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Let me paint the scene. It’s Friday night, and you’re basking in the glow sponsored by your first drink of the evening. You’re pre-ing somewhere sultry—a dimly-lit bar that calls for composure. You have plans, parties to attend, cheeks to kiss. Friends surround you. Yet, in this moment, there’s a persistent pull in your chest that longs for a more precarious excitement. A private kind, to be contained within a text thread, lest anyone nearby discover what you crave and talk you down from reaching for it. You want to send the message you’ve refrained from typing while sober, and I’m here to tell you, do it.
Hear me out.
Developments in communication technology over the last few decades have foolishly stripped the charm from the act of making risky, romantic declarations of desire while under the influence. The ease with which we can now contact anyone—ex-partners, almost-lovers, expired flings—through a half-baked text or DM has cheapened the thrill of knowing you’re on someone’s uninhibited mind. Gone are the days of someone abandoning the dive bar to fumble quarters into a payphone just to hear your voice on the other end of a number they know by heart. For someone like me, who finds unfiltered vulnerability endlessly compelling, this is a monumental loss.
I’ll admit to my past as a shameless tipsy-texter. Twenty-two-year-old me had a penchant for cheap wine and a serious lack of impulse control. But she also understood the allure of unbridled vulnerability and was too inexperienced to fear the potential pitfalls of laying herself bare. She taught me a lot, and I think of her fondly. Most notably, her actions revealed to me that uninhibited honesty (in this particular context, in the form of inebriated messages) holds the potential to welcome truly meaningful moments.
One particular late-night message from this time led to an all-encompassing summer fling that I still recall with blushing cheeks. This text was sent after consuming three glasses of Lambrusco at a rooftop dinner party on a humid evening in Toronto. I recall feeling swaddled by the presence of friends and home-cooked food, yet unsettled by the void in my chest where someone I’d recently cut ties with lingered. The severance of this connection had been catalyzed by a misunderstanding I suspected but had been too proud to address. A few glasses of sparkling red were all it took for me to set aside my pride and press send on the notes-app dictated message that read: “You’re still on my mind.”
That one message led to months of idyllic afternoons spent together in the park, shared ice cream cones, and midnight swims under moonlight while listening to the cicadas making their courtship calls. We went our separate ways come September, but I still remember that summer sweetly.
I also recall the more sobering outcome of an inebriated text I’d sent a year prior, after one too many gin martinis following a long serving shift. This message was steeped in yearning and urgency. The recipient was a man I knew no longer deserved my attention, but whom I wanted nonetheless. We met at a diner that evening and caught up on how our lives had changed since we last spoke. But being with him felt different this time. There was a gap between us that the idealized version of him I’d created in my head could no longer fill. When he reached his hand across the table—an offer of reconciliation I’d once been so anxious for—I felt nothing. That night, I gained the clarity that he was no longer someone I needed, or even desired.
I woke up the following morning dehydrated, head pounding, and momentarily abashed by how candid my initial outreach had been. But I also felt free. After an Advil and a tall glass of water, I was ready to move on with my life.
Though I’ve reined it in over the last few years, and my personal relationship with alcohol has matured, I still remain a sucker for the trope of lovers with a landline (cellphone, now, I suppose), and a liquor-induced moment of clarity. I’m intrigued by how intoxicated states can soften the fear of vulnerability that often holds us back from pursuing our desires. While I’m not suggesting that alcohol use is a sustainable salve for the discomfort of emotional expression, I do see value in making use of the confidence that accompanies an innocuous cocktail. We’re living through an era of dating where playing it cool seems to be the only seduction tool in the repertoire of the majority. Too many potential lovers are engaging in stand-offs of nonchalance, where neither party is daring enough to display vulnerability and announce their desires first. Be subversive. Send the drunk text.
Now, you're probably wondering—how do I dictate the perfect drunk text? The key to the art, I’ve learned, lies in low stakes and self-awareness. Drunk texts should be playful and never used as a means of genuine emotional regulation. Ideally, no anger, ultimatums, or expletives should be present. The message in question should be brief—anything exceeding two short sentences likely carries more emotional weight than you realize. The sender should be in high spirits and ready to stomach any potential response. Lastly (and this is crucial), drunk text messages should be strictly avoided when you are sincerely drunk. Tipsy is ideal, buzzed is better.
Though I’m disillusioned by the far-reaching fear of vulnerability that’s overtaken so many of our dating lives, I empathize with it. Rejection and disappointment are some of the hardest pills to swallow,especially when it comes to putting our tender hearts on the line (literally). Perhaps I’m encouraging chaos, but if it takes a little liquid courage to let someone know you’re thinking of them, I say so be it. Send the drunk text. Results may vary, but isn’t the most intoxicating part of any risk the thrill of not knowing what awaits you on the other side?
