Is Having a Boyfriend Embarrassing?

Thoughts, observations, and reflections on dating.

Having an embarrassing boyfriend is embarrassing; having a boyfriend is not. But in this day and age, finding a genuine boyfriend in itself is proving to be a tough ask. 

With an intentionally provocative claim, the recent Vogue article, ‘Is Having a Boyfriend Embarrassing Now?’ has been all the rage online (if you haven’t yet, you can read the article here). TL;DR: The rise of the soft launch (posting a hand on a steering wheel, a shadow, or a glass clink instead of your partner) has taken over dating culture, and being single is increasingly framed as something empowering rather than pitiful (although, arguably, her analysis is more relevant to an older audience of millennials than to Gen Z).

And I’m sure many of us have seen this phenomenon firsthand. Around Boyfriend’s Day, many of my friends were hesitant to post their partners out of fear of being “perceived”. But perceived as what, exactly? Dependent? Too proud? Cringe? 

Since when did caring become embarrassing?

The real fear isn’t the boyfriend; it’s the optics. It’s the worry that you’ll appear overly male-centered, or that your identity will collapse into the singular personality trait of “my boyfriend.” There is a pervasive anxiety around performance and perception: not wanting to be seen as someone whose world revolves around a man. 

Perhaps having a boyfriend is considered embarrassing today not because men are inherently embarrassing, but because settling for mediocrity has become the norm. We collectively assume that boyfriends will provide less than the bare minimum, and we excuse behavior simply because it’s behavior that is already expected. The embarrassment is not in partnership, it’s in aligning yourself with someone who publicly falls short. 

Through viral storytelling formats, such as the 52-part TikTok series Who TF Did I Marry?, online confession forums like Reddit’s r/AmITheAsshole, and endless jokes about weaponized incompetence and emotional immaturity, the media has normalized cynicism and framed commitment as a risk rather than a choice.

Love in New York

Dating becomes even more complicated in New York. New York City, seemingly the epitome of a fast-paced environment, places heavy emphasis on hustle culture, where branding is far more prevalent. With this comes a certain pressure to be independent; in a city built on hustle culture, independence becomes both a necessity and an aesthetic. 

Everything is about building a brand; a boyfriend is not on brand. 

Having come from Hong Kong, I am no stranger to the city. Crowds, speed, noise, none of that is new to me, but New York felt strange in a way that I couldn’t name at first. To me, most cities feel the same, but New York is romanticized to the point of mythology. In Hong Kong, city life wasn’t glamorous; it was just everyday life, but NYC isn’t just a city; it's the city, the place you go to make something of yourself. Everyone comes here chasing a dream, building a brand, trying to become someone. 

Because of this, there is a pressure here that isn’t as pronounced in other parts of the U.S; hustle culture is the foundation of New York’s fast-paced lifestyle. People move here to succeed, and they want to look like they are succeeding. There’s a reason New York has been ranked the worst city to date in the U.S.: there’s no time, space, or willingness to slow down. And personally, I feel that the culture here prioritizes ambition over intimacy. 

The Media on Love: Simulacrum? 🤔  

When it comes to dating today, love seems split into two contradictory realities: the ambiguity of modern dating culture, and the idealized fantasy of love presented through media. On one hand, we have situationships, casual hookups, all in all, the lack of a ‘label’; on the other hand, we have romcoms, curated Instagram highlights, and TikTok couples who appear effortlessly perfect. The tension between these two worlds shapes our expectations and our disappointment. 

Take romcoms, for example, whichdefine romance through grand gestures, instant chemistry, dramatic reconciliations, and other cinematic arcs. Social media then reinforces this narrative visually. These representations, intentionally or not, become the blueprint to what many expect from relationships, yet they rarely reflect the everyday reality of conflicts and uncertainties. 

(Admittedly, romcoms are my guilty pleasure; I, too, fall victim to the ‘perfect love’ mentality)  

Love, in this sense, has become hyperreal. This phenomenon can be explained through Jean Baudrillard's concept of the simulacrum. A simulacrum is a ‘copy without an original’, a representation that becomes more influential than reality itself. In the context of love, it means we chase versions of relationships that never truly existed, except on screens; we construct fantasies through media, which we then attempt to recreate in real life. We fall in love with the idea of love more than the experience of it. 

So when real relationships don’t feel cinematic, when they’re awkward, slow, confusing, or imperfect, they can feel disappointing. But we shouldn’t use the portrayal of love in the media as our foundation for what love should look like. This isn’t to say these depictions are entirely negative; they can offer inspiration and show us what meaningful standards, respect, effort, and care might look like. But they should only act as a guide.

So, what now?

We shouldn’t settle just for the sake of being in a relationship. Perhaps the real work is learning to build a life that feels full on its own terms. Personally, I think that feeling secure and fulfilled with yourself is the most important foundation; only then can a relationship become additive rather than defining. Having a boyfriend should be the least interesting thing about you. Single or not, fulfillment shouldn’t be reduced to one or the other.