Vogue sparked an online debate a few weeks ago with the provocatively titled opinion piece, “Is Having A Boyfriend Embarrassing Now?” In the article, writer Chanté Joseph explains, “in an era of widespread heterofatalism, women don’t want to be seen as being all about their man, but they also want the clout that comes with being partnered.” While at the same time, “This is also happening alongside a wave of women reclaiming and romanticizing their single life. Where being single was once a cautionary tale (you’ll end up a “spinster” with loads of cats), it is now becoming a desirable and coveted status.” Basically, Joseph warns that the tides are changing, and many heterosexual women are starting to view partnering up as a negative or—at the very least—something that should be done in the shadows and off the internet. As a relationship coach who spent her first three decades fixated on not just finding a boyfriend but securing a husband, I have some thoughts.

While I don’t often engage with regret, I occasionally wonder what my life could have been like if I wasn’t so obsessed with being in a relationship. I remember walking down the street with some friends in the sixth grade and thinking, “This would be even better if I had a boyfriend.” Really, 12-year-old, Allison? What a waste of a nice walk! As I wrote about in my book, Overthinking About You, I attached so much value to being partnered that it became an unhealthy obsession. My mental health was directly tied to how secure (or unhinged) I felt about whoever I was dating or trying to date. It didn’t matter that my career was thriving and strangers were recognizing me on the street if my boyfriend couldn’t text me back quickly enough to assuage my doubts that I was not-so-secretly unlovable.

It’s obvious now that my priorities were out of whack. I placed partnership with a man so far above everything else that it overshadowed everything else in my life. How I got it so wrong is open for debate, but I suspect it was a combination of my personal values, societal messaging around a woman’s worth, and living with obsessive compulsive disorder since I was four. The combination was a perfect storm leading me to harmful conclusions and a lot of bad behavior: like begging guys to stay even though they’d prefer to leave and never speak to me again.

Giving men this type of power over my well-being and self-worth was dangerous. It took away my agency to build a fulfilling life without someone else’s sign-off and participation. It was also in direct conflict with my values as a feminist and career-oriented overachiever. I felt competent and in control of every other part of my life expect this one area I had deemed most important. It was maddening, and, at the time, embarrassing.

Back then, my obsession with having a boyfriend was a source of shame. A part of myself I couldn’t seem to shake even though it reeked. Now, though, I no longer think embarrassing is the right framework because it puts all the blame on my younger self, when so many larger structures were also responsible. How can we glorify partnership and then chide people for wanting it? How can we tell young women through the media and societal incentives that the best thing that can happen to them is a proposal and then scoff at them for trying to secure one? It is unfair to ask someone who feels broken and lonely and unchosen to not try to redeem themselves through romantic love, when that is so often presented as salvation.

So, no, I do not think having or wanting a boyfriend is embarrassing in the slightest. But I do believe the desire for one can be a slippery slope—especially if we have a misconception of what obtaining said boyfriend actually achieves.

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When my first fiancé walked out on me five years ago, I was at an impasse. At that point, I no longer needed a parter to validate my self-worth. I had worked hard to cultivate a better relationship with myself, and his rejection didn’t throw me into suicidal ideation or a years’ long depression like it would have when I was younger. But I still found myself questioning if I could make myself so vulnerable again. What if I gave love another chance and I ended up back at square one, having to post a second broken engagement announcement on Instagram? Could I survive another heartbreak? Or was I finally at my limit?

This is where making a values-based approach rather than a fear-based one came into play. I no longer needed a man’s approval to like myself or my life, but I still wanted a parter. Not because having one would “complete me” or validate my existence. I wanted one because there is a big lifestyle difference between being single and being partnered and I am someone who prefers to navigate life with a buddy. That is just a personal preference with no moral value tied to it. Similar to how some prefer to live in the country or the city. It doesn’t matter which way you lean, but it is helpful to know about yourself.

Once I was able to pursue a boyfriend to help build the kind of life I wanted rather than to fill a hole in my sense of self, I was out of the danger zone and onto honoring my desire. And with that shift brings an entirely different approach. I didn’t have to take what I could get. I could be discerning and thoughtful about who would make sense as the vice president of my life. I could suddenly bring with me all the consideration and expertise I used in other areas because I was choosing from a place of control rather than desperation. It is from this place that I encourage my clients to pursue romantic relationships. Instead of begrudging or judging people for, rather understandably, wanting to pursue them in the first place.

It is this underlying judgement that makes the “is having a boyfriend embarrassing” discourse far less empowering than it seems. Suggesting that women must give up a desire for partnership to stay in control implies that mutually beneficial relationships don’t actually exist. Which is just the inverse of the happily ever after narrative—two extreme tales that obscures the reality that lies somewhere in the middle.

It is possible to have a boyfriend and not lose your sense of self. It is possible to value marriage and not betray your other values. The key isn’t if you choose this path but who you choose to walk it with.

Despite the scope of my work as a coach, relationship expert, and rom-com writer, I am all for reducing the importance society places on romantic relationships. Taking the pressure off partnering up allows people to be more discerning about their choices and enables others who aren’t interested in the lifestyle to opt out easier. It’s a collective shift that would likely result in fewer, but higher quality relationships. That is a win in my book.

But to suggest that wanting a relationship is embarrassing is just another way to inflict shame on heterosexual women. It puts more value on how you appear to other people than valuing what you want for yourself. This kind of messaging will likely cause even more internal conflict and self-doubt in area of life that is difficult enough to navigate without being afraid people are going to unfollow you if reveal you’re coupled up.

I will be the first to concede that a lot of how we handle partnership in modern society needs to be reimagined. But, to me, this is the wrong question to start such an important conversation. And it once again puts women in an unfairly disadvantageous position, which makes me question how much has really changed after all.

xoxo,

Allison

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