In an era of “no attachment,” more young people are single than ever before, with almost half of people aged 25-34 living without a partner or spouse, according to The Economist. Casual dating has become so ubiquitous that there’s even a slang term for these ambiguous romantic attachments: situationships. Popular culture is also fraught with reminders of the fragility of love—look no further than the chart-topping hits like “Casual” by Chappell Roan and “back to friends” by sombr that cement the emotional scar of situationships in the Gen Z zeitgeist.
Previous generations seem like they were much more likely to commit to long-term relationships in their youth. My parents and most of my friends’ parents met in college or around college age. They dated for a couple of years before eventually getting married, having children, and sometimes getting divorced. But for me, the precarity of the future—with my girlfriend graduating, my uncertain career path, and not to mention attacks on LGBTQ+ marriage—makes partnership feel daunting.
Yet, when I asked Georgetown students, whose relationship statuses ranged from “complicated” to a “happy monogamous relationship,” if they thought young people were falling in love less, their unanimous answer was “no.” This discrepancy between statistics and experience calls for a transformation of how we define love.
When I met Lucie Talikoff (CAS ’27) for breakfast, we caught up on our dating stories before her dog-walking gig.
“I think that the idea that we’ve strayed from partnership and commitment is false,” Talikoff said. “We’ve just moved to a more realistic version of partnership and commitment, which involves truly getting to know someone before you commit to them.”
The reason for the decrease in long-term partnerships could be that people are valuing compatibility more, according to Talikoff.
“Personally, someone’s political views matter to me a lot,” she continued. “If I’m talking to someone and they’re anti-choice, I’m like, ‘Okay, I’m sorry. It would be a waste of both of our time to continue this.’”
Talikoff said she’s open to relationships, but they are not a major priority in her life. Instead, she finds love and appreciation in her friendships.
“I’m well aware that the odds of me finding someone on this campus that I would probably be very compatible with are low,” Talikoff confessed. “That honestly is a great thing, though, because it’s led me to really appreciate my female friendships.”
Similarly, for Sophia Samson (SOH ’27), romantic relationships are not a main priority right now. Samson and I chatted over calamansi juice amid our busy schedules—there’s an understanding between us that we always make time for our friendship.
We often discuss the boundaries that define the line between romantic and platonic love. We agreed that it’s much more socially acceptable now to build your post-college life around your friends than with a romantic partner.
“A lot of it is just a symptom of how feminism has changed and how women are trying to find themselves in ways that aren’t male-centered,” Samson said.
Young people like Samson and Talikoff are prioritizing their professional success and social circles instead of molding their lives around a romantic relationship. Love, it seems, does not have to be an excluding force, but can involve embracing the plurality of different relationships.
For those who do want to find romantic love, though, the pursuit often feels inorganic. C.S. (CAS ’28), who declined to share his full name citing privacy concerns, recently ended a long-distance relationship and is currently in a situationship. C.S. and I both have had experiences with online dating. The sheer number of people who appear on a dating app in a single day trumps any real-life encounters and often makes dating feel like a game.
“I don’t know if romantic love is something that you should pursue,” C.S. said. “I think it is something that you discover.”
He’s off dating apps now. For Valentine’s Day, he tells me he’s letting his situationship take its course.
AJ Gluchowski (GRAD ’26) has been with his girlfriend, Yunji, for four months, but he’s no stranger to the rogue land of online dating.
“It just felt bad if you liked somebody and didn’t hear back from them for a week,” Gluchowski said.
Touché. The ease with which people become intimate and then disappear from each other’s lives cuts deep. The quick turnover of potential partners on dating apps used to numb me to the prospect of falling in love.
“I’ve used the word ‘nonchalant’ more in the past two years talking about being in a relationship than I would have ever previously,” Gluchowski said. “The ‘thing’ now is being aloof and not being super interested.”
Despite this, Gluchowski intends to build a life with his girlfriend, abandoning vague “concepts of a plan” to work in Scotland. They’re both graduating this year and must decide where to live and what jobs to pursue. Like many in their early twenties, Gluchowski’s peers are a mixed bag of people looking for jobs, employed, and engaged.
“I don’t necessarily know if I’m ready to settle down, but I found someone who would be cool to settle down with,” he shared. “I’m hoping my 20s are the time to explore a little bit. So I will lean into that nonlinearity.”
Still, I tell him, uncertainty is scary.
“The uncertainty is the fun part,” Gluchowski paused. “Falling in love is brave.”
So I’m letting myself fall in love with everything. And you should, too. Fall in love with your lover, your family, your friends, that person you made out with in a drunken stupor, and even the sun as it peeks through the clouds above the Potomac.
