Relationships Aren’t Real
If aliens landed tomorrow and asked humans to explain relationships, we’d embarrass ourselves. Imagine trying to describe dating to a species intelligent enough to travel galaxies:
“Well, first you go on a small glowing rectangle and scroll through faces like you’re ordering shoes. Then you meet someone at a bar and order drinks you can’t afford. If that goes well, you text ‘lol’ and ignore them for strategic intervals. Eventually, if the mutual emotional illusions align, you develop a shared Netflix account and stop pretending you’re interesting.”
Relationships are the most socially accepted hallucination we participate in. We treat them as sacred truth, but like time zones, SPF ratings, and the concept of brunch—we made them up. Humans weren’t born with “relationships”; we invented them because the chaos of existence was too raw, so we wrapped it in emotional bureaucracy.
According to Dr. Leonard Rusk, professor of Behavioral Anthropology at the entirely plausible Midwestern Human Institute:
“Relationships are merely socially negotiated contracts for resource exchange and emotional validation, disguised as romance to make the transactional nature less depressing.”
Translation: you’re dating because you’re lonely and scared of dying alone holding a phone with 4% battery.
But let’s take this seriously—at least for the next few thousand words. Strap in, pour something strong, and accept that what follows is not personal. It’s structural. It’s sociological. It’s existential. And it’s going to explain why relationships aren’t real—but we’re all pretending they are because the alternative is spiritual vertigo.
The Myth of “Connection”
The word “relationship” implies structure, reliability, and shared meaning. That would be adorable if it weren’t so tragic. Modern relationships rely on emotional jargon disguised as logic:
I just feel like you’re not being emotionally available right now.
I need space, but also attention.
I like you, but I’m not ready for a label, but also don’t talk to anyone else.
It’s not you, it’s timing, mercury, my cat, and vague trauma from childhood.
If you tried saying any of this to a dog, it would run into traffic to escape you.
Yet we treat these flimsy linguistic fig leaves as profound communication. Dr. Mariah Ellis, psycholinguist, calls it “emotional performance theater mistaken for bonding.” People don’t communicate; they negotiate the appearance of communication. We don’t want connection. We want the illusion of being understood while staying fundamentally unexposed. Relationships are not built on truth—they’re built on curated vulnerability, the kind you’d show a therapist if the therapist was also your audience, judge, and sex partner. We share “safe trauma” (oversharing to feel brave) and avoid core truths like:
I don’t know who I am.
I’m performing stability.
I crave control.
I only love when rewarded.
I will abandon you if I get bored.
Attraction Is Biology with Better Lighting
We talk about attraction like it’s spiritual.
“I can’t describe it—we just have a connection.”
No. You were both wearing flattering outfits and the lighting was warm.
Attraction is neurochemistry on autopilot. Oxytocin, dopamine, serotonin—your brain is a rave without security. Lust is simply evolutionary trickery to incentivize reproduction. It’s nature’s way of exploiting mammals with a sophisticated nervous system and unresolved parental issues.
According to evolutionary psychologist Dr. Arjun Mehta:
“What we romanticize as love is simply mate selection optimized through dopamine-reward loops.”
Your hormones don’t care about your emotional fulfillment. They care about perpetuating your DNA, even if your DNA isn’t that impressive. That’s why you’ve convinced yourself your situationship has “potential”—that’s not depth. That’s biology wearing a leather jacket.
The Performance of Compatibility
Compatibility is fake. You know why you think you’re compatible with someone? Because you met them during a phase of your life where your trauma patterns matched. Every relationship is just mutually tolerated dysfunction wrapped in Spotify playlists and inside jokes. You don’t choose who fits you—you choose who triggers you the right amount. Compatibility has become Hollywood propaganda. We treat it like a puzzle when it’s really a tension management strategy. One person wants more closeness. One wants more space. One uses sarcasm as emotional deflection. One uses emotional highs as addiction replacement. Together, they call it chemistry instead of codependency.
Actual compatibility should begin with:
Do our nervous systems want to murder each other?
Can we disagree without summoning childhood ghosts?
Will you still want me around when I’m not impressive?
But instead we get:
Favorite movies?
Coffee or tea?
Beach or mountains?
These are not compatibility questions. These are small talk surveys designed to avoid philosophical conflict. You can love the same movies and still despise each other’s souls.
The Relationship Contract: Terms and Delusions
Every relationship is an unspoken contract. There are rules—spoken, implied, and emotionally weaponized. But this contract isn’t legal or moral; it’s existential administration. A relationship begins when two people silently agree:
“I would like to outsource some of my emotional regulation to you.”
No one says it out loud. Instead, they disguise it with phrases like:
“You make me feel safe.”
“I can really be myself around you.”
“You get me.”
Once emotional outsourcing begins, the contract expands to include unrealistic expectations:
Consistency Clause: Must reply to texts within ideal window to prevent attachment panic
Psychic Powers Clause: Must know when something is wrong even if not stated
Emotional Labour Clause: Must help process trauma without triggering your own
Past Sins Clause: Must heal emotional damage caused by exes, parents, or high school bullies
Forever Clause: Must pretend to know what forever means
This contract is why relationships feel safe at first but end up feeling like 24/7 unpaid emotional management internships with unclear promotion paths.
Romance: Capitalism’s Most Profitable Lie
Romance wasn’t invented by poets. It was invented by marketers.
Industry analysts estimate the global romance economy—weddings, engagement rings, Valentine’s Day, dating apps, get-your-ex-back courses—is worth more than $500 billion annually. Romance is a consumer industry, subsidized by insecurity and emotional FOMO.
De Beers invented the idea that engagement rings are an ancient tradition. They came up with the “two months salary” rule in 1938 to sell more diamonds. Before that, proposing involved zero diamonds and significantly fewer Instagram Reels.
Hollywood scripts romance because romance sells movie tickets. Jewelers push romance because romance sells rocks. Therapists monetize romance because relationships endlessly self-destruct. Dating apps literally depend on romance failing, or their user base would disappear overnight.
As sociologist Dr. Hannah Vecchio puts it:
“Romance is a psychological con—an alluring promise that emotional chaos can be cured through strategic pair bonding.”
What we call “true love” is just high-functioning mutual delusion, amplified by candlelight and flattering camera angles. Remove marketing from romance and what do you have left? Mammals negotiating territory.
Love Languages: Emotional Astrology
In 1992, Gary Chapman released The 5 Love Languages, and humanity never recovered. Overnight, we decided that adults communicating like emotionally mature mammals was too hard, so we turned love into BuzzFeed categories for the lonely.
According to the Love Languages gospel, you receive love in one of five ways:
Words of Affirmation
Acts of Service
Gifts
Quality Time
Physical Touch
Cute idea—but here’s the psychological reality: everyone likes all five, they just want them from someone attractive.Nobody is turning down a charming, emotionally intelligent, financially stable human offering acts of service and forehead kisses. It’s not a love language problem; it’s a taste problem.
The Love Languages framework works because it creates emotional legibility—a feeling of clarity without actual intimacy. It gives relationships something they desperately crave: structure that feels scientific but isn’t. Dr. Morgan Hale, relationship researcher, calls it:
“astrology for people who think they’re too smart for astrology.”
The Communication Industrial Complex
Therapists will tell you relationships fail due to poor communication. That’s like saying plane crashes only because of gravity.
Communication isn’t the problem. Honesty is the problem. When people say “we need to communicate better,” what they really mean is “I want to win this emotional negotiation without looking like an asshole.”
Real communication sounds like:
“I resent you for something I haven’t told you yet.”
“I want validation but not feedback.”
“I only apologize to restore peace, not because I’m wrong.”
“I’m scared you’ll stop loving me if I show you all of me.”
But instead we get:
“I feel like you’re not hearing me.”
“It’s the way you said it.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“We just need better boundaries.”
Communication isn’t a skill issue. It’s a courage issue.
Gender Roles: The Script Nobody Wants to Admit We’re Still Using
Men are taught to fear emotional vulnerability. Women are taught to fear abandonment. Nonbinary and gender-nonconforming folks are left to clean up the cultural chaos once everyone else has finished destroying their own nervous systems.
Men are told to:
be stable but not boring,
be confident but not arrogant,
be strong but sensitive,
pursue her but respect her space,
lead but don’t dominate,
and above all—never cry unless your dog dies.
Women are told to:
be independent but not intimidating,
be nurturing but not mother him,
be sexy but not trashy,
be chill but also deeply invested,
glow up but act like they woke up like that,
and above all—never age.
All of this turns relationships into a gender performance circus where nobody is allowed to be an unfiltered human being. We date concepts instead of people. Expectations instead of reality. We love idealized projections and break up with real humans.
Why Modern Relationships Fail (By Design)
Modern dating isn’t broken. It’s functioning perfectly. It creates anxious attachment revenue streams. Dating apps rely on dissatisfaction. Therapists depend on recurring clients. The market does not profit when you achieve emotional clarity—it profits when you compulsively check your phone at 2AM.
Breakups aren’t accidents; they’re structural inevitabilities built into an emotional economy that requires churn. As relationship historian Dr. Samuel Adari explains:
“Long-term monogamy is a post-agricultural survival strategy that doesn’t match modern emotional expectations.”
Translation: we want soulmate results on Tinder timelines. We want eternal loyalty with unlimited personal freedom. We want honesty without discomfort. We want connection without sacrifice. We want someone who will love us without ever witnessing who we are beneath the armor.
Relationships aren’t failing—they’re not real.
Monogamy: The Exclusive Subscription Model
Monogamy is the emotional equivalent of a phone contract—expensive, inflexible, and miserable to exit. It sells exclusivity as love when it’s actually ownership disguised as devotion.
We don’t warn teenagers that the hardest part of monogamy isn’t loyalty—it’s energetic discipline. It’s the constant management of your curiosity, boredom, and hormonal chaos. Monogamy is not natural. It is not unnatural. It’s just work—but nobody markets it that way. Instead we package it as romance, not maintenance.
Polyamory: Now with 3x the Chaos
Polyamory claims to transcend monogamy by rejecting ownership and embracing freedom. Beautiful concept. In practice? It’s Google Calendar on emotional steroids.
Polyamory doesn’t solve the problems of relationships—it multiplies them. Jealousy doesn’t vanish just because you wrote a Medium post about compersion. Insecurities don’t disappear just because you attended a workshop in Portland. Polyamory isn’t emotional enlightenment. It’s emotional CrossFit. Also completely made up.
Soulmates: Math Would Like a Word
There are 8 billion people on Earth. If soulmates are real, your odds of finding yours are astronomically shitty unless you believe God really wanted them to live 45 minutes away and also be into charcuterie boards.
The soulmate myth is spiritual gambling—people bet decades of life on the belief that emotional suffering becomes meaningful if you frame it as destiny. Soulmates are a coping mechanism for people terrified of randomness.
The Lie of “The One”
There is no “one.” There are many possible ones and whether you stay together depends entirely on emotional endurance, luck, and whether your conflict styles create a psychological demolition derby.
Love doesn’t find you when you least expect it. Love finds you when you stop using people as anesthesia. Or it doesn’t.
Why We Cling to the Illusion
If relationships are fake—why do we keep chasing them?
Because relationships provide:
Identity – Without a partner, who are you?
Narrative – Love gives life a story arc.
Validation – Someone choosing you means you matter.
Security Theater – Togetherness feels like safety.
Witnessing – The fear isn’t loneliness. It’s unseen-ness.
Humans don’t want relationships—we want a witness. We want someone to confirm our lives happened…or maybe it’s just been drilled into us so hard that we can’t see anything else.
Final Thought
Relationships aren’t real—not the way we’ve been taught to see them. The fairytales, the “one,” the destiny, the static connection, the clean happily-ever-after—they’re marketing. But love—the raw, ferocious human urge to know and be known—that’s probably real.
We just buried it under horseshit.
The good news? We can dig it out.
Not with romance.
With truth.