Exercise is an effort. I’ve just endured the first sexual encounter I’ve had since ending a long-term relationship six months ago, and I’m still shaken from the ick of it. As I try to redirect my angst into my workout, Dan Savage introduces his guest, comedian Hope Woodard, who’s created a stir by coining a new dating phenomenon: boysober.
My interest piqued, I up my pace and turn up the volume. Both my blood and my brain are pumped as I take in the idea.
What does ‘boysober’ mean?
Boysober is a yearlong decision to abstain from all-things dating as an act of self-care — including sex.
The conversation between Savage and Woodard is lively and meandering, so the exact definition of boysober is fuzzy. But what is clear: Boysober centers on women reclaiming autonomy over their bodies and reallocating their lost time, energy and mental space from dating into more meaningful pursuits. Of course, it’s not just cisgender women who can benefit from the boysober movement — Woodard has explained that the term is inclusive of people of any gender or sexual orientation.
A boysober year gives space to reflect, heal, and focus on what one wants next — from a relationship and for oneself. The movement began as a monthly comedy show in Brooklyn run by Woodard, and has expanded into a social media movement, especially among Gen Z women on TikTok.
Woodard explained that while she consented to all the sex she’s had — a lot of it, according to her — she often said yes because she “was never really given the permission to say no.” Boysober is an antidote to the false narrative that it was her responsibility to validate men’s emotions, thoughts and feelings with sex.
“I’m a little bit angry at myself and angry at all the sex that I’ve had that I feel like I didn’t choose,” Woodard said in a New York Times interview.” For the first time ever, I just feel like I have ownership over my body.”
But don’t call it celibacy.
“I hate ‘celibacy’ so much, because I don’t want to give credence to anyone saying you’re more lovable or respectable or better if you’re not having sex,” Woodard said. “Boysober is about taking time to pause, reflect and reprioritize — not to gain male approval.”
Celibacy comes with religious overtones of purity culture, and it’s often involuntary. Boysober? That’s a choice.
And loads of women are choosing it.
Including me, sort of.
Why I’m going boysober
Boysober is a Gen Z’s version of sex positivity, and I’m here for it. Young women are looking up from lifetimes of unfulfilling sexual and romantic encounters, and they’re opting out.
But at 53 years old, the term itself feels … disingenuous for me. I choose mansober as my mission instead. I’ve lived through decades of dating norms, and that affords me a perspective I think these 20-something women still need to gain.
I remember that dating is supposed to be fun.
It hasn’t been, for them or me.
After coming out of a long-term relationship, I expected my re-entry into the world of dating would be bumpy. But I’ve been jostled so hard, I’ve lost my center of gravity, immersed in a landscape of dating vocabulary I never wanted to grasp. I’ve been love bombed, benched, breadcrumbed, ghosted, and given the ick, without knowing what many of these terms were until they happened.
Add to this mess a seemingly endless drone of “hellos” and “hi beautifuls” in my dating app inbox, and me spending thankless hours trying to find a semblance of spark within a miasma of men.
I became a dopamine addict, feral for the rush of another new message, only to be disappointed yet again. Most of my energy and focus got sucked into a dating vortex.
I wanted it to stop, but feared if I gave up, it might be for good. By my age, many women opt out, determining the proverbial juice isn’t worth the search for a squeeze. In my experience, one rarely meets a suitable suitor in the wild over 50. So it’s do the work, or resign oneself to never finding a partner.
I’m not handing in my resignation.
But a mansober month made it OK to take a break.
A month seemed sufficient to regain my sense of buoyancy, and shift focus back to the things that make me, me. I vowed to write, sing, organize, exercise, go to shows, read books, cook and spend time with friends. I’d pushed these pastimes aside in favor of endless swiping, countless lackluster conversations, and a few mostly miserable dating experiences.
March 1 rolled around and I joyously jumped back into myself.
How’s my mansober month going?
I’m three weeks into my mansober journey. No conclusions so far, but I do feel a clarity, and with it, a calmer heart and clearer headspace.
I feel more connected to my own desires and what I want from relationships. Woodward spoke of this sensation in her “Savage Love” interview, stating, “I’m really enjoying living with desire and not so quickly acting on it. Instead I’m asking, what does it look like, to let yourself think and desire and wonder?” Observing my own has helped me see how destabilizing it was to share desire with a partner who didn’t share my values.
And best of all, I’m having so much fun. My life is abuzz with activities. I’ve been to birthday parties, live shows, karaoke, a play, even a gala. I’ve been more present as a parent. I’ve mentored new writers. It’s been amazing. I still haven’t exercised much, though. Even this was illuminating; taking a mansober month clarified that I can’t blame everything on dating. I’m better at making time for things I want to do versus things I should do. That one’s on me.
Woodard concluded her “Savage Love” interview with a slightly paradoxical message: Unlike alcohol sobriety, boysober isn’t an absolute. “You’re not sober if someone is taking up your brain space,” she said. But she sees a distinction between “taking up brain space” and putting yourself out there and flirting. That’s because the goal isn’t to quit dating forever. It’s to discover how to show up best in the world, including as a romantic or sexual partner.
“I’m not so interested in cutting men or love completely out. I want to find a way to navigate it better,” she said.
Yes, this. It’s where I’m heading once my mansober month ends.
I’m not ready to jump back into dating apps, maybe ever. But I do think I’ll try new ways to meet men. I even signed up for a speed dating event on the day my sobriety ends. I nearly didn’t do it, because it seemed like jumping in too quickly. But I decided I should, as a show of optimism.
I still believe romantic love and partnership is out there for me.
Being mansober has given me the tools to seek it, without sacrificing the best parts of myself to the quest.
This article was originally published on TODAY.com