Ah, Generation Z, the cohort that managed to turn “What are we?” from an existential query into a panic-inducing buzzword. If you’ve spent any time around today’s twentysomethings—or God help you, dated one—you know that their love lives resemble Schrödinger’s cat: simultaneously alive and dead, defined and undefined, full of feelings and aggressively apathetic.
Let’s not mince words: Gen Z has cultivated a relationship culture that no one—not even them—seems to enjoy. Situationships, the nebulous, DTR-avoidant cousin of relationships, have emerged as their defining romantic trope. A situationship is the perfect invention for a generation whose risk aversion is matched only by their mastery of irony. It’s commitment with plausible deniability, intimacy without responsibility, and heartbreak preemptively wrapped in bubble wrap. “Emotional trauma in a gift box,” as Urban Dictionary so aptly puts it.
What’s driving this strange trend? Fear. And lots of it. Gen Z has become the most risk-averse generation on record, a quality that spills into every corner of their lives, from their careers to their dating habits. Let’s dive into the cultural soup that’s brewed this mess—and why so many young people are finding themselves stuck in romantic purgatory.
Risk Aversion: The Unsexy Core of Gen Z Dating
This generation was born into a world teetering on the edge of disaster. Their formative years were a montage of economic crashes, climate catastrophes, and mass shootings. Sprinkle in a once-in-a-century pandemic, and you have a cohort that approaches life like it’s a game of Minesweeper—every step potentially catastrophic. Is it any wonder they’re hesitant to dive into relationships headfirst?
But Gen Z’s risk aversion goes beyond big-picture anxieties. They’re also socially cautious to a fault. Studies show fewer of them drank, drove, or had sex as teens compared to previous generations. Independence? Not their vibe. Add to this a heavy dose of helicopter parenting, hours glued to social media, and years of pandemic-induced isolation, and you have young adults with all the emotional courage of a soggy tissue.
When it comes to romance, this timidity manifests in a pervasive fear of rejection. A Hinge report found that more than half of Gen Z users refrained from confessing their feelings for fear of scaring off their crush. And when rejection feels like the apocalypse, a situationship starts looking downright cozy. Why risk heartbreak when you can just ... not?
The Situationship: Where Romance Goes to Die (Slowly)
Situationships are the ultimate cheat code for emotionally cautious romantics. Unlike a traditional relationship, which requires clear expectations and boundaries, situationships offer the illusion of intimacy without the heavy lifting. They’re perfect for a generation that’s mastered the art of keeping it casual while secretly pining for something more.
The appeal of situationships lies in their murkiness. On one hand, they allow you to sidestep difficult conversations about commitment. On the other, they’re a convenient way to delay inevitable rejection. Why face the risk of hearing “I’m just not that into you” when you can exist in a perpetual state of Schrödinger’s coupledom?
But here’s the kicker: Nobody actually likes situationships. Not the person who wants more but won’t say so. Not the partner who enjoys the lack of commitment but feels vaguely guilty about it. And definitely not the innocent bystanders subjected to endless rants about whether “he likes me or if he just likes me.”
Ghosting, Power Plays, and Other Situationship Staples
If situationships are the fast food of modern dating—convenient, unsatisfying, and a little shame-inducing—then ghosting is the grease that keeps the machine running. Why bother breaking up with someone you’re not technically dating? Just stop texting. Easy, right?
In a culture where earnestness is cringe and rejection is terrifying, ghosting has become disturbingly normalized. Surveys show that nearly 80 percent of Gen Z has ghosted someone, while 84 percent have been ghosted themselves. These statistics are less surprising when you consider the blurred boundaries of a situationship. When no one’s defined what you are, it’s easy to justify disappearing like a cheap magician at a kids’ party.
Another hallmark of situationships is the perpetual power imbalance. As Dolly Alderton writes in her novel Good Material, the person who loves the least holds the most power. This dynamic, while hardly new, has been supercharged by a generation terrified of vulnerability. For many Gen Zers, the goal is to avoid being the one who “catches feelings” first—a tragicomic attempt to shield themselves from rejection by pretending they don’t care.
Spoiler alert: They do.
Why “Chill” Is the Enemy of Connection
The Gen Z obsession with being “chill” has turned vulnerability into a dirty word. The archetype of the “cool girl”—sexually adventurous, emotionally detached, and infuriatingly nonchalant—has found new life in TikTok therapy-speak. Young people now pathologize basic human emotions as “toxic” or a sign of anxious attachment.
Want to spend more time with your partner? You’re clingy. Want to define the relationship? You’re needy. God forbid you suggest monogamy—that’s a boundary violation.
This emotional suppression isn’t just exhausting; it’s deeply lonely. As one viral TikTok succinctly put it: “Y’all ever notice how stupid and embarrassing and ugly and cringe you get when you like someone?” The video has 1.5 million views. Clearly, this fear of desire isn’t an isolated problem.
Blame Social Media, Helicopter Parents, and the Pandemic
How did we get here? Let’s start with childhood. Unlike previous generations who biked unsupervised until the streetlights came on, Gen Z was raised under constant surveillance. Their parents were less “free-range” and more “bubble-wrap,” and their social lives increasingly moved online.
Enter social media, where every interaction is a potential minefield of cringe content. An awkward confession or a bad date isn’t just embarrassing—it’s public. The fear of social error, amplified by years of pandemic isolation, has left Gen Z ill-equipped for real-life romance. When you’ve spent your adolescence curating the perfect online persona, being vulnerable in person feels like jumping out of a plane without a parachute.
The Emotional Cost of Avoiding Risk
For all their aversion to heartbreak, Gen Z is setting themselves up for a different kind of pain: profound loneliness. Research shows that today’s young adults are lonelier than any other age group, with nearly a quarter reporting frequent feelings of isolation. Situationships may seem like a safe bet, but they often leave people feeling more confused and hurt than traditional breakups.
Worse, this culture of detachment is actively discouraging young people from pursuing the deep, meaningful relationships they claim to want. Most Gen Zers say they hope to get married someday. But at their current rates of dating (or not dating), fewer of them will tie the knot compared to previous generations. It’s hard to build lasting love when you’re too afraid to even try.
How to Fix It (Spoiler: It’s Not Easy)
Reversing this trend will require more than just catchy pop songs about yearning for commitment (though thank you, Chappell Roan, for the bangers). Gen Z needs a cultural shift that normalizes emotional vulnerability and makes risk-taking in relationships feel less terrifying.
Here’s a radical idea: Stop pretending you don’t care. Stop ghosting. Stop calling earnestness “cringe.” Vulnerability isn’t weakness—it’s the only way to build real connection. Yes, rejection sucks. Yes, heartbreak hurts. But the alternative—a lifetime of lonely half-relationships—is much, much worse.
The question isn’t “What are we?” It’s “What do you want?” Maybe it’s time to find the courage to ask.
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