I have a confession: I’m kind of a situationship connoisseur. A situationship survivalist. A master of the undefined. Honestly, I’ve probably been in more situationships than I’ve had actual relationships. At this point, I feel like I could teach a masterclass. (Step one: don’t ask “what are we” unless you’re ready to hear “uhhh…” as the answer.)
Let’s face it—situationships are kind of fun. They’re low-commitment, high-drama, and thrive in that gray area where anything is possible. You can have all the perks of a relationship without the messy part where you have to meet their mom or figure out who gets the cat if things go south. It’s like a choose-your-own-adventure book, except the ending is always ambiguous and the plot makes you cry a little too often.
I’ve done it all: the situationship that felt like an indie rom-com, complete with late-night drives and sharing playlists; the one where I wasn’t sure if we were dating or if I was just really good at convincing myself we were; and, of course, the classic “you up?” situationship, where 90% of our communication happened at midnight. (Spoiler: I was always, tragically, up.)
Here’s the thing—they always start off great. The casualness feels refreshing. You tell yourself, “I’m chill, I don’t need a label, I’m basically the human version of a cropped leather jacket.” You’re independent, unbothered and totally fine with things being undefined. You say this to yourself repeatedly while staring at your phone, wondering if they’ll ever text back.
But the truth about situationships is they exist in this weird middle ground where no one knows the rules. Are we exclusive? Are we even dating? Can I post a picture of us on my story, or will that send them into a full-blown panic attack? Every text feels like a negotiation: “If I say I miss you, will they run for the hills or say it back? Wait—did I just ruin everything?”
Eventually, though, the cracks start to show. Like the time I casually asked, “Do you want to hang out this weekend?” and was hit with, “Oh, I’m busy. Also, what we have is so special, I don’t want to ruin it by making it a thing.” And yet, somehow, I stayed. Why? Because situationships have this magical way of making you believe it’s totally fine. Maybe I don’t need a label. Maybe “I’m busy” is actually romantic in some bizarre way.
Breaking up with a situationship is also its own special brand of chaos. It’s not like a normal breakup where you can point to a moment and say, “That’s when it all went wrong.” Instead, it’s this slow, awkward fade-out, where one day you realize they haven’t texted in weeks, and you’re like, “Wait, did we just break up without actually being together?”
And the aftermath? Even weirder. You can’t do the classic breakup rituals like sobbing into a pint of Ben & Jerry’s or blasting Adele because, technically, you weren’t in a relationship. Instead, you’re left sitting there like, “Am I even allowed to be sad about this? Do I text my friends about it or just pretend it never happened?”
But despite all the mess, I have to admit—I don’t regret my situationships. They’ve taught me a lot, like how to decode the world’s vaguest texts (“What’s up?” can mean anything from “I miss you” to “I’m bored and you’re convenient”) and how to set boundaries (even if I had to learn the hard way).
So, to all my fellow situationship survivors: embrace the chaos. Let yourself fall into the undefined, knowing you’ll come out with a few more stories and a lot more clarity about what you don’t want. Because one day, when the right person comes along, you’ll know exactly what you deserve—and it’s way more than a 2 a.m. “you up?” text.
Here’s to messy feelings, vague texts, and the unmatched chaos of almost-love.
Confessions of a Hot Mess is a candid and relatable column by Emily Hess, where she dives into the highs and lows of navigating college life and your twenties. Through personal stories about boys, friendships, love and family, COHM unpacks the messy, beautiful chaos of growing up. From heartbreaks and betrayals to moments of self-discovery, she offers an honest look at the challenges and triumphs that come with this transformative time in life. Each week, readers can expect raw insights, witty anecdotes and reflections on the messy process of becoming.
Confessions of a Hot Mess is the personal work of Emily Hess. The opinions expressed in this column, as well as those published in The Nevada Sagebrush, are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of The Sagebrush or its staff. Hess is a student at the University of Nevada studying journalism. She can be reached at emilyhess@sagebrush.unr.edu and on Twitter @emilyghess3.
