So, I've been meaning to ask — what made you want to try this whole dating app thing? I feel like everyone has a different breaking point where they're like, okay, I actually need to download this.
oh god okay so honestly it was SO STUPID — i was at this coffee shop right, and the barista had THE most beautiful handwriting on the cup and i was like "that's it, i need to meet someone who appreciates typography" and then i realized i haven't left my apartment in like three weeks except for coffee so... here we are lmaooo. what about you, what's your tragic backstory??
Okay wait, that's actually kind of endearing though? Like at least your origin story has character. Mine is just... I got tired of my friends asking if I was "seeing anyone" at every single hangout, so I was like fine, I'll download it just to have something to say besides "no, still just me and my houseplants."
wait wait wait — you have houseplants?? okay that's actually really sweet though, like at least you're nurturing SOMETHING, i kill mine by either overwatering them obsessively or forgetting they exist for six months. there's no in-between for me. but honestly the "no i'm still single" conversation is SO exhausting, i get why you caved. do your friends at least back off now or do they ask follow-up questions??
Oh they absolutely ask follow-up questions, it's relentless. Like now it's shifted to "so are you talking to anyone?" which somehow feels worse? At least with the houseplants I can pretend I'm doing something right — they're all still alive, which honestly feels like a win these days.
okay but that IS a win though?? like genuinely keeping something alive is harder than people think — i'm genuinely impressed. and ugh the "talking to anyone" question is WORSE because it's like... i don't know, it implies there's this whole secret world of conversations happening that you're not sharing?? which there kind of is now i guess since you're here talking to me haha. what kind of plants do you have, i'm lowkey curious now.
manifesto
We are the houseplant generation. We keep things alive in small pots on windowsills, checking soil moisture like it's a vital sign. We download apps to escape questions about our interior lives, only to discover that the real conversation happens when someone asks what we're growing. We kill things, resurrect them, forget them exist. We show up for handwriting and typography and the small acts of tending. We are tired of follow-up questions but we answer anyway. We appreciate that someone else is trying. We know that keeping something alive—even a plant, even a date—is a win. We are here, we are talking, we are less alone. That is enough.