Is having a boyfriend embarrassing? Yes, British Vogue made the ruling recently in a gently provocative piece, declaring it “quite culturally loser-ish” and “more of a flex to pronounce yourself single”. Heterosexuality, #couplegoals, being proudly loved-up or posting even the subtlest “soft launch” – a teaser shot on socials of the hairy back of a hand on the other side of a table, or a buff-looking shadow – have all, apparently, become deeply uncool.
This diktat has been widely and enthusiastically welcomed by singletons online, thrilled that their life choices have been endorsed by the style bible (sample comment: “what a time to be alive”).
If boyfriends are embarrassing, having a husband is probably worse; the most beige, normie commitment. I’m used to being an embarrassment – I parented two teenagers – but it’s a blow as bad as skinny jeans being declared unacceptable. I hardly ever mention my spouse online, since he thinks social media is the opium of the intellectually feeble, but maybe I should erase him entirely, Trotsky-style, from my Insta grid?
It made me wonder if any other relationships are even more embarrassing. I considered lots – helicopter parent, superfan, doting caregiver to an elderly chihuahua who hates you, “stay-at-home hub-son” (that’s an adult male child who gets free board in return for domestic chores) – but decided they were all defensible. Other looser, harder-to-categorise relationships are also OK, I think, including being infatuated with a defunct version of ChatGPT (it’s a real thing); parasocial bonds with people you follow on social media and describe as “my friend” despite your communication being limited to one-way heart-eye emoji traffic; men’s relationships with their watches; and people you consider intimate confidantes despite only knowing their pet’s, or child’s, name. Even marrying the Eiffel Tower is fine (apparently the woman who did has moved on to a fence now and I wish them every happiness).
Ultimately, I concluded I don’t object on style grounds to any type of affectionate, non-abusive relationship, except dating Leonardo DiCaprio (which is like having a boyfriend, but worse). I suppose that’s why I’ll never work for Vogue.
Emma Beddington is a Guardian columnist
