HER NEEDS: A Gen Z's view on the 'ick' culture of modern romance

Every week, PhilSTAR L!fe explores issues and topics from the perspectives of different age groups, encouraging healthy but meaningful conversations on why they matter. This is Generations by our Gen Z columnist Angel Martinez.

Picture this: You’re on a date with someone who seems like your perfect man.

Maybe he’s mysteriously handsome, like your first childhood crush, with a contrasting happy-go-lucky demeanor. He asks interesting questions, and answers yours with a rare and impressive level of substance. But just as you’re ready to daydream about him the entire way home, he screws up. You find out he still keeps his high school’s name in his Instagram bio—not his university, but just his high school! He still uses the word “bae” unironically like it’s 2015 all over again. He has a tacky tattoo of his mom’s name in an arrow heart. All of a sudden, the magic from the moment dissipates.

This is far from an isolated incident. It may sound callous and careless to some, I know. But any Gen Z girl looking for love or, at least, at members of the opposite sex is well aware of the “ick”—this urge to write someone off over the most insignificant factors.

Historically, women were not always as picky in romance: Marriage was once a mere vehicle for financial stability and economic mobility. But the liberties and privileges we enjoy today now include partnering up for love. With the media we’re exposed to conditioning us to believe in soulmates, why would we settle for anyone less than that? A 2023 survey commissioned by the dating service Seeking shows that out of 2,000 women, 49% said they ended a relationship because their date gave them the ick in some way, which most of us can attest to.

But I’ve been doing some reflecting lately, probably because I’m trying to get to the root of my perpetual singledom. It seems ick culture is furthering the dehumanization of our dating prospects and possibly contributing to a more miserable existence.

Though it may be hard to believe, the concept of the ick is rooted in an evolutionary biological response meant to protect us from danger: disgust. It’s how we know to stay away from partners that possess traits that could pose threats to our lineage, such as health or genetic risks, and how we affirm that the way we see the world is the right version of reality. 

However, how can we apply this logic to someone who wears socks with sandals or belts into a song mid-conversation? Besides the initial cringe attack, what’s the worst thing that might happen? Could it be that we’re only grabbing at reasons to leave them before we’re left behind? 

Our generation, after all, grew up in what fellow Gen Z writer Freya India deems the age of abandonment. Though the phenomenon is observable worldwide, its effects are particularly pronounced here in the Philippines, where our youth is considered the loneliest in Asia. One in three of us came from a broken family. To make matters worse, we’re situated in communities fragmented by the pandemic and the increased social media use that followed, according to Channel News Asia.

As Freya put it: Since we’ve spent so much of our formative years fending for ourselves, we may be conditioned to believe that no one has our backs. And so, the walls are up, even if other people are trying to get in. This defeatist mindset extends to the realm of love and dating, which we approach with caution that sometimes masquerades as crassness.

Add to that the advent of apps like Bumble and Tinder, which have flattened real and complex characters into mere caricatures that we can instantly swipe past. We don’t see people for who they are: We see a tastefully chosen picture or a few witty quips in response to some suggested prompts, which carry the burden of encapsulating their entire identity.

With or without their explicit admission, these platforms exacerbate these conditions. As users cycle through features designed to duplicate the dopamine rush of slot machines, they end up with the illusion of infinite choice. Why work on cultivating this existing relationship with a guy who listens to divorced dad rock or wears skinny jeans, if a match with a better music taste, sense of style, or overall compatibility could be another swipe away?

Maybe—just maybe!—our icks are a mere symptom of an underlying issue: our fear of a deeper connection, our refusal to put in more emotional investment, or our desire for attention and validation rather than who they actually are as a person.

Sometimes, in our individualistic pursuit of happiness, we forget that not everyone is playing it cool or looking for something casual. Modern self-help gurus might tell us that we don’t owe anybody anything, and social media might trick us into thinking that all our interactions carry a degree of impermanence. But let’s not forget: We’re dealing with real people with real feelings, who have to bear the consequences of our actions on top of everything else they have going on in their lives.

Of course, this isn’t an invitation to entertain just anybody who comes along in fear of being left behind. The next time we’re ready to cancel someone on the basis of the most superficial factors, we might want to ask ourselves: Is this actually a dealbreaker, or is this an ick? Is this a harmless pet peeve that might evolve into an endearing quirk over time, or is this truly an irreconcilable difference?

Perhaps it’s our desire for instant gratification that has us believing that we need sparks flying or butterflies swarming from the initial conversation, or else we’re doomed. But if we keep holding out for an elusive “someone better,” we shouldn’t be surprised if we eventually end up with nobody.

Because let’s face it, real love is a lot of hard work—or so I’ve been told. It’s a conscious decision to accommodate, negotiate, and see past flaws. It’s being vulnerable enough with ourselves to know that deep down, in spite of everything, we want to be vulnerable with someone else, too.

For research purposes, I asked my mom—a bonafide Gen Xer—if she ever felt the ick (or in her language, felt turned off) with my dad when she first met him. 

“No,” she answered instantly. 

“Really? What about the way he would always walk with his head held high, or how he wouldn’t stop speaking in English?” I suggested, based on previous stories I heard from the early days of their courtship. 

She paused to think for a bit, before finally saying, “These weren’t turn-offs. I guess they were signs that I should get to know him more. And when I did, there was no turning back.”

Generations by Angel Martinez appears weekly at PhilSTAR L!fe.