Boyfriends? Yuck! Maybe?

Should I ever be in love again, or should I spend my time understanding men just enough for entertainment, but not quite thoroughly enough for a long-lasting connection? Did I just describe casual sex? What are the rules anymore? Why can’t I stop listening to Lily Allen’s West End Girl? And seriously, is it really embarrassing to have a boyfriend now?

If you’re anything like me, you’ve seen (and hopefully read) “Is Having a Boyfriend Embarrassing Now?” by the fabulous Chanté Joseph for British Vogue. (Vogue UK) My god, what a read. Joseph, who has quickly become one of my favourite cultural commentators, took a topic we all joke about over drinks and turned it into something far more complex: a mirror reflecting how women’s identities, both on and offline, are evolving.

Her piece explores how modern women are increasingly inclined to stay single, holding onto independence that can so easily dissolve when we get pulled into the rhythm of a relationship. But that wasn’t even the main takeaway. Reading between the lines, there’s a deeper significance, a shift in how women want to relate to love itself.

And honestly? With Lily Allen’s new album West End Girl serving hot-girl melancholia and feminist rage in equal measure, it feels like this single-woman energy isn’t just a phase. It’s a cultural movement, one that’s not going anywhere anytime soon. Allen’s music, raw, funny, unfiltered, dives into post-breakup rediscovery. It’s an album about rebuilding yourself when the relationship scaffolding is gone, about managing your own chaos after years of being someone’s other half. Women everywhere are listening and nodding, thinking: Oh, it’s not just me. (Except for a lot of the album, where Allen is just simply outing David Harbour and his poor behaviour within said marriage. - I do need to make this clear.

So, between Joseph’s viral article and Allen’s breakup-era brilliance, I, reluctantly, hesitantly, and maybe foolishly, decided to re-enter the dating scene. After many moons off and a few disastrous one-night “romances,” I figured, why not see what dating looks like now?

Here’s what surprised me most: I immediately started shapeshifting. On every date, I’d tweak my tone, my jokes, my body language, not drastically, but just enough to appear more like their type. I couldn’t tell if I wanted to get laid or if I genuinely liked them. Or maybe I just wanted to be liked by them. Which is scarier?

Joseph’s article kept echoing in my head. She points out that, historically, women’s identities were framed around their male partners, the plus-one positioning we never asked for but learned to embody anyway. For decades, a woman’s milestones, marriage, children, and homemaking were structured around the men in their life. Even as women gained professional and sexual freedom, that centring of men didn’t vanish; it just evolved into subtler forms.

This is what Joseph is calling out. Contrary to what a lot of angry men online assumed, her article isn’t “man-hating.” It’s not mocking women in relationships either. It’s asking why so many of us still build our sense of self around whether we’re chosen, loved, or claimed.

When she interviewed women who had “soft-launched” their boyfriends on Instagram only to lose followers afterward, it was more than a funny cultural quirk. It was a symptom of something larger: people’s fatigue with seeing women’s lives become absorbed by “boyfriend content.” The sigh of ugh, another one bites the dust wasn’t jealousy, it was grief for individuality.

Because, let’s be honest, we’ve all known that person who gets a boyfriend and suddenly disappears. The Spotify playlists merge, the captions shift to we, and the independence that once defined them gets swapped out for couples posts and back-of-the-head photos. I say that without judgment because, truthfully, I’ve been that girl. I’ve lived with someone, built a life around them, and slowly edited myself out of the frame until I didn’t recognise my own habits. It was new and exciting; it was my first relationship. I had yet to discover that balance between being in a loving relationship and also learning to keep that independence. You don’t wake up one morning and suddenly know; it takes time, growth and many conversations within that partnership.

The “hot single girl” isn’t the lonely girl anymore. She’s the one who knows her worth so deeply she doesn’t need to prove it by being chosen. She buys the flowers, she books the dinner, she fills her life up, and it’s enough.

And look, in a healthy relationship, you can absolutely still do all of these things. The point isn’t that relationships are inherently limiting; it’s that women are now allowed to choose not to be in one, and that choice no longer needs explaining.

But if we’re being real, the pendulum swing from “boyfriend culture” to “hyper-independence” has created its own weird performative loop. Have we replaced the pressure to be partnered with the pressure to be effortlessly single? Always self-assured, always thriving, never vulnerable? Maybe. Maybe we’ve just traded one aesthetic for another.

A few years ago, casual sex was the dominant narrative. Everyone was “emotionally unavailable but fun.” We were doing situationships, pretending it was empowering, and writing think-pieces about detachment. Now, even that feels a bit outdated, like emotional minimalism has run its course.

Because even “casual” doesn’t come without emotional fine print. You still have to communicate, still navigate consent, foreplay, aftercare, tension, all the things that make sex human and good. If those aren’t there, the sex is probably bad. (I can confirm bad sex is a thing. And it’s rarely about technique, it’s about presence, or lack thereof.)

The balance feels off. You’re either in a deep relationship or deep denial. There’s rarely a middle ground. Which is why I keep thinking about Joseph’s piece: maybe what we’re all looking for isn’t rebellion or romance, but equilibrium. The ability to love without losing ourselves. To connect without being consumed.

When Joseph’s Vogue piece hit, the backlash was immediate, especially from men who clearly hadn’t read it. They called it “toxic,” “stupid,” “anti-men,” then immediately commented things like, I’d make a great boyfriend. Applications open in my DMs. The irony was almost too rich. Because if you think the article was about hating men, you’ve missed the point entirely.

This wasn’t about men. It was about freedom.

It was about women realising we don’t have to design our lives around the male gaze, or the male ego, or anyone’s idea of what “success” in love looks like. Women are living alone more, choosing careers and creativity, building lives that centre them. It’s not misandry; it’s self-mastery.

I had a date a few weeks back, a good one, actually. Charming, funny, chemistry was there but not enough for there to be a follow-up, and that’s okay. But the next morning, after he left, I caught myself spiralling: What if we did date? Would I post about it? Tell my friends? How long until I’d soft-launch him? I laughed because it reminded me how instinctive it still is to turn romance into a performance. Even one decent date had my brain jumping to PR mode.

So I did what any newly self-aware woman would do: I wrote about it. I re-read Joseph’s article, put West End Girl on repeat, and sat with the question: how do I date on my own terms this time? How do I stay me?

The truth is, I don’t hate men. I like them. I want connection. I want to love again, maybe even be a wife someday. But I don’t want my life to orbit around that ambition. I don’t want my worth to hinge on being someone’s partner.

Joseph’s piece, and Allen’s album, both ask the same question in different ways: how do we rebuild womanhood without the scaffolding of “being chosen”? What happens when we make ourselves the main character, not the love interest?

So, is it embarrassing to have a boyfriend now? No. It’s only embarrassing if the relationship becomes your only storyline.

Maybe the real question isn’t whether to date or not to date. Maybe it’s: Can I still recognise myself when I do?

And if the answer is yes, if I can love and be loved without shrinking, then I won’t find any embarrassment at all.

This piece is definitely more of a word vomit than an article, but I do hope you enjoyed it, or if you didn’t, that’s awesome too!

Lily Allen's comeback after 8 years has been a masterpiece.

That’s all for now! Thanks for reading my mind this month, I hope you enjoyed and felt a bit of love thrown your way. Remember, you are always worth the mess!

My social media is @imojenwilley / @imojenkatherine. Follow along for any updates or if you simply just want to chat! Save, share, and tell me your thoughts! I’ll be uploading every month and sometimes even as a treat on the side.

Forever & always,

Im’s Xx