The paradox of modern love: why we’re obsessed with labels but avoid them in relationships.
It was past midnight when a close friend called me, sobbing. She and the guy she’d been seeing for eight months had just had the “talk“, or rather, avoided it yet again. “We act like a couple,” she sighed. They spent most weekends together, texted goodnight daily, and she even accompanied him to his sister’s wedding. Yet every time she gingerly asked, “What are we?” he would dodge labels. “We’re emotionally exclusive, physically invested, but never officially anything”, she told me, frustration evident in her voice.
In London, people are always searching for an apartment, a new hobby, the right therapist, a better flat white. They hope it’s the one. I couldn’t help but notice the same restless energy had seeped into our dating lives. In modern relationships, often spawned online, we approach dating with the mindset that it works for now. It’s like buying a dress without removing the tag; it’s in your hands, but it’s not truly yours. You wear it out a few times, tell yourself it fits, but deep down, you know you haven’t committed to keeping it. That’s how so many of us approach love now: temporary ownership with a flexible return policy.
We tag everything else, our clothes, our careers, our playlists, even our favourite lunch spots. We categorise aesthetics (clean girl, cottage core, vanilla girl) with ruthless efficiency. We brand ourselves on social media with bios that broadcast our identities in 150 characters or fewer.
But when it comes to our relationships, I wonder: in a generation obsessed with labels, why can’t we put a label on them?
We’ve created a new category for relationships, where the vibe matters more than the direction. Where commitment is optional, but chemistry is expected. And calling it a situationship makes uncertainty feel more palatable.
So what exactly is a situationship? Chances are you’ve heard the term by now. With the rise of TikTok and our collective habit of oversharing online, the term “situationship” has entered the cultural conversation in a big way. The hashtag #situationship has garnered over 5.5 billion views on TikTok, and even Oxford’s 2023 Word of the Year shortlist included situationship as a word that captures “a romantic or sexual relationship that exists without formal commitment.” In other words, it’s that murky middle ground between a fling and a full-on relationship – the art of almost being together.
In a situationship, both people might outwardly still present as single, with no one rushing to hard launch on Instagram or introduce each other as partners. It’s a relationship that has stepped off the traditional “relationship escalator” of progressing toward cohabitation, marriage, or long-term commitment.
In other words, why rush to define things when you can enjoy the vibe as it comes?
As I sat and listened to her challenge in romance, I couldn’t help but reflect on my current… non-relationship.
We met after fashion week, scrolling through Bumble, and ever since that very first swipe, we’ve done “couple” coded things. We’ve started sharing routines, weekend markets, midweek dinners, and the occasional Sunday sleep-in that spills into Monday. He’s saved in my phone under his actual name now, not a nickname. I stopped using the “apps”. Still, we’ve never talked. There’s no title. No DTR (define-the-relationship) conversation. Just a quiet understanding that we are more than casual, but less than official.
At first, I thought I liked it that way. It felt uncomplicated, low-stakes, almost… chic. Like the trusted Chanel little black dress hanging in my closet, it is minimal and neutral. A reliable staple I reached for without thinking too much about it, but the longer this went on, the more I realised I’d stopped asking questions, not because I didn’t have them, but because I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answers.
And for me? That works, for now. Dating should be fun, without front-loading it with pressure or expectation. But that isn’t true for everyone.
The most significant appeal of a situationship is its simplicity. A situationship can feel like the perfect in-between: you have someone to cuddle with and binge Netflix, someone to text about your day, without the “what are we” pressure or the obligations of a formal partnership. One Tinder exec even called it “the perfect in-between for young adults who want an emotional connection in person, but freedom outside of a committed relationship”. In theory, it’s the best of both worlds: intimacy when you want it, independence when you don’t.
Yet for all these perceived perks, my friend’s shaky voice on the phone revealed the other side of the coin: ambiguity isn’t always so blissful. Living in a state of romantic limbo can be emotionally taxing. Feelings are always involved, and they get played with almost every single day… As time passes, you begin to question your worth. That candid admission came from a 24-year-old fashion student describing her string of situationships, and it captures the hidden heartache many experience. When you invest time and emotion in someone without a clear commitment, insecurity can creep in. Does he care about me, or am I just convenient to him? Is she seeing others? These unanswered questions can breed anxiety.
So, have situationships become the new normal in dating, a modern form of commitment without rings and labels, or are they simply commitment avoidance dressed up in a cute name? The truth, fittingly, lies somewhere in between. For some people, a mutual no-strings arrangement truly works. If both individuals genuinely prefer a casual bond and communicate their boundaries clearly, a situationship can be a satisfying middle ground. “Situationships can work if both parties understand the extent of their relationship and are transparent on both sides,” one interviewee noted from experience. In these rare cases, it’s less “avoiding commitment” and more redefining it, a deliberate choice to focus on the present connection rather than future promises. Especially for young adults, busy professionals, or those recently out of a serious breakup, a low-pressure, almost-relationship can be a healthy pause before diving back into a full commitment.
However, the line between modern romance and denial is a thin one. If one person in the duo secretly desires more commitment down the line, the situationship model is likely to postpone an inevitable, challenging conversation. My friend admits that in quieter moments, she does want the traditional relationship milestones —the open acknowledgement, the security of knowing someone is truly committed to her. By accepting the amorphous status quo, she might be forestalling heartbreak, but she may also be potentially prolonging it. It’s telling that even she refers to their non-status as “this…whatever we are” with an eye-roll. The term “situationship” can sometimes mask the reality that one or both people are afraid to ask for more, lest they scare the other away.
On the broader picture, situationships reflect a dating culture grappling with endless options and conflicting desires. On one hand, we crave connection in an increasingly isolating world; on the other, we fear missing out or getting hurt. It’s as if commitment has become a hot potato; nobody wants to grab on too quickly. Our swipe-happy, choice-overloaded environment indeed feeds this phenomenon. When it always feels like someone better might be just one swipe away, it can seem safer to keep things “open,” even if you’re emotionally invested in one person, just in case. Calling it a situationship softens the ambiguity: it’s not that I’m leading you on, it’s that we’re consciously uncoupled from expectations (so the thinking goes).
The art is almost a delicate dance. Some can master it and walk away unscathed, but many get their toes stepped on. Is a situationship the modern version of commitment? In the sense that two people can deeply care for each other without traditional labels, it’s a non-traditional commitment to the present moment together. Or is it just a stylish way to avoid commitment? Often, it is precisely that a way to experience the feel of a relationship while side-stepping the hard parts (and potentially, the deeper rewards) of real commitment.
For my friend and anyone in a similar boat, the key may be honesty with oneself. If you’re genuinely content in the grey area, then carry on enjoying the connection for what it is. But if you find yourself secretly hoping for more, don’t stay stuck in the liminal space too long. You deserve clarity on whether your “almost” will ever turn into an “always.” After all, even the most fun fashion trend eventually goes out of style. And when it comes to love, being all in or all out tends to hurt less than hovering indefinitely in between. In a world of situationships, knowing what you want is half the battle; the art, perhaps, is having the courage to ask for it.
