It’s that time of year in Washington—the sun is aglow, the happy hour revelers have seized control of the streateries, and the air is sopping wet with pheromones (hold your nose through Arlington, or you risk whiffing undertones of Deloitte). Our city’s young singles are in pursuit of summer romance. And, according to the Smithsonian National Zoo, the pandas are feeling it, too.
Bao Li and Qing Bao are only three-and-a-half years old, still about 18 months shy of typical giant panda breeding age. They live separately in adjacent enclosures—an effort to mimic the conditions of their wild counterparts, who are generally solitary animals—but have the opportunity to interact via mesh panels installed along their shared fence. The zoo refers to these peepholes as “howdy windows,” through which the bears “can see, smell and vocalize at one another on their own terms.”
Since the pair’s arrival at the zoo in October, keepers say Qing Bao has been relishing her independence—eating, napping, and climbing trees without the looming burden of a man in her ear. During the winter months, she spent little time at the howdy windows, despite some frankly humiliating ploys for her attention from Bao Li, who would call out from time to time with no success.
But, around mid-March, Qing Bao appeared to start abandoning some of the routines that comprised her unbothered bachelorette lifestyle. Perhaps it was the warming weather, or its byproducts—say, Hinge matches flocking to gawk at her enclosure with increased frequency, directly exposing her to the fumes of their desperation as active players in DC’s perilous dating scene (it’s so bad, we had to write a guide about it). The zoo’s video feed depicts her pacing her habitat, rollicking in her pool, and soliciting attention from keepers. She also found herself scent marking—a mechanism through which pandas communicate information about their sex, age, and fertility status “using a gland under their tails that secretes an oily substance.” In turn, Bao Li began to exhibit the same behaviors.
If this game of cat-and-mouse sounds awfully juvenile, that’s because it is, according to the zoo. Such activities apparently indicate the onset of “panda puberty”—forget, momentarily, that we’re talking about bears, and the couple’s mutual secretion of coded oils might just induce memories of the Axe and Bath & Body Works fragrances that competed for prominence in the hallway of your middle school. But, quickly, the couple’s intensity revved up. At the end of April, Qing Bao sauntered over to the howdy window and put it all on the line: A bleat and a chirp escaped her, prompting an enthusiastic response from her suitor. I must admit that I found myself on the top floor of Salazar this weekend, where I witnessed many interactions that were similar in nature (however, no howdy windows were accessible, meaning myself and other patrons were not offered the luxury of discretion in who we saw, smelled, or vocalized with.)
Social media dating coaches and other locals who have had their brains melted by The Apps might be poised to criticize Qing Bao for her forwardness. After all, men are turned off by the perception of neediness, and if they’re fully embodying their masculine energy, they will pursue. By bleating at Bao Li, she essentially texted first: She made herself seem too available, and now he will infer that she has no other options—a signal of undesirability. Yes, he reciprocated, but only because he has no one else on the roster at the moment. He couldn’t possibly be interested in fostering an authentic connection with her. Right?
Well, according to the zoo, the bears’ flirtation not only sustained its momentum after Qing Bao’s initiation—it “ramped up tremendously.” They spent just about all their outdoor time in front of the howdy windows, vocalizing “intensely” and attempting to paw at one another through the mesh. They shared dinner dates at home, ordering in bamboo (I suppose they could not get a reservation at Jane Jane), and “Qing Bao even pressed her back up against the mesh and allowed Bao Li to sniff her,” the zoo says. That, to me, certainly points to a deepening sense of intimacy. Zoo researchers caught the same vibe, and after testing Qing Bao’s urine, confirmed that she was ovulating during this period. If you ask Lorde, who we can assume possesses some attributes in common with wild animals given that she went for a dip in the Potomac recently while in town, ovulation can feel like a drug. And as springtime came to life in Washington, evoking flowery images of picnics at Meridian Hill and counting passing planes at Gravelly Point, Qing Bao was under the influence—but not for long.
As of early May, the pandas’ affair has cooled off: They are still communicating at the howdy windows with some regularity, but are now more inclined to walk away. The zoo attributes this fledgling interest to the passage of Qing Bao’s hormonal peak. Given their age, the pair is still likely a couple years away from breeding—and, of course, male pandas “mature at a slower rate than females do,” so Bao Li is likely not ready to settle down.
As a human woman dating in Washington, I reviewed this chronicle of the pandas’ relationship with my Carrie Bradshaw hat on, and I couldn’t help but wonder: Did Qing Bao show her cards too quickly? Yes, they are the only two animals of their species at the zoo. And they live together, and they do not have phones or Tinder profiles. And really, her behavior has set the tone for their dynamic from the start, contrary to what her detractors might say—and in spite of a slight power imbalance, considering Bao Li’s status as a beneficiary of panda nepotism. Regardless, I grappled with the question of whether the flames of their flirtation have been fanned for good. And after much reflection, I truly think Qing Bao is just playing the long game—she does not chase, she attracts.
