What Does Our Hatred of PDA Tell Us About the Moment We’re Living In?

What Does Our Hatred of PDA Tell Us About the Moment Were Living In
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My partner and I were slowly walking through London the other day, hand in hand, when it hit me: Oh, God, we’re that couple. You know the one I mean. The couple who takes up the whole sidewalk like some sort of four-armed beast because they can’t untangle themselves for even two seconds. The couple who always has to have their limbs touching for some reason, like they’re evolving into a human fence. I’m sure we make out in public too sometimes, when waiting for trains or reading in the park. I wonder whether anybody has ever fantasised about tripping us, whether anyone has felt a sting of irritation and thought: Okay, but is that really necessary?

PDA, or public displays of affection, is generally held to be cringe and annoying. This is true even—or maybe especially—when it comes to celebs. Remember when Timothée Chalamet and Lily-Rose Depp ardently made out on a yacht in Capri, and everyone was like, “Please, God, why?” Then there’s Ben Affleck and Jennifer Lopez, who, since reuniting in 2021, have engaged in some heavy-handed PDA on the red carpet (and at Lakers games, and at family dinners at Nobu, and at Dunkin’ Donuts…) to the general outrage of Twitter.

I understand why people find aggressive PDA annoying—particularly when it’s happening right in front of them. If two people are groping each other on public transport at rush hour, it feels like a violation. (I would never do that.) Plus, the sound of other people snogging can make your skin crawl. I’ve had to turn the volume down on Love Island when a couple kisses for the first time, right into the mic. Disgusting.

Still, despite knowing that plenty of people find PDA gruesome, I can’t help it. I like to be affectionate and—unless I’m in a less queer-friendly area—I often forget about my surroundings. I haven’t always been this way. Growing up, visible romance wasn’t normalized in my family. We were affectionate with each other in our own way, and plenty of us had partners, but there was a privateness and self-awareness about it. I wouldn’t have sprawled across my boyfriend or girlfriend on the sofa while watching TV with my family. I wouldn’t have given them a casual kiss on the cheek in the kitchen.

These days, though, that’s very much me. Something has shifted. I’d love to give you a neat, touching story about how it’s because “I’ve become more comfortable with my queerness,” but it’s not that. It’s more that I’ve realized that I want an affectionate romantic life, one anchored in consensual touch and expressed with love.

Sometimes I wonder whether our widespread distaste for PDA is connected to the general push-back against romantic love recently. Situationships are becoming the norm. People are finally extolling the importance of platonic love. Relationships just aren’t very cool at the moment, so neither is PDA.

But I don’t think PDA has to always be a bad thing. I remember being friends with this one married couple when I was younger. He was in a well-known band, she was a teacher. They must have been together for two decades at least. They had two kids. And they would always kiss each other in greeting, or pull the other one close. They looked so in love. And I remember feeling good around them. Like: that’s what love is supposed to look like. That’s what love is supposed to feel like. There was nothing possessive or grotesque about the way he’d sling his arm around her, without thinking. Or the way she’d push his hair back. There was something quietly anti-violent about it. Like marriage didn’t have to be a series of eye-rolls and underhanded comments and tiny resentments. It could be another thing entirely.

Obviously plenty of couples express their love in ways other than touch—I would scream in shock if my grandparents started randomly snogging over dinner, even though they raised five children together and would do almost anything for each other. I know that love doesn’t always look like two people eating each other’s faces off. Sometimes it looks like fixing the other person’s shelves, or helping them plant something in the garden, or saying the right words at the right time. Sometimes it’s giving the other person space, or spending hours preparing dinner. For me it can be all of those things. But I also love kissing. That’s not going to change.

And when I catch a couple against a lamppost in the rain, or notice a quick squeeze of a thigh on the bus, I don’t mind. Because really, what’s there to mind about?