’

I also hid my limp behind a fake walk. So literally everything about me from head to (busted) toe was a show. If I think any of this now, I want to crawl into a dumpster and set it on fire. This guy was clever as hell so within about 2 minutes of meeting him, he saw through my entire cool-girl charade and decided I was absolutely full of shit. It pissed him off spectacularly.

He said;

‘When you try too hard, it repulses people. 

It comes across as manipulative and needy. Desperate.’

Because the person he’d been talking to online was very different to the one he actually met.

So he left.

Now I’m not suggesting we should start rocking up to dates in our pj’s or reveal out deepest psychological scars straight out the gate. 

It’s natural to want to put our best self forward when we meet someone special. There’s nothing wrong with making an effort. Romeo standing underneath Juliet’s window spouting sonnets can be charming as hell, if what he’s saying is coming from a real place. But this whole situation did get me thinking that at some point, if you’re not careful, the Best Version Of You can become a straight-up lie. 

Then you’re just creating an unrealistic, sparklier version of yourself that not only limits your potential for genuine connection, but is also impossible to maintain long-term.

You’re no longer putting your best foot forward-

You’re just getting off on the wrong foot instead.

Leading with vulnerability takes real guts in an age where everyone’s constantly being rewarded for putting on a show. It’s a risk putting your dorky heart out there all the way, but it’s infinitely more interesting than presenting yourself as a #tradwife that feels like she was designed to pop off on Tiktok. 

All this to say, I wish I’d just worn the boot.

(And invested in a hammock instead).

 

xX