I was speaking with a friend a few days ago about the nuances and unwritten regulations of dating among Gen Z. Ironically, despite actively choosing to not participate in the dating world, I regularly engage with conversations, personal testimonies, debates, research, blogs, and tv shows that all touch on romantic behaviors in young adults. I’ve even written about the topic a handful of times. You can read some of my other thoughts here and here.
What can I say, analyzing cultural dating patterns is fascinating.
For any non-Gen Zer curious about the behaviors and relationship dynamics of young adults, here’s the gist: there are a plethora of binary rules that are difficult to remember, mind games that feel inhumane, and unsolicited advice that is far too black and white to apply to any real person’s romantic situation.
And while every generation has their fair share of dating bylaws, when you combine each of the abovementioned points with the pressures cultivated from online landscapes, it’s no wonder Gen Z is, for lack of a better word, shit at dating.
In fact, we’re so awful that we’ve coined a new term for our cultural commitment issues: situationship. As defined by Dictionary.com, a situationship is “a romantic or sexual relationship that is undefined and noncommittal. People in a situationship are more than friends but less than committed romantic partners.”
While similar to millennial’s popular “friends-with-benefits” label, situationships are known for a lack of communication and can involve everything from casual sex, romance, dating, lack of emotional connection, and spontaneous meetups. Situationship participants typically do not acknowledge or discuss their relationship with each other — resulting in differing expectations and realities.
In many scenarios, one party (usually the man, in a heterosexual situationship) refuses to commit to their partner (usually female), and yet, they do everything that an official couple would do, just without the official couple label.
As one can imagine, there’s often heaps of confusion involved in situationships. Just trying to write out a concise and holistic definition for the term is taxing. The simplest way to define situationships is that they exist in the gray area between relationships and friendships. There’s a lack of obligation and commitment while still going on dates and being sexually active with one another.
And so far, all that I’ve touched on just applies to our physical world. Situationships and romance becomes all the more complicated for Gen Z when we enter a digital space.
Take for example an issue that is highly debated: to post or not to post?
Let’s set the scene: you’re in your early 20’s as a Gen Zer and you’ve been seeing someone for going on three months. (I specifically chose this time period because of the “three-month rule,” which Gen Z has determined as the appropriate time to date someone on a trial period before becoming an official couple. Anything over this time suggests a lack of commitment and seriousness from one or both parties, according to the Gen Z majority.)
In this scenario, you’ve agreed that you’re exclusively seeing each other but have yet to solidify a label on the relationship. This creates some murky waters as to whether you’re “talking” or in a situationship. While the latter often proves difficult to expand beyond its evasive beginnings, the former is a stage, again coined by Gen Z, to distinguish the period when actively getting to know someone prior to dating. There is often an intention to eventually date when “talking.”
So, you’re single, yet not. (Which is a great way to define the dating gymnastics of Gen Z.)
You’re out on a date — an intimate dinner for two, followed by a walk in the city. The night is romantic, well thought, and you’re having an amazing time.
While walking in the city, your “partner” steps off to the side to take a picture of your concrete scenery. An idea hits you. You quickly pull your phone out from your back pocket and snap a candid shot of the person you’re dating and scenery. Their face is not visible in the photo.
The night is concluded with goodbyes and verbalized plans for your next date later in the week.
In bed, you unlock your phone, open up your photo app, and click on the most recent picture. You wonder, should I post this? We’ve agreed we’re exclusive, so this shouldn’t be a big deal. They’re not seeing anyone else. In fact, you check Instagram to see that your “partner” has posted the scenic photo they took while on your date. Despite this, there’s an ever-nagging thought you can’t help but focus on: they haven’t asked you to be their partner. Is this allowed for the gray area we’re currently existing in?
You text your friends for advice and receive an outpouring of mixed reviews. Some suggest waiting. Others say go for it.
You post the picture. Because, despite asking for input, you knew what you wanted to do all along.
Now, the ramifications of said post can go one of three ways.
Our first option: you choose to post the photo in your story, since that will only last for 24 hours and is less permanent and tag the person you’re dating without making their profile handle visible.
Whether you’re aware, you’re participating in Gen Z’s “soft launching” trend, which occurs when an individual slowly shares their romantic relationship without fully showing everything about their partnership. Uploading pictures to social media of a table setting for two, gifted flowers, and holding hands are all common ways that people “launch” their relationship softly online.
Your “partner” is then alerted that you tagged them in your story and reposts it to their profile, effectively claiming that you’re an item. This communicates to you, their followers, and anyone else who views the story that they are off the market.
You go to bed relieved that you trusted your instincts. Based on the dynamics of your unlabeled relationship this response makes the most sense to you — they have actively been courting you for three months in public. Moving the relationship online feels like a logical next step.
Scenario two: you venture through the same mind battle and opt for posting the picture in your story, again tagging them but not visibly showing their handle. They view it but don’t interact with the post by any means. There’s no like, commenting on, or repost. Maybe they don’t even acknowledge it to you over text or in person after the fact. From what you can gather, they could care less. It’s not quite the “win” that the first situation conveyed, but it’s not a loss either.
Consequently, you’re confused by their reaction. But, as custom dictates by the situationship or non-official label, bringing up your feelings on the matter is a no-go. It feels silly, you rationalize, to even address the incident.
Scenario three: your “partner” views your story and texts you immediately to take it down. They come up with a list of reasons: it’s too soon. I didn’t know the picture was being taken. We’re not dating. Etcetera. Etcetera.
You’re hurt by their reaction. While you knew you weren’t dating officially, the conversation of exclusivity, going on romantic dates, three-month time period, and copious amount of time spent together led you to believe that it was heading that direction.
For some, the response given to the post can be an end to the situationship. For others, it’s not a big deal.
This same mental acrobatics can be applied to just about anything social media-related, as well. Should I like their post? Is that too desperate? Should I comment something? What does this person’s comment mean on their post? Are they seeing them too?
Gen Z has effectively created an Instagram war, whether we know it or not. And, as you may have gathered, there’s never a clear winner.
Here are the issues I have with Gen Z’s friends-with-benefits adjacent label.
Situationships are often the result of one party, often male, refusing to commit to the person they’re dating, typically female, and so, the latter decides to agree to have the former in their life in whatever capacity allowed. A gaping power imbalance ensues.
Relatedly, the spontaneous nature of situationships often means that you frequently transition from speaking to each other every single day to abruptly being ghosted or doing the ghosting. A situationship’s engrained lack of commitment conveys that both parties are unworthy of communication throughout the duration of their coupling. Even when it ends.
Many Gen Zers have said that their situationship break up was more painful than the ending of their years long relationships. That’s often because one party usually does not see the ending coming. Situationships are already spontaneous to begin with and they often don’t last long enough to truly get to know someone. So, the signs (as well as conversations) of a breakup aren’t easily recognized or present.
Despite what it sounds like, it’s not casual dating that I have an issue with. In fact, I firmly believe in dating at whatever capacity makes individuals feel best while simultaneously treating others well and clearly communicating evolving expectations. It’s the absence of communication in situationships that are troubling.
Being in a situationship feels like emotional hide-and-seek with the goal of never being caught emotionally invested. Gen Z has decided that vulnerability, both as the expresser and listener, is a negative thing. These dynamics are known to breed dishonesty — with one or more participants being untruthful in their intentions, needs, and desires.
Lastly, even if you begin a situationship with agreed terms and conditions, feelings are fluid. It’s natural to have your emotions deepen toward another human being as you invest more time together. Having your feelings stay stagnant actually feels rather inhuman. Feelings are unpredictable and if someone cannot meet those expectations, that is okay. Each person you date does not have to be the end all be all.
My major take away as a Gen Zer who used to date and has found more freedom, love, peace, and acceptance in prioritizing themself, is that connection should not come at the cost of being treated with respect.
