I tried ignoring ‘the ick’, here’s what happened

Can ‘the ick’ ever really go away?

There’s an episode of Sex and the City titled ‘The Ick Factor’, where Carrie is physically repulsed by Aleksandr Petrovsky’s (played by ballet legend, Mikhail Baryshnikov) grand romantic gestures. Feeling icked-out by his piano playing and poetry writing (honestly, same), she eventually relents after he gifts her an extravagant Oscar de la Renta gown and together they slow dance in the waiting area at a McDonald’s. 

I’d gone on a handful of dates with Ryan* before I suddenly found him repulsive. We’d met through mutual friends and spent days texting back and forth, before meeting up for what seemed like a series of perfect dates. Each date lasted a minimum of six hours but felt like minutes. The conversation was easy, and each time ended with hot-and-heavy kisses in the alleyway next to my house.

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I’d decided the next date would be one where we might say our goodbyes the following morning, instead of by streetlight. But right beforehand, I came down with the flu, so we spent the better part of two weeks doing nothing but texting – and that was the beginning of the end. 

Anyone who’s used a mobile phone knows that text messages are fraught with danger. Without tone of voice, there’s heaps of room for miscommunication and every word becomes a potential relationship landmine. If you’re an overthinker (guilty), you might be troubled when your romantic prospect starts using punctuation instead of their usual, excitable, garbled mess of words.

No longer able to rely on things like facial expressions or Ryan smelling really, really good, I started to notice incompatibilities in the way we communicated.

One example is when I said I was looking forward to our next date and he replied “I can’t wait to squeeze your arse again”. As someone who’s sent a boyfriend a sext and been greeted with an all-caps “LOLLL”, I tried not to be judgemental but I’d already started to feel a bit icky. The final blow came the day before our scheduled next date when Ryan sent me a message asking what I was doing. Reading a book in bed, I sent him a selfie.

Before I elaborate, one thing about me is that I’m fairly good at taking a sexy, but not overtly sexual selfie. My hair was tousled, my cleavage slightly visible beneath a white T-shirt and my lips pursed. I propped myself up by my elbows and laid the book on top of my chest. Almost instantly, he sent me a one-word message that sent shivers up my spine: “Mummy”. 

Living in my very own Freudian nightmare, I began to panic. I sent my friend a voice memo, wondering how I could possibly go on a date with someone who made me feel such visceral disgust. I also doubted that my response was proportionate. Like many insecure people, I asked myself if I was being too judgemental, reasoning that I didn’t want to miss out on someone great just because they called me Mummy.

While my friends affirmed that my gut reaction was not disproportionate, the little part of me that worried I was being needlessly judgemental ended up winning, and we went on that third date. After all, there was always the chance he was saying it ironically.

Meeting up to play pool at the local pub, our date very much had the mood of a forlorn dog-owner giving their terminally ill pooch one last, magical day before they take them to be put down at the vet. Despite having no job, I paid for our table and bought us a round of beers, while he gently mocked my lack of hand-eye coordination. Even though I’d vowed that I wouldn’t be too quick to judge, I felt myself becoming more and more irritated with him throughout the course of the night. I learned that the ick doesn’t care that you shaved your legs, or that you haven’t had sex in five months. In fact, the more you actively try to ignore the ick, the more intrusive it is.

He repeatedly teased me just for the sake of it and tried his hand at playfully nudging me in a faux-competitive manner. Throughout the night, he kept asking me questions in the way that a curious child might, uttering the phrase “but why?” more times than I could handle. I snapped, and felt horrible. These were all things I might not have found annoying if I still found him sexually attractive. Maybe I would’ve relished a playful little jostle? Post-“Mummy”, though, his touch made me want to curl up and hide.

I cursed myself for buying a second pint because it meant I had to stay on this horrible date for even longer. As we finished our drinks, Ryan asked me what I wanted to do next – completely unaware that I was a seething, ticking time-bomb. I paused, trying to think of the most diplomatic thing I could say and landed on “I think I better head home. It’s getting late.” Given that it was 9:30pm, this was an obvious lie. He said “Oh, I guess this is the last time we’ll be hanging out, hey?” Completely thrown by this line of questioning, I didn’t have time to answer before he said “I guess you’re just not attracted to me?” 

In an experience that was completely opposite to our first dates, seconds passed but they seemed to go on for hours. I couldn’t muster up anything better than the word “Ummmm”, saying nothing and everything at the same time. He asked if I was sure. I nodded, then he offered to take me home just to make sure that I wasn’t attracted to him. I clenched my teeth. It was time to head our separate ways.

On the walk home, my friend jokingly asked me if I’d learned my lesson. I had, at what felt like a great cost to my sanity. The lessons being: trust your gut, and you don’t have to be sorry for not being attracted to someone. I wondered if maybe Carrie just didn’t want to fuck Petrovsky and, maybe if she’d listened to her gut, she wouldn’t have followed him to Paris. I felt silly for wasting my evening and for spending most of the little money I had left in my bank account. On my way home, I looked over the Yarra River, marvelling at the prettiness of city street lights reflected in the water. I regretted going on the date but I also didn’t. 

Ignoring the ick helped me realise that, no, I don’t have to follow through with dating someone just because I don’t want to hurt their feelings. I also resolved to trust and honour my feelings – something I know a lot of women find difficult. As the great Kim Cattrall once said, “I don’t want to be in a situation for even an hour where I’m not enjoying myself.” If she can opt out of And Just Like That… then I can call off a date with the guy who called me Mummy.

For more about the ick and how to overcome it, head here.