It’s no secret that our generation is seeing a serious decline in romantic gestures. 

This modern era of Tinder situationships and casual hookups is simply heinous. I, for one, do not want to be anyone’s “long-term long-distance low-commitment casual girlfriend”—sorry, Ken.

I guess it’s a good thing Spotify says I live in the alleged queer music capital of the world. 

It’s no secret that the single queer scene at UVM is slim pickings, and from the even slimmer group of eligible carabiner-wielding, mullet-having bachelorettes, everyone knows everyone. 

Think the famous map from “The L Word,” but of Burlington. 

I’ve had to start double-checking with my fellow femmes to make sure that the masc I’m DMing isn’t one of their ex-situationships. There is definitely a disproportionate population of they/she sapphics on campus. 

And let’s face it, the rugby team is only so big. 

After a monumental lesbian breakup, I decided that in my newfound singleness I would immerse myself in the world of media popular in the queer community. 

Among my bookshelves packed with queer lit and playlists full of Ethel Cain and Hozier, I noticed a common theme: cannibalism.

There is no denying the recent surge in cannibalism-centered media: in 2022, Vogue went as far as to label cannibalism the defining cultural trope of the year. 

And for some reason, I continuously find myself drawn to it. 

First of all, context is crucial. 

I am not trying to encourage or perpetuate real-life criminal acts of cannibalism. I am interested in it purely in a metaphorical context as a consensual final act of love, as a darker act of blood-thirsty physical domination or even sometimes out of dire necessity. 

During Ethel Cain’s sold-out show at Higher Ground this past October, I could be seen violently sobbing at the barricade to the song “Strangers.” The song recounts the murder and consumption of the album’s protagonist, describing herself as her killer’s “freezer bride.”

Ethel Cain’s beautifully haunting music has found itself forever stuck in my head and Spotify Wrapped. 

Her bone-chilling imagery and cannibalism motifs without a doubt contribute to my fascination.

Ask almost any lesbian in undergrad and they could tell you about the hit show “Yellowjackets.” The show follows a stranded high-school girls’ soccer team that resorts to acts of ritualistic cannibalism.

A third season of the show was renewed last December, according to a Dec. 2022 Variety article.

But before you check it out, I’ll warn you: it is not a show you want to watch before dinner.

Even the world-renowned Hozier has recently released a song using cannibalistic imagery to represent sexual fantasy. The song opens with a breathy, sensual Hozier singing, “I’m starving, darling” and details the preparation of a feast.

Moreover, nothing could be more romantic than fully appreciating and adoring every part of the person you love, down to the marrow. After the act, your bodies are one, eternally joined in an unbreakable act of closeness—a beautiful sentiment. 

Let’s not forget the indie darling, “Bones and All,” which came out last November based on the book of the same title. 

Everyone’s favorite pretty boy, Timothée Chalamet, and the remarkable Taylor Russell portray two lovestruck cannibals on a journey of self-discovery through 1980’s rural America. 

While hunting both for sport and to feed their rapacious cravings, the couple meets a tragic and equally gorey end. 

It’s fantastic movie, so long as you have the stomach to handle it.

In case you were wondering, the act of cannibalism itself is perfectly legal in all states except Idaho, though murder obviously is not, according to an Oct. 12 Britannica article—not that I condone such things.

There’s no conversation with my friends that does not involve at least one mention of cannibalism in some context. And it’s not just me, as it’s been a booming topic for 2023 especially, according to a Feb. 13 Mashable article.

While I regret to inform you that I do not personally have the slightest craving for human flesh, I do long for the boundless, carnal, unconditional closeness that resides at the heart of cannibalism. 

But in the end, I remain hungry for a date with an enby who shares my affinity for obscure topics—especially ones involving cannibalism.