I’m Not Insensitive, I Just Don’t Want To Hear You Crunching On Popcorn

Finding your person can feel hard enough; but finding them when you have misophonia makes it feel almost impossible.

Misophonia is a condition where a person has a hypersensitivity to certain sounds, usually eating noises but often extended to sniffing, breathing and almost any other incidental noise a person can make. The easiest way to describe it is: small noise leading to extreme overreaction. Or even: that noise you are producing is hurting my brain and making me want to hurt you. You might have read an article about it. You might know someone with it, or even have it yourself. Researchers say that as many as 1 in 5 people may suffer some form of misophonia. 

I have had misophonia for as long as I can remember, although I didn’t know it was a condition until I was almost 40. Up until then, I (and my immediate family) had assumed my hatred of eating noises was just a ‘quirk of personality’, something I might even grow out of, like wearing parachute pants or ordering mugaccinos. 

It was only when I read a random tweet complaining about someone eating an apple, and I saw the number of responses and retweets, that I realised I was not alone, and that the condition had a name. 

People experience the condition in many different ways. For me, my trigger sounds (slurping, crunching, chewing, sniffling) physically hurt me. They feel like sharp knives jabbing at my very soul. But while I tend to absorb the pain and endure, others become consumed by the Red Mist and explode into anger. Surprisingly, very few people die as a direct result of a misophonic’s white-hot rage. But many might have come closer than they realise.  

But before you dismiss us as intolerant monsters, please know that we can’t help it. Our brains are just wired a little differently. And our rational brain knows that you can’t help making noise when you eat, drink, breathe or just generally exist, even if the misophonic brain does not. Researchers are still trying to understand the exact neurological mechanisms underlying misophonia. But to me, whether it is a conditioned response, a sensory processing difference, or the fact that all misophonics are Lizard People, is neither here nor there. The bottom line is if you chew gum with your mouth open in my presence, my response will be much like Bruce Banner’s transformation into the Hulk, except completely internalised and with no trousers being harmed. 

So how do misophonics find love? Considering so much of dating is centred around the consumption of food and drink, how do we make sparkling conversation, maintain FPC (pleasant facial expression), and charm potential partners, all while this war rages on inside us?

Well, not easily. 

Choice of cuisine is, of course, very important. Japanese, Vietnamese, Thai, Indonesian and Chinese equals noodles and, quite often, performative slurping. Italian? Ditto. Mexican or Indian? Beware the crunch of corn chips and poppadums!

If you downgrade the date to a coffee and chat, there’s an instant hot liquid alert. An order of an extra hot long black is an instant date forfeit. One misophonic friend resorted to ordering endless rounds of plain tequila shots at a bar because it presented the least risk of slurping. The date did not end well. (And if you think she should have added in a lime wedge for a bit of lip/suck/sip fun, you’re obviously not a misophonic). 

Ambience is also very important. A romantic, candle-lit table for two in a quiet restaurant where you can really get to know each other through the gentle art of conversation? Forget about it. Even if your date is a quiet eater, chances are the people at the surrounding tables are not, and the enthusiastic consumption of their nachos will give you X-treme Resting Bitch Face.

Of course, if you decide to skip the meal and/or drink and head straight to the movies, my sworn enemy, Popcorn is there in waiting. Popcorn is everywhere in the cinema. It is squeaky and crunchy and people love to shovel it into their mouths constantly for the duration of the film. One day, Popcorn and I will meet face-to-face in an epic Scott Pilgrim-style battle, when I will eradicate it from the earth forever. But today, sadly, is not that day. 

This leaves us with rock climbing (which occupies the hands far too much for food consumption, but attracts a lot of gum chewers); paragliding (great for misophonics, but not so great for conversation); and rifle ranges (the sound of gunshots will drown out any eating noises or sniffling, but may send the wrong signal about your politics). THERE ARE NO OTHER OPTIONS.

If any misophonics are reading this and despairing, I hasten to add that there is hope. I am with a partner who patiently waits until there is enough other noise in the room before he takes his first bite; who chooses the cinema seat furthest away from Popcorn; who would rather die than slurp his tea in front of me. We got there through candid disclosure (mine), gracious acceptance (his), and a lot of tender conversation and negotiation (ours). 

So if you can endure enough initial dates to embark on that journey with someone promising, you may just find your person. And if you meet Popcorn along the way, please tell him I’m coming for him.