Recently a woman I was completely in love with dumped me. Normally I’d dive right into a routine of debasing her and emboldening my friends to call her a Demogorgon in wire-frame glasses. Except, unlike other exes, she wasn’t a Demogorgon. In fact, she was honorable in her actions; she let me go instead of leading me on. I actually res…resp…respec—sorry, I’m having trouble saying this—I respected her. So what now?
After the breakup she reached out a couple times, which I resisted ferociously. But since, I’ve warmed to the idea of being friends with my ex, and even suggest you do the same. It’s not my revolutionary idea: The LGBTQ community is known for its emphasis on tolerance, but one of our progressive dating phenomena is particularly worth praising and sharing. It’s quite common to become friends with exes. I’ve witnessed women introduce an ex to her new girlfriend like this: “This is Sasha. We hooked up for a month then realized we didn’t like each other like that,” or “This is Amanda. We f-cked in the bathroom of Moby’s small-plates restaurant, but it sucked.” Or the gem: “This is Annie. We dated for three years, but our shaman confirmed we had conflicting moon signs.” Why are gay people so good at this? Because we’re used to being judged and shamed for dating each other, staying friends is an act of solidarity; when you’re marginalized and have fewer safe spaces, keeping allies is a means of survival. We see an ex every time we go to a gay bar whether we like it or not. We can’t afford to get upset about it. We have bigger tofu to sauté.
But this behavior is often nothing short of alien to straight people. Imagine a woman at a party with her boyfriend, saying, “Kyle”—I assume his name is Kyle—“this is my friend Josh. We dated for two years in college, but now we’re just BFFs.” That would never happen! Kyle lives in a heterosexual world that breeds stereotypical gender roles and toxic masculinity. But if Kyle focused less on leg day and more on mending his insecurities, maybe he wouldn’t feel he has to compete with Josh. Conversely, she—let’s call her Kate—should feel free to be friends with Josh. She already invested years into nurturing a relationship with him. They even went to Cornell together! This analogy has gone off the rails, but here’s the thing: There are valid reasons to crave actual friendship with an ex. You liked each other at some point and have tons of shared experiences. You shouldn’t have to throw all that away, but most times we do. Why?
It could be because society incubates the idea that exes are our enemies, which is fully encouraged by pop culture revenge plots like Kill Bill and Carrie Underwood ruining her ex’s four-wheel drive. And culturally, we value monogamy so much that we fear being cordial with an ex might agitate our current partner, based on the faulty logic that says you’re more likely to cheat with a past S.O. than anyone else.
But somewhere out there an alternate reality exists, where we’re not stewing in resentment over our exes, unfriending them and their family members, or probing invitation lists to make sure we don’t end up at the same party. Imagine bumping into your ex at the grocery store while wearing a shirt you slept in, with some rogue pimple cream on your chin, and it doesn’t even faze you! You’re just like, “Sup, Kyle. I see you’re still a fan of egg salad.” Doesn’t that sound f-cking beautiful? That’s what the gay community does, that’s what I learned to do, and you can too.
As for my most recent ex? After some time apart, we started sending each other memes, which is 2018’s equivalent of waving a white flag. I’m finally ready to walk into a party with my new girlfriend, bump into my ex, and say, “This is Sally. We dated for four months. She’s my friend.”
Jill Gutowitz is a comedian living in Los Angeles.