I Probably Hate Your Boyfriend.

I just finished my 4 step skincare routine, lit two candles, put on an overnight facemask and footmask, then pulled the floral quilt and Lando Norris blanket over my dog and I. I opened Hinge to the same problematic version of a man, with “I am scared of ‘women’” in their profile, or “I’m weirdly attracted to ‘slightly autistic women’” paired exclusively with gym selfies or unflattering group photos. At this point, I am not sure if there is any man in any neighboring city or state that could grasp the concept of the intimacy of my night routine while making me feel like I am enough as I am.

My ex-boyfriend told me that washing my hair “is more like a chore”, rather than a romantic gesture. The bar has dropped so low, it’s now a trivia question I ask situationships as we get ready to shower after what I thought was a lovely night – only to be ghosted a month later, or told, “I’m just not ready for a relationship,”. I know my value is not determined by what a man thinks of me or what he does for me. Still, it’s a consuming thought when I’m attending a friend’s bridal shower – who is two years younger than me.

After a year of being single while my closest friends move seamlessly into relationships, I’ve spent time reflecting on what I need and deserve. I’ve reached a conclusion: I don’t hate boyfriends. I hate who too many men believe they’re allowed to be once they become one.

Girlfriends of mine aren’t going out with me anymore, quietly succumbing to rules their boyfriend has imposed. You can’t go here, you can’t go out with her. Since when were we allowing men to tell us where to go all over again? 

When British Vogue released their viral article, “Is Having a Boyfriend Embarrassing Now?”, I initially reacted with an immediate yes, before reading it. The author addresses their fatigue with boyfriend-centric content and dismantling patriarchal ideals that marriage is the ultimate marker of success. It critiques how women are often expected to center their lives around romantic relationships, and why societal norms still push women to conform to outdated expectations at the cost of their autonomy and self-worth in the process. 

I’ve noticed how often I try to mold myself into whatever a man I’m talking to prefers. Hell, I bought a vintage Buffalo Bills sweatshirt off of Depop just because a guy loved Josh Allen. Rarely, if ever, is that effort reciprocated. Instead, it manifests as late-night FaceTime calls ending with, “I love you, but you’re too obsessed with your dogs. We should block each other.”

I’ve stopped fantasizing of a world where I can mold those men into what I want them to be. I make a new playlist. I read a book. I go to a new shop. I organize part of my closet. I build nighttime routines that belong entirely to me. And I trust that there will come a time where there will be someone who won’t make me feel as though I need to become their accessory.