If you’re anywhere online, you may have stumbled across a certain British Vogue article posing the million-dollar question — has having a boyfriend become embarrassing? Naturally, my first insights of the article itself originated on TikTok. However, my in-app searches failed to quench my curiosity, and the question lingered in my head long after my nightly doom-scroll. Ultimately, I decided that, yes, I do find the idea of being in a relationship a bit cringe these days.
The Vogue piece by columnist Chanté Joseph made me think deeply about the shifting cultural significance of the capital-R Relationship. Since the beginning of time, women especially have been taught that having a beau, suitor or boyfriend is the ultimate accomplishment — something to be socially celebrated and validated. So why is it now that flaunting a newfound coupledom asserts a reaction less of, “You made it” and more, “Girl, are you sure about him?”
I'll admit, I’ve never had a boyfriend. Not because I hate love or affection — but because no one has convinced me to sacrifice my peace or free time. Joseph’s article made me realize that maybe my hesitation is more than just personal preference. Instead, it might just overlap with this newfound social phenomenon that having a boyfriend can feel embarrassing.
This broad shift in discourse around heterosexual relationships is largely reflected online. Where young people used to jump at the chance to post annual photo dumps celebrating their anniversary, many now hesitate — not because they’re suddenly anti-romance, but because the act of posting feels loaded. Even the bravest of the bunch only risk a fleeting reference to a man — a flower bouquet or a blurry shoulder dispatched to their Snapchat story.
And that hesitation makes perfect sense. Even in today's largely feminist media climate, discourse on social media closely associates a woman’s value with how much of a “catch” her man appears to be. Often in heterosexual relationships, a boyfriend isn’t just a partner — he becomes a shorthand for a woman’s taste, status or supposed “discernment.” If the man is deemed to be more attractive or impressive than the woman, they accuse her of “dating up.” If vice versa, they label the partnership as “charity work.”
When every grand reveal risks becoming a scorecard on your relationship, sharing less starts to feel like the safest move. Because if you fail? Yep, embarrassing.
And if I'm honest, my own apprehensions about these imbalances come from watching them play out, as friends downplay arguments, crop photos or refrain from posting altogether to avoid judgement. But there’s also a deep protective instinct at play. I enjoy my autonomy — disappearing into my friendships, staying out late on the Corner or randomly deciding to leave town for a weekend without having to explain why. Watching friends fade into relationships that slowly erode their edges — at the very least, change their playlists and priorities — a boyfriend feels somewhat like a threat to my freedom.
So when people are astonished to hear that I’ve never been soft-launched myself, my reasoning doesn’t purely stem from Joseph’s argument that relationships can feel embarrassing. The simplest answer I can provide is that I refrain from dating because I can — and because boyfriends, in all their public-facing expectations, can indeed feel far more embarrassing than empowering.
And honestly, the “boyfriend” issues Joseph depicts go beyond just embarrassment. For me, there's the very real fear of becoming the girl who goes M.I.A. in the group chat because she’s deep in love and curled up on the couch with her man. Joseph refers to this as “Boyfriendland.” It’s a magical place where a woman’s identity revolves around her boyfriend, with the opposite usually never being the case. I also harbor the worry that if I were to get a boyfriend, I’d stop being interesting, relevant or worse — that I'd become that guy's “girl” before everything else.
Now, these worries aside, I have to acknowledge the unavoidable truth that sometimes, boyfriends themselves are embarrassing in the most literal sense. Not in an Earth-shattering way — just in a “Why is he wearing flip flops in November” or “Why does he call my friends ‘bro’” kind of way. Alas, love is delusional. Icks start becoming quirks, and standards start to slide into the abyss.
Still, despite these sometimes cringe-worthy attributes that I may or may not have noticed in my friends’ boyfriends, embarrassment isn’t really about boyfriends themselves. Instead, maybe the real cringe is simply caring. Nonchalance is synonymous with emotional detachment. Commitment feels risky, monogamy feels slightly outdated and expressing outward affection feels like handing someone a loaded weapon.
However, since we are, in fact, human, many of us do want something real. Something soft and familiar. Someone to walk home with, rant about our days to or keep a TikTok streak with. Joseph’s article hints at the truth — it isn’t embarrassing to fall in love. It just feels embarrassing to say it out loud or be hurt by it.
Despite all of this discourse, I find that there’s a quiet revolution brewing beneath the cynicism. People are increasingly defining relationships on their own terms — finding love through slow burns, friends-to-lovers or situationships that become stable partnerships without the pressure or need to showcase them publicly. Maybe this “embarrassment” isn’t an outright dismissal of love, but a refusal for the external scrutiny or need for approval to dictate how it looks. It’s a quiet insistence that intimacy shouldn't require an audience, and choosing that privacy over performance can feel empowering.
Because beneath the awkward soft launches and hidden situationships, unfortunate haircuts and flip-flops in winter, I realized what Joseph was getting at — wanting to be known or loved isn’t embarrassing at all. It’s deeply and incredibly human.
Maybe the new flex isn't just having a boyfriend — it’s choosing someone whose presence you don’t feel the need to hide, someone you’re willing to let witness that humanity right beside you.
And someday, if I do post a blurry shoulder on my main, trust that I wholeheartedly mean it.
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