Some people talk about relationships like they are unboxing videos.
“If he wanted to, he would.”
As if the only proof of wanting you is receipts.
As if a 23 year old with 1.5 jobs and a spine full of anxiety is supposed to express love in handbags and surprise trips with soft lighting.
No context, no cost of living, no starting salary, no rent. Just vibes and luxury.
You scroll long enough and it starts to rewrite your brain. Some girl’s TikTok shows a man flying her out, buying three designer bags in one afternoon, booking a hotel whose lobby smells like money. Text over the video says “bare minimum.” Comments: “he just gets it.” Nobody mentions the part where this man is 34 with equity, or deep in debt, or cheating, or in a tax bracket you will not touch for another decade. They just drop the clip in your lap like a standard.
Now take a real 23 year old man. Not the internet composite.
The actual guy.
He wakes up in a rented room that smells faintly of dust and last night’s instant noodles. Phone alarm at 07:12. Balance in the bank app: in double digits, not triple. He showers, throws on the same work shirt again because the laundry machine in the building is broken. Commute on a packed bus where everyone looks like background characters in a game and still somehow exhausted.
He spends eight hours doing work that drains his eyes and pays just enough. Tries to look keen so someone, someday, might think he is promotion material. Eats lunch at his desk because breaks feel like a luxury for people with parents who still pay their phone bill. Maybe he picks up shifts on weekends. Maybe he is sending money home. Maybe he is quietly ignoring the fact that his tooth has hurt for three months because dentist prices are absurd.
He still shows up for the girl he likes. Not with Dior, but with things you cannot screenshot.
He walks her home in the rain when the Uber price surges. He learns how she takes her coffee and brings it in a cheap cup with her name written badly in pen. He remembers her brother’s exam date. He listens to her talk about her coworker for forty minutes, asking the right questions. He watches shows he does not care about, just to have references when she rants. He answers texts, not perfectly, but honestly. He tries.
He goes home, opens his phone, and sees a stranger saying that if he really wanted to, there would be plane tickets and five star restaurants. That bare hands building a future are not romantic enough.
Of course that does something to a person.
There is a nasty class undertone nobody wants to name.
When you say “if he wanted to, he would,” but your list of “would” is travel, luxury gifts, constant novelty, what you are actually saying is: love equals disposable income. You are equating a man’s feelings with his liquidity. The 23 year old who is working himself into the ground just to not drown hears that and translates it as “if I cannot afford spectacle, my care does not count.”
A lot of men will not admit that out loud.
They will say “girls are ungrateful.”
They will make jokes about gold diggers.
Underneath, there is that quiet shame: I am trying, and the world is telling me my trying is invisible unless I can dress it in logos.
Does that mean men should never plan dates, never put in effort, hide behind “I am broke” while doing nothing thoughtful. No. There is another ugly extreme where guys weaponize struggle to justify zero intention. Where they say “I am building my life” while spending on consoles and drinks and acting like walking to the park is a personality.
Effort is not dead. Standard is not the enemy.
But we have confused effort with spectacle.
The sweetest parts of most relationships never hit social media. They are not cinematic. They do not photograph well. Him sitting in a waiting room with you at 06:40 before a scary appointment. Him taking your call at 23:58 when you are spiraling and have already called the same three friends twice.
You know sometimes I gaslight myself into thinking that maybe I'm not as sick as I thought I was, but all it takes is one day of not taking meds on time. Nope, turns out it's just the miracles of modern medicine 😅