Covid-19 nasal tests: Why people like to control “Nussy”

As we end the year and get closer and closer to a widely available Covid-19 vaccine, certain ephemerals of the 2020 pandemic year will be demoted to the brink of history: plexiglass dividers, face shields that say “Face Shield “. raising the table outdoors at sub-zero temperatures. That is why now is the perfect time to commemorate the meteoric rise and the future rapid descent of “nussy”, the disillusioned hero of 2020.

A mixture of “nose” and “pussy” (similar to “bussy”, a term popularized in the LGBTQ community to refer to the anus), the term “nussy” predates the pandemic – the earliest use of the term I would could find Twitter has been an idiot since 2018, with @cruel_genesis meditating, instead of “taking your nose”, what do you say “touching with this bastard”. However, apart from the occasional visit to the ENT doctor, the purchase of Neti pots or a look during poor POV porn filming, the real part of the body has historically received little attention, as it does not even have a definition of the urban dictionary. .

However, the increase in the Covid-19 nasal swab brought the nussy to the forefront, leading to millions of people sharing the new experience of having a completely new body part beaten, pushed and penetrated. As a result, it has become a bit of a meme on social networks, with many sharing both the discomfort – and the unexpected pleasures – of hardcore stimulation.

To some extent, the term “naughty” is little more than a joke, with the strange intimacy of the experience of getting a nasal swab – the lab technician looking deep into your eyes, easily probing one of the innermost cracks. – serving as ample fodder for sexualization. But there are also a not insignificant number of people who like to receive the Covid nasal swab, as I learned from my friend Dan last summer, when he told me that the more coronavirus tests he received, the more all the more actively waiting to get another. “I bet if you do it 10 times, you start to feel like it,” he wrote to me. “Like an itch in the back of the neck that only a Covid tampon can scratch.”

At first, I was extremely skeptical about this statement. I had already had a Covid test, and I came out of it, feeling that I was an unbelieving husband who had just been tortured in Jigsaw’s basement. Then I spoke to 27-year-old Gabe Bergado, who confirmed that he also liked the naughty game from time to time. “It’s like eating something spicy and cleaning your sinuses,” he told me last week. So did Abby Tannenbaum, who compared him to drinking LaCroix too fast and getting bubbles in your nostrils. “I was almost upset the last time I received a tampon because I felt they were too gentle,” she says. None of these people got the obvious sexual pleasure from the nasopharyngeal tampon (although there must be a nasal fetishist or two to do so), but they reported experiencing the same strangely satisfying sensation.

Also, it may not be insignificant that there is also a fairly substantial subgenre of ASMR videos focused on Covid nasal tampons on YouTube, in which beautiful young women dressed in scrubs (as well as the occasional young man) speak in gentle, gentle tones and look deeply into the viewer’s eyes as they appear to administer nasopharyngeal tampons. The most popular of these videos, created by ASMR Darling, has over a million views. Given that ASMR videos are widely used to induce feelings of relaxation or drowsiness or to simulate a form of close personal contact between creator and viewer, there are clearly a not insignificant number of people who find the experience of reducing tampon anxiety, or the approximation of an appearance of intimacy, if not pleasant.

Perhaps above all, the intimacy of the nasal tampon – close eye contact with the laboratory technician or nurse, the slight tilt of the head that precedes it and the gentle, if insistent, probing of the inner depressions of the upper respiratory system – are the ones that carry some appeal. With so many of us lacking the usual human touch or contact, even a 10-second nasal swab carries with it a meaningful memory of the transient human connection. I have only one friend who recently broke his skateboarding arm and spent so much time alone that he said sitting in an emergency and talking to nurses was one of the strengths of his year. In a climate so untouched, even the shortest, transient and clinical interaction with a face-protected stranger carries with it a promise of human connection.

Or maybe we really like to say the word “nussy.”