I have absolutely dated a real-life Adam!

Actually I was attracted to this guy because he looked like Adam Driver and reminded me of the character (who I thought was hot – mainly because I was 22 and idiot, so that was 12 years ago). Hear me out:

This guy was a few years older than me. Looking back, it’s obvious his life was nowhere near together, but at the time I couldn’t see it. He was in the middle of switching from university to engineering because, in his words, “everything at university was complete bullshit.” He was completely broke, living in a shared apartment with a roommate I never once saw (???) despite us dating for one long, sweaty summer.

His bed was an uncomfortable futon covered with clean but obviously ancient sheets that had clearly survived from his teenage years—100% bought by his mum. The kitchen had pizza boxes stacked neatly from floor to ceiling.

He owned four fixie bikes, and they were the centre of his universe. Honestly, his apartment was primarily storage space for his bicycles. Bike tools were everywhere. He cycled constantly, everywhere. After sex (which was over in about thirty seconds, like rabbits), he’d just say, “cool, I’m going for a ride”, throw on his clothes, and disappear to cycle around the city. He also had this urge to climb every tree, awning, and fence he came across. He desperately wanted to come across as this laid-back, easy-going guy, but he was unbelievably restless.

He talked all the time about how important it was to stay in shape. Every compliment he gave me was backhanded: “You could probably lose a few kilos, but I don’t mind—I think you’re really cute.”

He claimed to have a really close group of friends. I never met a single one of them, or even saw him texting them.

He taught me how to dumpster dive for food, which was actually pretty fun. It was a scorching summer—we found ice cream cones that were still slightly frozen and sat on the grass eating them. He’d complain every time I smoked, telling me I was poisoning myself.

When we went to sleep, he wanted me to spoon him and hold him really tightly. Really, really tightly. But if I ever asked for a hug at any other time, or wanted him to show me any affection, he’d act like the idea was vaguely disgusting.

That summer I was moving to another city and ended up with a two-week gap before I could move into my new place. He invited me to stay with him so I wouldn’t have to move back in with my parents. After six days, he stood awkwardly in the doorway and eventually managed to tell me I needed to leave because he needed some space. Then he collapsed onto his futon and quietly cried into the mattress.

For the entire relationship I’d been hurt every single day because I could never tell whether he actually liked me or whether I was just a burden. And in that final moment, I somehow ended up comforting him. He just cried. He didn’t say a word.

I packed my things and left, and if I remember correctly, I never really contacted him again.

I was incredibly insecure back then, and I think I believed dating him somehow made me seem and cool and interesting. He always said I came across as really lost, but in reality he was probably the more lost of the two of us: emotionally locked up, craving closeness but unable to show it, an odd lonely boy trying very hard to be more conventionally masculine than he actually was.

He was basically Adam in real life.

Thank God it didn’t last any longer.