Committed to Avoiding Commitment

I met this guy on a dating app. Seemed nice — self-aware, emotionally available (or pretending very convincingly), and he liked dogs. We vibed over overpriced sushi and trauma bonding, and for a moment I thought — hmm, could this be one of those rare ones who actually want to build something real? So, at some point between his third whiskey and my misplaced optimism, I asked, “So, do you ever think about getting married? Having kids someday?”

Big mistake. Rookie move.

He blinked like I’d asked him if he believed the Earth was flat. And then he launched into the standard GenZennial monologue: “Marriage is a social construct. I mean, do we need to define love in legal terms? And kids? Don’t you think it’s selfish to bring another human into this burning planet?”

And just like that, we were done.

But here’s the thing — this wasn’t a one-off. This has been a pattern. An exhausting, increasingly common pattern where commitment is treated like a scam, marriage like a jail sentence, and babies like ticking time bombs. I can’t tell you how many dating app bios I’ve swiped past that say “Not looking for anything serious,” or “Just seeing where this goes,” or the worst of them all: “Emotionally intelligent but anti-institution.” Like, bro. What even is that? Are you a philosophy thesis?

Somewhere in the last decade, something broke. Maybe it was the job market, or our parents’ marriages, or the existential dread of living through pandemics and recessions and global warming. But the end result is this: more and more people around me — smart, successful, self-aware people — simply don’t want to get married. Or have children. Or even talk about either without physically recoiling.

And honestly? It’s starting to feel a little dystopian. Like I’m living in this alternate reality where brunch, skincare, plant parenting, and solo vacations have replaced the idea of creating a life with someone else. Where the idea of actually investing in another human being — not in a fun, flirty, “let’s take a trip to Himachal together” kind of way but in the “let’s build a home, a future, a family” kind of way — has become laughable.

And sure, I get it. It’s hard. The economy is a joke. Therapy is expensive. Parenting looks like an unpaid 24/7 internship in emotional regulation and bankruptcy. Kids cost more than a B-school degree. Marriage looks like a bad idea when half the couples you know are either divorced or quietly miserable. So we stay single, or situationshipped, or forever “not ready.” We take pride in healing, in being independent, in choosing freedom over nappies.

But somewhere between the boundary setting and the vibing, I can’t help but wonder: are we being brave, or are we just scared? Scared of being stuck. Scared of choosing wrong. Scared of getting hurt. Scared of not being enough. So we push away anything that might demand too much of us — relationships, responsibility, roots. We tell ourselves it’s evolved to not want marriage or kids. That we’re better, smarter, freer.

But then why do so many of us — deep down, in moments we don’t post online — feel lonely? Why do we flinch at weddings but still secretly save baby name lists in our Notes app? Why do we keep saying “never” like a threat we’re hoping someone will talk us out of?

I’m not saying everyone has to want kids or get married. Of course not. Some people genuinely don’t. And that’s fine, healthy even. But there’s a difference between not wanting something, and being too afraid to want it out loud. Because wanting something that vulnerable in a world this flaky? That takes guts. And let’s face it — commitment isn’t cringe. It’s courage.

So yeah, maybe I’ll keep matching with men who just want to vibe. Maybe I’ll keep dodging the ones who treat the idea of babies like a government conspiracy. Maybe I’ll keep pretending I’m cool with it. But between you, me, and this Google Doc, I still believe in love. And homes. And children who grow up knowing what safety feels like.

So if you’re one of those people who says, “I don’t believe in marriage,” or “Kids are a burden,” or “Let’s just see where this goes”… I get it. I really do. But one day, when the noise dies down and the dopamine hits wear off and the brunch tables are quieter — you might realise you said no to something before you even understood what you were turning down.

And that? That would be the real tragedy.