Lena Dunham broke up late last year with boyfriend of 5+ years, Jack Antonoff. She writes in Vogue about the break-up, being alone and getting your single mojo back…
“‘I’m going to die alone.‘
It’s a refrain often uttered by women, with a kind of tragicomic self-awareness, after a bad date or the breakup of a brief romance or the adoption of a calico cat. I can hardly count the rom-coms that hinge on this premise (a woman has resigned herself to a life of takeout, cheap Chardonnay, and quirky pajamas). But even said jokingly, the words are possessed of a horrible tyranny, as though aloneness is an island on which, as punishment for failing to successfully adapt yourself to romantic love, you are marooned. Alone is a place that nobody would want to go on vacation, much less live permanently.
It was December when we broke up, that kind of confusing weather where glaring sunlight makes the cold air feel even colder. We sat in our shared kitchen of nearly four years and quietly faced each other, acknowledging what nobody wanted to say. That obsessive connection had turned to blind devotion, and the blinders were coming off to reveal that we had evolved separately (the least shocking reason of all and perhaps the most common). That anger wasn’t sexy or sustainable. That our hearts were still broken from trying so hard to fix it but no longer uncertain about whether or not we could. The finality nearly killed me, and I remember muttering,
‘But what if we still went on dates?‘
He laughed sadly.
‘Whatever you want.‘”
Somewhat oddly (I think) they decided that Antonoff would remain in their Brooklyn home, which he “fiercely” loved, and that Dunham would move in with her parents.
“As my relationship had unbraided itself, I would often fantasize about my own space… But that was easy to imagine with a living, breathing body beside me, the constant option to call someone and complain about the chaos of my day or the stain on my skirt or the irritatingly apologetic way in which the woman at the pharmacy had asked for two forms of I.D.. Now, security blanket removed, folded and shipped to some distant warehouse, I moved in with my parents and lay across their spare bed texting everyone I knew,
So how do you get back your taste for solo life, overcome the fear of your own thoughts? Even when my partner was away for work, the house had always been full with his presence—a wayward red sock, a pile of used earplugs. A Batman watch bought on eBay but never worn.
You can read the whole thing here…
Just to prove I don't only insta about violence… Here is the picture that my ❤️ @americaferrera insisted on taking so we'd have evidence that this is how we dressed for a nice dinner. Our 5.5 year anniversary was yesterday. Still working hard to impress him in surprising ways. PS we independently dressed entirely in merch.
(Photos, Instagram; via Vogue)