After more than two years of unintentional celibacy—ever since my husband left me after three decades of marriage—I felt a stirring desire for physical closeness once again. I knew I wasn’t ready for a full-blown “relationship,” which I had always thought was essential for sex; my emotional state was still too fragile for that kind of connection. For the first time, the idea of a one-night stand—casual sex, possibly with someone whose name I wouldn’t even remember—seemed surprisingly appealing.
As luck would have it, this longing emerged just before I was set to travel to Austin, Texas, for the South by Southwest (SXSW) festival, a well-known hub for music, film, and tech enthusiasts that also served as a notorious breeding ground for casual encounters. I stumbled upon articles discussing why SXSW could also be dubbed “Spring Break for Adults.”
One theory suggested that the thrill of potential success acted as a powerful aphrodisiac. Many attendees might one day become “Masters of the Universe,” as Tom Wolfe famously described the Wall Street elite. At SXSW, these future moguls had egos as inflated as their daily ATM withdrawals. The warmth of Austin was said to inspire people to shed their layers, but let’s be honest: it was likely the free-flowing alcohol that encouraged everyone to loosen up.
The most compelling reason, however, was that many events were hosted in hotels—perfect for spontaneous “nooners” or whatever time of day struck your fancy. Plus, being out of town removed the awkwardness of potentially bumping into someone you’d just hooked up with. It made casual encounters feel like perfectly timed intermissions between panels.
I confided in a male friend about my tentative goal, and to my surprise, he suggested I “look for a ‘spark.’” (But if there was a “spark,” did that not contradict the concept of a fling?) Naturally, I questioned whether I presented the right image for my mission. At fiftysomething, I’m in decent shape, but I packed my Spanx and some figure-hugging clothes (which did look a bit silly paired with my sneakers for dashing around). I even got waxed before heading to Austin, determined not to sabotage myself with a last-minute change of heart.
Once at the conference, I made it a point to introduce myself. I smiled, engaged in conversations, and spoke to a lot of younger men—most of them were quite a bit younger than me. Every night, I attended at least one of the many parties. I made a conscious effort not to bury my face in my iPhone or pretend to be busy on my iPad. Instead, I scanned the crowd while sipping my Yellow Armadillo beer, envisioning a neon sign above my head flashing: A-V-A-I-L-A-B-L-E.
But like a firestarter with soggy matches, I didn’t find any “sparks.” Conversations ended with merely exchanging business cards, which ended up shoved into back pockets and likely forgotten by the next wash cycle.
Where did I go wrong? Was I merely “good for my age”? Why was I unable to enjoy what seemed so readily available to everyone else at this moment when I was open to it? I reached out to my friend again, who explained that men seeking one-night stands often weren’t interested in depth. No matter how hard I tried to appear carefree, I still exuded “substance.” (Great answer! I thought, whether it was true or not. Darn it!). But what did I need to change to seem lighthearted enough to be taken seriously as a candidate for a fling?
Once home, I delved into the “How?” of casual encounters that I had overlooked before. Apparently, connecting via dating apps like HowAboutWe.com was a must. Given the tech-savvy nature of the conference, I should have anticipated that. But where was the human connection? Oh right: that’s what I didn’t want!
I consulted a female friend who fully embraced the sexual revolution of the ‘60s. She described today’s men as—what was her word? Timid. And downright lazy. They didn’t need to pick up on subtle cues anymore because women had taken on the role of pursuers. This meant that simply dressing to accentuate my assets and being open to opportunities was akin to waving a red flag in front of a blind bull.
According to her, men now expected an engraved invitation: prolonged eye contact, a flirtatious smile, invading their personal space, and suggestive conversation. I needed to be bolder and more flirtatious, a skill I had seemingly lost during my long marriage.
But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. While I believed I could separate physical needs from emotional ones, I still yearned for someone to chat with before our heart rates quickened and after they slowed down again. Why was I aiming to hook up with someone who thought so little of me that he didn’t want to know me? Having felt devalued during my marriage, a one-night stand would have been another blow to my self-worth.
In the end, while I may not have achieved my original goal, I learned to heed the long-standing advice of those who know me best: my worth is far greater than what I had been led to believe during my marriage. As I work to embrace a new perception of myself, I remain open to meeting those who value substance. So, if you spot a woman of a certain age at a conference who isn’t trying to attract undue attention, don’t hesitate to say hello and get to know her. You might discover a different kind of luck than you anticipated.