The Situationship Era.
Dating in 2025 is less boy meets girl and more loading screen meets error message. Nobody’s single, nobody’s taken, we’re all just wandering around in “situationships,” which are basically romantic Schrödinger’s boxes: you’re both together and not together until someone opens the lid (usually to text, “Hey, I’m not looking for anything serious rn, but you’re amazing ”).
Situationship are the relationship equivalent of saving things in your Amazon cart: full of intention, never quite making it to checkout. And yet, somehow, they’ve become the default setting.
So why are we all addicted to them?
Let’s start with the obvious: options. We live in a culture where choice is currency. Netflix has 4,000 shows we’ll never finish. Spotify generates 73 playlists a week tailored to our “inner child.” And when there’s always another option, commitment feels… almost irresponsible. Why settle on one dish when you haven’t tried the shrimp?
That’s the beauty of the situationship: it gives you intimacy without paperwork. You can text them good morning, but still flirt with your colleague. You can spend the weekend together, but still tell your friends you’re “single.” It’s romance with a loophole, affection without accountability.
But here’s the gag: situationships aren’t really new. They’re just the rebrand. Back in the day, your aunt called it “stringing someone along.” Poets called it “unrequited love.” Now? It’s “low-pressure companionship with vibes.”
The concept of situationship:
Because that’s what it is: mythology. Situationships let us romanticise instability. Instead of admitting we’re terrified of vulnerability, we call it “slow burn.” Instead of saying we’re scared of rejection, we say we‘re “seeing where things go.” Situationships aren’t just about romance; they are about narrative control.
If it fails? It was not heartbreak. It was character development. If it works? Congratulations, you’ve graduated, and your love story is now “we started as a situationship.” That’s content.
And don’t even get me started on the soft launch economy. Posting a blurry photo of someone’s elbow at dinner, a second wine glass in frame, or the infamous car passenger seat shot, these are our generation’s engagement announcements. It’s all about plausible deniability. “Is that your partner?” “Oh, haha, no, that’s just… a chair.” Sure, bestie.
And there’s freedom!
Of course, the freedom comes at a price: clarity. You get closeness without commitment, but also anxiety without security. It’s fun until you ask, “So… what are we?” and they respond with the verbal equivalent of a shrug emoji. Suddenly, you’re doing a couple of things, meeting parents, sharing passwords, trauma-dumping, but you can’t even put them in your Instagram story.
And the breakups? They’re chaos. You can’t mourn a situationship the way you mourn a relationship. There are no rules. You can’t even call it a breakup, it’s more like… unsubscribing. And how do you explain it to your friends? “Yeah, I lost my… person I texted a lot, but who wasn’t my partner, but also wasn’t not my partner.” Incredible story, champ.
Why We Keep Doing It Anyway
Because situationships are addictive. They’re messy, chaotic, frustrating, but they’re also intoxicating. They give us just enough to feel wanted, without enough to feel trapped. They let us dabble in romance without updating our relationship status to friends and family (if anyone still did that). They’re the perfect structure for a culture that craves connection but fears permanence.
And, let’s be real: situationships are fun to talk about. Nothing bonds a group chat faster than analysing why “he liked your story but hasn’t replied in two days.” They’re drama, and we’re all drama fiends.
The 3 S’s of Situationships
If we’re being academic (and petty), situationships boil down to three stages:
Starting – The spark phase. You’re texting every day, sharing memes, maybe meeting up “casually.” There’s chemistry, but no definition. You’re basically auditioning for roles, but neither of you has clarified.
Surviving — The grey area where you’re in a relationship, minus the commitment. Coffee runs, emotional support, all the intimacy with no security. You’re doing some things (sleepovers, emotional support, low-key codependency), but whenever someone brings up “what are we?” the conversation suddenly evaporates.
Spiraling — The inevitable crash when someone catches feelings, asks “what are we,” and the other person responds with a 12-paragraph speech about “not being in the right place right now.” Cue tears, and 3 a.m. texts to bestie.
Situationships are exhausting. They’re unsustainable. They’re riddled with contradictions. And yet, they’re the most accurate reflection of how we live now. Half-in, half-out. Always online, never committed. Overthinking everything, labelling nothing.
So yes, we can laugh at them. We can complain. But we’re all in them, have been in them. Because nothing says 2025 like being in love-ish, single-ish, heartbroken-ish.
Situationships aren’t just relationships. They’re culture. And like all culture, they’re messy, memeable, and just a little bit toxic. Which is probably why we’ll never quit them.