VAN LIFE. VAN LOVE?

The number of van-lifers rose from 1.9 million in 2020 to 3.1 million in 2022, an increase of over 63%, according to a Statista report.

For me, this translates to a 63% higher chance of being complimented on my “really chill vibe” by a mustachioed man in toe-thong sandals with dirt and chalk under his fingernails.

I attended college in Burlington, Vermont, known as the dirtbag capital of the Northeast. As a 22-year-old woman with outdoorsy hobbies, I’m no stranger to this dating scene.

The saving grace of my college town was its predominantly female demographic. The University of Vermont has 64% female enrollment, according to the U.S. News & World Report.

This meant there were many women and few men.

It wasn’t a utopia — good luck trying to get a guy to call you his girlfriend — but there was a sense of sisterhood. And through that, there was peace.

So imagine my surprise on my first night out in Mammoth, when, between being swarmed by men in the basement of Clocktower and groped by strangers in Lakanuki, my roommate and coworker Milender advised me that staying single was the best strategy in this small town.

The night was blurry, but her words were clear: the women here are the coolest people you will meet, and the men here think they are the coolest people you will meet.

But I am an optimist and, more importantly, an opportunist. I wanted to make some friends and had a plan to make that happen.

I figured I’d met plenty of men with close female friends in my life, and while that’s usually a red flag in dating, it could be a resource here.

My plan was to go on dates, keep it casual, and when my suitors weren’t looking, make friends with their female acquaintances. So I re-downloaded the dating app, Hinge, and made a profile.

Turns out, I wasn’t the only one with an agenda. 

Dating apps are brutal no matter where you live. But in this town full of PCT hikers and van-lifers, I encountered an entirely new breed of dating app users.

Hinge offers three opportunities to showcase your personality through pre-programmed prompts. Some men’s profiles were entirely devoted to requests for showers: “My simple pleasures… taking a shower at your house,” or “I’ll fall for you if… you let me take a shower at your house.”

These were obvious left swipes (No) for me. But the more elusive players were those who didn’t disclose their living situation.

It’s not an option among the other disclaimers offered by the app; you can indicate if you have children or use drugs, but there’s no obvious way to say you live in your car.

And so, I unknowingly agreed to a date with a van-lifer.

We met at Mammoth Brewing, where he proudly showed me his home—a wooden A-frame structure atop his truck.

I felt quite safe, actually, considering the items in the storage pockets closest to the door were his Social Security card and passport. Clearly, he trusted me, so I trusted him.

The date was pleasant. He was gentlemanly enough: he bought me a beer, we had a nice conversation, and we watched the sunset at Minaret Vista. 

He even offered me a choice between two warm beverages, encouraging me to take the IPA over the Coors, the nicer option.

Again, gentlemanly!

He dropped me off at home and asked if he could come inside. I declined but agreed to a second date. We made plans, but I canceled last-minute due to work. His response, though polite, was shocking to me:

“Ahhhh dang! Long day! That’s okay, I have plans with a friend tomorrow anyway, so I might just hit the road. However! I could very much benefit from a shower and maybe a slumber indoors if either of those sounds plausible at your place. Totally okay if not, just thought I’d ask,” he wrote.

Talk about feeling used.

We never went on a second date, and I began viewing van-lifers through a different lens.

I understand the housing shortage; it’s pretty much all I write about. Nomadic life isn’t new to me. I’ve thru-hiked and have friends living out of vehicles.

But I can’t help but wonder about the true independence of van-lifers.

They’ll tell you they’re ‘free’ but it doesn’t seem that way to me, if you’re constantly panhandling for a shower or a bed. 

It seems you either need to spend an exorbitant amount of money on a high-end camper (if you don’t want to ask for these types of things) or rely entirely on public resources and the goodwill of others. 

And a lot of these folks work remotely. They don’t pay taxes here. Though I suppose they buy lattes. I don’t necessarily feel inclined to accommodate them. But town officials, along with Mono County and Mammoth Mountain administrators, are making an effort to create a “safe” parking lot for van-lifers who work in town.

Granted, this plan seems to have some merit; mainly because it consolidates these individuals in one lot, a few miles away from the rest of the town. Given the lack of hygiene associated with this group, it should help improve air quality in the downtown area.

It could also help ease the renter’s market, provided that these van-lifers intend to reside and work within the town and not simply pass through it. 

As for dating, maybe the van-lifers, when joined through proximity, will enjoy each other’s company and bond over the shared experience of life on wheels. Perhaps it will pique the interest of a Hollywood crew and spark a new dating series: Love on the Road? Bachelor in Parking Lot? Love is Noseblind?

… while the rest of us go on with our traditional lives, never quite getting the appeal of the vagabond lifestyle.