Indoorsy: Embracing the Beauty of Being Still
I remember the first time I heard the term “outdoorsy” being used on a dating app. It was a few years ago, when I was sitting on my couch, curled up in a fleece blanket, enjoying my quiet morning me-time. As I scrolled through my phone, checking Instagram, Facebook, and unfortunately, the latest news about Trump, I came across a profile of a guy who proudly labeled himself as “outdoorsy”. And just like that, I dismissed him without even finishing my first sip of coffee.
But why did I do that? What was it about being “outdoorsy” that turned me off? As I thought about it, I realized that it was just one of the many trends that I had noticed on dating apps. And let’s be honest, these trends are more like personal peeves. Just like how some people can’t stand shirt tags and immediately cut them out, I couldn’t stand certain types of profiles on dating apps. Fish pictures, shirtless selfies, and “no drama” were just a few of the things that made my “peeves” list. And now, “outdoorsy” had joined the list as well.
I had my reasons for writing off these guys. Fish pictures made me think they were trying to show off their hunting skills, cars were a sign of overcompensation, and shirtless selfies were just a red flag for someone who was more into their own looks than anything else. And don’t even get me started on “no drama” and tacos. Sure, tacos are great, but loving them is not a personality. Give me someone who loves ants on a log or lentils any day.
But “outdoorsy” was a bit different. I didn’t necessarily want to date these guys, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on why. It wasn’t until I started seeing a pattern in these profiles that I realized what it was. There’s a whole genre of men who proudly label themselves as “outdoorsy”. These profiles are a predictable mix of backcountry hiking shots, summit selfies, and sometimes a kayak. They mention biking and climbing, and use phrases like “seeking a partner in crime” for weekend adventures, which usually translates to someone who is equally fit, active, and down for anything. It’s almost like they’re not looking for a connection, but rather someone who can keep up with them and match their pace up a hill without asking for emotional terrain maps.
When a guy says he’s outdoorsy, I hear: adrenaline highs, expensive gear, constant movement, a lifestyle built around pushing limits. But I also hear something quieter. We talk about outdoorsy people like they’re aspirational: fit, adventurous, whole. There’s a certain pride in being outdoorsy, a kind of status boost. And that’s when it hit me. We’ve created a whole dating culture around lifestyle presentation, and what gets idealized is rarely rest, joy, or creativity. It’s all about motion, energy, and visual proof of success. And unfortunately, that often translates to money, health, mobility, and let’s be honest, thinness. It’s no surprise that dating apps mirror the same hierarchies we see in society, and in that context, desirability isn’t just personal taste, it’s a reflection of who gets prioritized in the broader culture.
But here’s the thing, there’s nothing inherently wrong with being outdoorsy. It’s great to love the outdoors and all the activities that come with it. But when that becomes the default ideal, it sends a quiet message about who belongs and who doesn’t. It excludes people who don’t have the budget for expensive gear or weekend trips, people with chronic pain or mobility limits, and even people who simply prefer being at home. And what’s even more concerning is that there’s no equivalent wave of “indoorsy” profiles looking for someone to hang out and split snacks with on the couch.
That’s when I decided to embrace the label of being “indoorsy”. That Christmas, I bought a crewneck sweatshirt that read “indoorsy”. The first night I wore it, I went out to a bar and ran into my friend Jeff. Jeff is definitely outdoorsy. We sat down, I took off my jacket, and he saw the sweatshirt. “Indo
