When I found out I was pregnant at 22, the first person I told was my coworker Emma. Which made sense, since Nick, the one who got me pregnant, was also a coworker. A big part of that relationship—the flirting, the kissing, the analyzing of every detail—had indeed happened in or around the office.
Emma and I had been close since I got the job at a top management consultancy firm. We went to the gym together after work and often had a drink in the pub around the corner.
“Come on, we need some wine,” she said after I showed her a picture of the pregnancy test I had given to the ladies after my shift was over.
Emma took my hand and led me to the bar around the corner where we quickly downed two bottles and took turns calling abortion doctors to try to get an appointment. I wouldn’t tell any of my other friends for another week.
Our workplace was a social environment – probably because most of the people we worked with were, like us, in their early 20s. It was 2016, the year before #MeToo, and we hung out regularly, invited each other to each other’s birthdays, and often got drunk together.
And at those drunken gatherings, the topic that almost always came up was sex. How many people we’d been with. The excitingly good fucks. The humiliatingly bad ones. We even ranked our other coworkers based on who we’d most (and least) want to have sex with.
In retrospect, it wasn’t the most professional environment, but most of us were single, recent college graduates, and frankly too naive to know any better.
I am now in my thirties and work in a very different kind of office, but I was reminded of that time when I heard about Charlotte Tilley, the recruitment consultant who often talked about her ‘golden’ sex life at work. Her conversations led to a disciplinary investigation, which in turn resulted in her being fired and a claim for summary dismissal.
Tilley, who is 29, bragged to colleagues about her “Johnny Depp” lookalike lover – also a colleague – and even showed them a sex tape, according to reports from her employment tribunal this month. She showed pictures of naked male torsos on her laptop at work and kissed another woman at the office Christmas party. Tilley denied the sex tape and the Christmas party allegations.
After Tilley resigned, she sued the company for sex discrimination and victimization, alleging that coworkers asked her a “barrage” of intrusive questions about her sex life. However, the judge dismissed her claims, saying that “she had a high tolerance for matters of a sexual nature” and that the conversations about sexual matters were not unwanted.
It was 2016, the year before #MeToo, and in retrospect the office wasn’t the most professional environment, but the majority of the staff were single, fresh out of college and, frankly, too naive to know any better.
My first reaction when I heard all this was sympathy. I honestly wondered why a young woman was being singled out for behavior that seems relatively normal among young men.
My male colleagues often behaved in similar ways in the mid-2010s, and no one batted an eyelid – but women were criticized for it. I remember hearing a few men criticize a new female employee, calling it inappropriate for her to talk about her love life. The hypocrisy was staggering.
It was also common for colleagues in my office to date each other. There were about five official couples at one point. And although there was a rumor that dating colleagues was frowned upon by seniors, no one ever gave us any rules. This despite the fact that sometimes these relationships crossed serious boundaries: people sleeping together despite being on the same team. Junior women dating their more senior male bosses. And so on.
Some of the men in the office would achieve mythical status. One, James, was particularly sought after. All the women fancied him and he had a reputation for dating several people at once.
For those of us who weren’t involved, it made for an entertaining water cooler chat, but I can’t imagine it was much fun for the two women when they found out he’d been dating both of them for four months, even though they were sitting next to each other in meetings.
Luckily, my relationship with Nick didn’t cross any of these lines. He worked in a different department than I did and was also the same age as me. We dated for about six months and it was fun for a while. Sneaking around in the stairwells together. Dragging him into the bathroom at the office Christmas party for some secret kissing.
That changed when I got pregnant. When I told Nick he reacted horribly, blaming me for not buying ‘proper’ condoms and not being on the pill. I woke up and realised he was not a nice person and our relationship was not going to progress.
So I ended it. In fact, I did it that night in the pub with Emma, who helped me write the lyrics.
I would never have survived that breakup and abortion if it weren’t for Emma. Not only did she listen patiently and hold my hand as I cried (and drank) my grief away that night, she took two days off work to go with me to the clinic, where I took two pills a day for a medical abortion.
Charlotte Tilley, the recruitment consultant whose frequent conversations about her ‘gold star’ sex life at work led to a disciplinary investigation, which in turn resulted in her dismissal and a claim for summary dismissal
Be careful with workplace romances, because in my experience they are rarely worth the effort.
Emma drove me back and forth, cooked for me, comforted me and helped me through the following months, which were at least as painful.
Fortunately, Nick quit not long after and I didn’t have to endure any more awkwardness in the office. To this day, Emma’s behavior at that time is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me.
I get why talking about sex at work is frowned upon – of course I do. It undermines your professionalism and blurs the lines between work and play.
While people have suggested that the response to #MeToo should be a complete ban on workplace relationships and any conversations that touch on personal office life, that’s simply not realistic.
If we ban all conversations about dating and sex, we are suggesting that men and women cannot have these conversations in a non-exploitative way. That is (hopefully) not the case in most places.
Talking about your personal life creates strong bonds. It certainly did for me. Emma and I are still best friends, even though we now live in different parts of the country.
After all, what better way to cement a friendship than gossiping about each other’s love lives? About the person you just went on a date with who isn’t texting you back, or the guy you like at the gym, whether or not someone is a keeper, and so on. That’s normal, right?
I’m not saying people should show their coworkers nude photos, although it’s very normal for Millennials like me and Gen Z to send them to the people you’re on a date with (I often show them to my friends first to see if they think I look good).
You have to be smart about who you’re vulnerable with (ideally not someone significantly above or below you in rank). It’s important to maintain boundaries, something therapy-savvy Millennials and Gen Z are used to doing.
As for workplace romances, I would be very careful with them. In my experience, they are rarely worth the effort.
But only talk about sex? A little gossip about everyone’s love life brings people together, forges friendships and contributes to the joy of the world. Don’t forbid it.
All names have been changed.