\n<\/p>\n
I was sitting on my couch, curled into a fleece blanket with my knees tucked under my chin. It was that sweet spot in my day: the time I\u2019m willing to lose a little sleep to enjoy. Thirty minutes before the neighbourhood wakes up. That quiet, wonderfully wasted half hour of morning me time.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
Instagram? Facebook? Check. Trump still breaking democracy? Unfortunately. Tinder? With my phone in one hand, coffee in the other, I systematically pore through the information world. Most mornings, this ritual is uneventful. But that day, I dismissed an entire category of men before finishing my first sip. <\/p>\n<\/div>\n
\u201cWhy do all the hot ones have to be outdoorsy?\u201d I thought.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
I\u2019ve been Tindering off and on for four years, and I have noticed some trends. Actually, trends might be code for \u201cpeeves.\u201d And peeves are personal. Some people never notice a shirt tag. Others cut it out immediately. Things that bother us get loud. For me, Tinder gets loud with the following: fish, cars, shirtless selfies, \u201cno drama\u201d and tacos. \u201cOutdoorsy\u201d was the last to join the list.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
I have my reasons for writing all these guys off. Fish pictures say, \u201cI could\u2019ve provided for you in hunter-gatherer times.\u201d Cars say, \u201cI\u2019m overcompensating.\u201d If he\u2019s shirtless, you can bet he\u2019ll tell you he\u2019s into natural beauty while posing like a fitness influencer. \u201cNo drama\u201d says, \u201cI drive women crazy and I\u2019m not emotionally supportive.\u201d Tacos? Are great, but loving them is not a personality. Give me ants on a log or lentils or literally anything else.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
But \u201coutdoorsy\u201d confused me. I didn\u2019t want to date them, but I couldn\u2019t explain why.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
There\u2019s a whole genre of men who proudly label themselves \u201coutdoorsy.\u201d These profiles are a predictable cocktail of backcountry hiking shots, summit selfies and sometimes a kayak. They mention biking and climbing and use phrases like \u201cseeking a partner in crime\u201d for weekend adventures, which usually translate to someone equally fit, active and down for anything. You get the sense they\u2019re not looking for connection so much as someone who will match their pace up a hill and not ask for emotional terrain maps. <\/p>\n<\/div>\n
When a guy says he\u2019s outdoorsy, I hear: adrenaline highs, expensive gear, constant movement, a lifestyle built around pushing limits. I also hear something quieter. We talk about outdoorsy people like they\u2019re aspirational: fit, adventurous, whole. There\u2019s a pride in being outdoorsy, a kind of status boost.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
We\u2019ve created a whole dating culture around lifestyle presentation, and what gets idealised is rarely rest. Or joy. Or creativity. It\u2019s motion, energy, visual proof of success. Which often means: money, health, mobility and. let\u2019s be honest, thinness. That makes sense in a way; dating apps mirror the same hierarchies we see everywhere else. And in that context, desirability isn\u2019t just personal taste; it\u2019s a reflection of who gets prioritized in the broader culture. <\/p>\n<\/div>\n
There\u2019s nothing inherently wrong with being outdoorsy. But when that becomes the default ideal, it sends a quiet message about who belongs and who doesn\u2019t. People without the budget for gear or weekend trips. People with chronic pain or mobility limits. People who just like being home. There\u2019s no equivalent wave of \u201cindoorsy\u201d profiles looking for someone to hang out and split snacks with on the couch.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
That Christmas, I bought a crewneck sweatshirt. It read: \u201cindoorsy.\u201d The first night I wore it, I went out to a bar and ran into my friend Jeff. Jeff is outdoorsy. Definitely outdoorsy.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
We sat down. I took off my jacket. He saw the sweatshirt.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
\u201cIndoorsy?! What\u2019s that supposed to mean?\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
\u201cIt means I take pleasure in being inside,\u201d I said. \u201cInside has a lot to offer.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
Jeff stared. I pushed on. \u201cCreative people often prefer the indoors.\u201d<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
I was waiting for a nod, a simple, \u201cOK, fair.\u201d Instead, Jeff called his friend over to back him up. He pointed at my sweatshirt like it was a threat.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
\u201cWhen you see this, what do you think?\u201d Jeff asked. Then he fed his friend ideas like: lazy, Netflix, binge watching, delivery apps. That moment told me everything. Outdoorsy wasn\u2019t just a lifestyle. It was a value, a virtue. And indoorsy? That was a slur.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
But there\u2019s no inherent moral value to whether or not you enjoy rock climbing or a difficult hike. For all the curated flair, a picture of a tent in your profile doesn\u2019t mean you\u2019re grounded. A passport stamp doesn\u2019t mean you know where you\u2019re going. <\/p>\n<\/div>\n
The great outdoors has plenty to offer. But so do the great indoors.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n
I\u2019m indoorsy because, given the free time, I\u2019d rather paint than hike. I like making lemon zest more than jogging down the street. I love the way sunset hits my kitchen table, casting a beam across my cat\u2019s whiskers. I stretch on my yoga mat with a podcast in the background. I\u2019m surrounded by clay, engraving tools, wire. If you ask me to go birdwatching, I might not hear you over the piano I\u2019m playing. If you want to play a game, come over for Risk. Bring your tarot cards. My people are out there. The next time I wore that sweatshirt, a friend said, \u201cIndoorsy? That\u2019s cute. I love that.\u201d He\u2019s creative; he cooks, films, teaches improv, hosts game nights. I smiled. <\/p>\n<\/div>\n
Maybe embracing the label is more than a joke. Maybe it\u2019s an act of resistance against the aspirational performance of dating apps, a quiet challenge to the idea that we have to prove ourselves through action and adventure (and money and social status). <\/p>\n<\/div>\n
Maybe saying I\u2019m \u201cindoorsy\u201d is just saying: I\u2019m here. I\u2019m real. And I\u2019m enough, even when I\u2019m still. <\/p>\n<\/div>\n
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