I Was Supposed to End Up Alone, According to the Peddlers of the Dangers of Hookup Culture -- They Were Wrong

I spent my 20s worried about my lovelife. I shouldn't have, and you shouldn't either.

July 23, 2013 |

It’s weird to be planning my wedding. I, of all people, was supposed to end up alone. At least, that’s what I was told — directly by countless online commenters and indirectly by culture warriors like Lori Gottlieb, author of “Marry Him: The Case for Settling for Mr. Good Enough,” and Laura Sessions Stepp, “Unhooked: How Young Women Pursue Sex, Delay Love and Lose at Both.” In my early 20s, I began passionately defending hookup culture from its critics and often used my own experiences with casual sex to make my case. According to their wisdom — which included such delightful gems as, “Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?” — I was destined to end up a sad cat-lady cliché. I would be depleted of the so-called love drug oxytocin and incapable of bonding, like a rhesus monkey raised on a wire mother.

Instead, I’m nearing 30, cohabitating, engaged and talking about becoming a mom in the not-so-distant future.

Today’s college-age women face similar messages — but the emphasis on the importance of marriage has only amplified. ( I wonder why.) They have to contend with “Princeton Mom” Susan Patton, who is writing a book on why young women should focus on getting a husband in college, and broken-record hand-wringing in the New York Times Style section. Five years ago, I may have seemed a confident defender of hookup culture, but its rabid antagonists made me privately agonize about my future prospects. After all, my ultimate desires were very traditional: I wanted to get married and, more than anything, I wanted to have kids. It seemed everyone was telling me: You’re doing it wrong. What kind of man would want a woman who had slept around — and, not to mention, written all about it?

I wish I’d known then what I know now. I was the “hookup queen” among my group of female friends (largely because I chose to write publicly about it); I’m also, at the age of 29, the first to get engaged. Clearly, sleeping around didn’t stop me from settling down. In fact, I think it helped. Not in a 1-to-1 ratio; it’s not like my likelihood of getting married increased measurably and incrementally with each hookup. Experience and perspective rarely work like that. It was a circuitous path with a lot of doubling back and many U-turns. That’s how growing up goes. I was scared of intimacy and commitment until I wasn’t.

It’s like they tell high school graduates: Take a year off and travel the world — gain some real-world wisdom before you settle on a major or a career. I got many colorful stamps in my man-passport. I spent time with people from all walks of life — from Benz-driving lawyers to out-of-work artists. There were pilots and writers and musicians (oh my!). I lived a million different lives with these men. Far from becoming addicted to novelty, I tired of it. I exhausted my curiosity. There are no dreamy “what ifs” left. All those drawn-out years of casual entanglements made it possible to settle down without feeling like I’m settling. I know exactly what I’m missing, and I don’t miss it at all. I won’t be spending my bachelorette party mourning the loss of my singlehood — or tucking dollar bills in a male stripper’s g-string — I’ll be bidding it an enthusiastic ado. There’s nothing like nearly a decade of late-night text messages and faked orgasms to make marriage seem sexy — and let’s be honest, it needs a little help in that department.

Contrary to the many arguments made about casual-sex culture teaching young people to pick up and run at the first sign of trouble in a relationship, my hookup years made me more accepting of my fiancé’s imperfections. That’s because I have real perspective on his strengths; our connection means more because I know just how rare it is.