When it comes to marriage, Gen Z is willing to wait
There’s a scene in the 2002 film Got 2 Believe—one of Philippine cinema’s classic crashouts—where Claudine Barretto’s character cries over a family curse. Legend says she’ll be an old maid if she fails to marry by the age of 25, their so-called ‘finish line.’ A distraught Rico Yan spends the rest of the movie molding her into wife material while proving that he is indeed the standard for local leading men.
I’m aware suspension of disbelief is required when watching romantic comedies. But the sheer stupidity of this conversation never struck me until now—now that I’m 25 as well, with much to accomplish for myself before I share my life with a man.
Many seem to share this sentiment, with the latest data from the Philippine Statistics Authority pointing to a decline in marriage rates. Civil and church unions among Filipinos dwindled by 10.2% since 2023—and if it were up to our generation, numbers would continue to fall. Only 40% of Gen Z respondents say they want to get married someday, and of that demographic, a significant 60% prefer to wed after the age of 35.
But while statistics would state otherwise, I don’t think it’s because we’re against the institution as a whole. Marriage is just no longer the prerequisite it once was, but a mere nice-to-have.
Back then, marriage’s primary purpose was to “bind women to men” and ensure the legitimacy of biological heirs. Women at the time bought into the idea, choosing potential partners to boost their status and improve their lives. Without the right to vote or access to education, there wasn’t much going on for them besides raising children.
Here in the Philippines, the sacrament is seen as “something everyone was expected to do,” as relationship expert and psychologist Mezhal Ulao tells PhilSTAR L!fe. “It was almost automatic—finish school, get a job, get married.” This tried-and-tested path to lifelong stability was traditionally seen as a familial duty: Marriage was seen as an alliance between clans, with parents “exercising a large degree of control over their children’s relationship decisions.” Unsurprisingly, women were sent off early, with 22 being the average age of brides in the 60s.
Could you imagine that degree of meddling in today’s dating scene? Ulao finds that “exposure to global ideas, more open talks regarding boundaries, and less pressure to follow traditional timelines” pushed Gen Z to prioritize intention and true love. Instead of rushing into relationships, today’s young adults view it as a “long-term, emotionally driven commitment”: one that cannot be achieved without personal growth, career stability, and financial independence.
Jenna’s (not her real name) greatest childhood dream was to get married, a desire that further solidified when she met her current partner. “I never realized how expensive it is to make this dream come true, because it doesn’t just stop at the wedding. Building a life with someone in this economy is impossible to achieve,” she tells L!fe. Consequently, cohabitations are on the rise, with more economically insecure couples opting to skip the expensive ceremony and customs altogether.
Others watched their own parents suffer the consequences of early commitment, like Vanessa. “[My parents] were two people who didn’t expect to have a family together. They weren’t supposed to end up [together]. It’s no wonder there was so much hurt and resentment [in their relationship],” she shares.
Despite being in a long-term relationship, she claims she’s in no hurry to tie the knot: “I don’t want to make the same mistakes they did. I want to be 110% sure. 150% nga, if kaya.”
As a result, it’s become common for Zers to become pickier than ever in pursuit of a potential partner. Liv, a med student, says that many people in her life “are aiming to only date for marriage or at least long-term commitment, given the demands of our career. There’s not really a lot of time to find a man, settle down, or even get married.”
Musician and artist Kiana (not her real name), on the other hand, tells L!fe that while she’s not against the concept of marriage at all, “what [she doesn’t] trust are the men of this generation. Even if you want to put your trust in someone else, sometimes you’re hit with the realization that at the end of the day, they’re still a man and they can let you down.”
Meanwhile, members of the LGBTQ+ community have no choice but to put off marriage, as mandated by the state. “For them, marriage isn’t just a matter of romance: it means being recognized and respected, ensuring legal protection for their partners, and hoping that society sees their love as valid,” Ulao explains.
While Raf, a gay man, is very enthusiastic about the prospect of marriage, it’s for comparatively sadder reasons. “This is a right my community is deprived of, something we feel we should experience alongside everyone else but find ourselves yearning for. Of course, I’m more excited than most for the day we finally have it,” he says.
So until these requirements are met, we’re willing to wait and wait and wait. Our elders may not be too happy to hear it, and will bombard us with intrusive questions during upcoming reunions for sure. But there’s no such thing as a finish line when what’s up ahead is the beginning of a new life. If what’s in store is a lifelong commitment rooted in mutual trust and readiness, then that doesn’t look like a curse at all.
