From the pages of Vogue, where upscale ladies probe the issues of the day:
Is Having a Boyfriend Embarrassing Now?
Specifically,
[R]ecently, there’s been a pronounced shift in the way people showcase their relationships online: far from fully hard-launching romantic partners, straight women are opting for subtler signs – a hand on a steering wheel, clinking glasses at dinner, or the back of someone’s head.
That’s the issues of their day, of course, not necessarily yours.
So, what gives? Are people embarrassed by their boyfriends now? Or is something more complicated going on?
The author of the above, Ms Chanté Joseph, formerly of the Guardian and a stipulator of pronouns, has a theory to share.
To me, it feels like the result of women wanting to straddle two worlds: one where they can receive the social benefits of having a partner, but also not appear so boyfriend-obsessed that they come across as quite culturally loser-ish.
“Quite culturally loser-ish.” I’m guessing the intended readership may be the kinds of ladies whose days are driven by endless niche anxieties regarding in-group status. Just a hunch, of course.
“They want the prize and celebration of partnership, but understand the norminess of it,” says Zoé Samudzi, writer and activist.
Writer and activist. Because one can’t just be a writer. Also, norminess. And dear Lord, we can’t have that.
But it’s not all about image.
If you say so, madam.
When I did a callout on Instagram, plenty of women told me that they were, in fact, superstitious. Some feared the “evil eye,” a belief that their happy relationships would spark a jealousy so strong in other people that it could end the relationship.
Ah, the innate loveliness of women. The tender, caring sex.
Others were concerned about their relationship ending, and then being stuck with the posts.
But remember, it’s totally not about image. Just the embarrassment of an Instagram feed cluttered with obsolete boyfriends. Like unfashionable shoes.
On the Delusional Diaries podcast, fronted by two New York-based influencers, Halley and Jaz, they discuss whether having a boyfriend is “lame” now. “Why does having a boyfriend feel Republican?” read a top comment.
One more time:
“Why does having a boyfriend feel Republican?”
I would guess that these are not routine anxieties for regulars of this parish.
In essence, “having a boyfriend typically takes hits on a woman’s aura,” as one commenter claimed… It is now fundamentally uncool to be a boyfriend-girl.
Behold, the social blemish of norminess. Or possibly conservative.
Sophie Milner, a content creator, also experienced people unfollowing her when she shared a romantic relationship. “This summer, a boy took me to Sicily. I posted about it on my subscribers section, and people replied saying things like, ‘please don’t get a boyfriend!’”
Again, the loveliness of women. And then there’s the implication that one might tailor one’s romantic life to the preferences of random strangers on the internet. Dating, or not dating, for likes.
From my conversations, one thing is certain: the script is shifting. Being partnered doesn’t affirm your womanhood anymore; it is no longer considered an achievement, and, if anything, it’s become more of a flex to pronounce yourself single.
Readers will, I suspect, have registered that these agonies seem to bedevil those who inhabit a world of activists, influencers, and self-styled content creators. People whose auras must convey status. Because those other bitches are always watching.
As straight women, we’re confronting something that every other sexuality has had to contend with: a politicization of our identity.
Don’t look at me. I have no idea. Apparently, women are being “forced to re-evaluate our blind allegiance to heterosexuality.”
And as long as we’re openly rethinking and criticizing heteronormativity, “having a boyfriend” will remain a somewhat fragile, or even contentious, concept within public life.
We seem to have veered off a cliff. In a cloud of old gender-studies lecture notes.
This is also happening alongside a wave of women reclaiming and romanticizing their single life. Where being single was once a cautionary tale (you’ll end up a “spinster” with loads of cats), it is now becoming a desirable and coveted status – another nail in the coffin of a centuries-old heterosexual fairy-tale that never really benefited women to begin with.
Never. Not once, you hear.
At which point, readers may be left wondering – among other things – whether the above is an elaborate attempt to rationalise sour grapes, a matter of loudly dismissing that which isn’t easily had. Of, as they say, cope.
Possibly on account of being the kind of women whose world is one of influencers and activists, of Instagram narcissism, and whose preoccupations include denouncing heteronormativity while needlessly stipulating one’s pronouns. The kind of women who fret about whether having a husband or partner, someone to love and be loved by, looks “culturally loser-ish,” or unfashionably “Republican.”
Not the most obvious enticement for a man with other options.
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