Wednesday: Is Marriage the New Dating?

From: Michael Weiss To: Elisa Albert, Jesse Cook-Dubin Subject: Why Don’t You Find Out for Yourself…

Living in New York in one’s 20s is nightmarish, and it’s got nothing to do with being a Jewish neurotic. I’m technically a sheygets raised by an Irish Catholic mother, who once called my live-in status with the girlfriend a “blasphemy.” I remember hoping for more of that kind of rhetoric. At least then I’d have felt a touch rebellious and Byronic. Sadly, the live-in took place in mom’s house, where clenched-teeth permissiveness fought for dominance with holdover ecclesiastical guilt. The guilt should have won.

We're in the midst of a counterrevolution: Liberal parenting has made teenagers think they want permanence right away, the better to bypass precisely the kind of mistakes they should have to make. Fools for love have always existed, but at young age, never without blowback — whether it's an issue of money, geography, or dad polishing his shotgun in front of your prom date. This is character-building stuff. Just think what a long way it is from Pyramus and Thisbe to The One my sister just met on MySpace.

“The kids are all right, let’s let them find out for themselves.” No, we're not. No, you shouldn’t.

Countless bad relationships have been forged in the cauldron of social anxiety and neediness. No one likes to be the gaunt figure nervously cradling a drink at the party without that special someone at his elbow. Well, why not? Ever watch a young, attached-at-the-hip couple make the rounds in mixed company? They’re crashing bores—except when they start oozing hostility toward each other because one of them doesn’t want to be there. Then they become funny.

Making girls at their sexual and social peaks feel as if they ought to be bound to one person indefinitely is a crime. The most appealing character on Sex and the City was the slut, with her own business and individualist manifesto for the bedroom. Look how they rewarded her: with cancer and a boyfriend. A whole show falsely sold on cosmopolitanism was really just another media pitchforking of women into the stately institution of marriage. Great, thanks for playing.

The male equivalent of this candied cultural anthropology is no better: the heterosexual male self-image no longer exists independent of glossy magazine covers. (Maxim makes hair dye, for chrissake!) Why do you think the smartest non-Ari character on Entourage is known as the “heartbreak kid?” The one enjoying himself the most is the mimbo, whose idea of true love is… Mandy Moore.

Welcome to the age of the zipless mindfuck.

—M

From: Elisa Albert To: Jesse Cook-Dubin, Michael Weiss Subject: The Hyphen Makes You Happy

Jesse, did you and your wife both take the hyphenation of your names? I’m gonna barf. (By which I mean I’m genuinely in awe of your domestic bliss, all self-protective sarcasm aside.)

What we’re dealing with here is the classic attack-everyone-else’s-choices-in-order-to-validate-your-own syndrome. We all sort of do this, and it more than sort-of sucks. For the first time in, like, the history of the world we have almost limitless choices! (Er, if we were lucky enough to be born into a certain place and class and race, I mean. Cue the nervous laughter.) And what do we do with these limitless choices? We torment ourselves and we snicker about others’ choices.

There seems to be a huge divide: You’re either a bitter, stoic single or a smug, lame-ass coupled. Raise your hand if you’ve ever chatted with a woman whose best friend or sister is getting married. Is there not always a note of remorse, of depression, of general bummer-ness? Even amidst “he’s a great guy” or “she’s really happy” or “they’re a good match”?

It’s because we’re sad to see our friends cross that divide. If they look back, they’ll turn into a pillar of salt. We’re left watching them go, abandoned in our post-apocalyptic wasteland of alon
eness. Who’s ever been to a wedding at which there wasn’t at least a tiny bit of snickering about some issue with the couple?

Anyway.

I’m basically appalled at my 23-year-old choice of spouse (not that he’s a bad guy, for the record, just a terrible match for me), and so now the thought of committing to someone else, of using my 28-year-old-judgment, is pretty terrifying. I'm madly in love with my boyfriend of more than a year, but what if my 33-year-old judgment is even more refined? As my dear old dad sometimes ruefully jokes about his spectacularly failed marriage to my darling mum: “How could I have let a 24-year-old pick my wife!?” How can you put a cap on perspective by promising yourself to someone FOREVER? I mean, I feel older and wiser and grounded and really well-sanded by my ordeal, but I can remember feeling fairly emotionally competent at 23, too. With this logic I’ll still be cautiously alone at 90, however.

Pensively,

Elisa

From: Jesse Cook-Dubin To: Michael Weiss, Elisa Albert Subject: Blame the Parents

Friends,

Actually, the hyphenated last name has been mine from birth, and Rebecca took it when we got married. Whether that makes you barf more or less, I don’t know.

If there’s anything that history teaches, it’s that nobody learns from others’ mistakes. Our parents’ generation is the worst at understanding this. They pulled off some type of funk liberal revolution, and now act like it’s “progress” rather than their own disdain for the way things were. Hence the hand-wringing when they see their kids making the mistakes they did, or the mistakes they avoided.

My mom didn’t try to dissuade me when I said I wanted to marry Rebecca (I was 22 at the time—wheeeee!) but made probably the most advice-like comments she’s ever made about how I’m living my life. As in, “I know what I say isn’t going to make a difference, so I’ll just say I hope you have a long, happy life together, but boy-you-sure-are-pretty-young, so, about the engagement party….”

The sad thing is, we won’t even learn from the mistake they made in thinking their kids could learn from their mistakes. I hope my daughter feels free to choose whatever the hell she wants. Still, if (God-willing) our marriage is as happy and nurturing in 23 years as it is today, she’ll have spent the first 23 years of life hearing how her parents met in college and lived happily ever after. This is certain to send her to therapy. Yet, that’s the best-case scenario.

My point is that there’s not really any need to make suggestions on how to solve the problem of young inadvisable marriage and/or divorce by the age of 30. Well, I guess there are a few ideas on which we can agree: at least if you’re in your 20s, don’t get married (1) because it’s trendy, or (2) if you’re more excited about the party than the ensuing marriage, or (3) because you just want to marry SOMEONE, FAST. Beyond that, search your feelings, put your therapist’s kids through college, and try to avoid making a terrible choice. You may not be able to help it.

And if you did make a decent choice—even if not the best—marriage still takes work, but you can do it.

Jesse