When Did Wanting A Husband Become Controversial?

If you had asked my 22-year-old self where I thought I’d be in ten years, my answer was simple. I’d be a wife to a loving husband, a mother to an adorable child (or two), and work as a writer. Nearly a decade later, I’m proud to say I work as a freelance writer, but I have yet to achieve my dream of becoming a wife and mother. It’s not the timeline I imagined, but I’m not interested in grieving a plan. I still want marriage and motherhood, and I’m not going to pretend otherwise just because the culture finds that inconvenient.

I knew I craved romance in my life from an early age. I was lucky not only to be raised by parents deeply in love with each other, but also to have admired my maternal grandparents, who were married for over 60 years before they both passed away. Both couples had sweet love stories. My grandparents grew up in the same Brooklyn neighborhood, where my grandfather asked my grandmother out on her friend’s stoop after he finished his service in the US Army. On their first date, he surprised her by taking her to see Frank Sinatra in Manhattan. They were married for over sixty years before they both passed away in 2016 and 2017.

My parents first met in college through mutual friends, but didn’t start dating until they were in their mid-twenties and went on a successful blind date. Every year, they not only celebrate their wedding anniversary but also acknowledge the anniversary of their first date. Three decades of marriage later, they still tell each other how much they love one another every day.

I refuse to give up on love.

I remember flipping through my parents’ wedding album and dreaming of my big day as I played dress-up in my princess dresses. As I watched my favorite Disney movies with my cousins and sisters, I used to dream of a fairy tale life with my future husband that (minus the castles, ballgowns, and talking animal friends) looked a lot like my parents’ and grandparents' marriage.

As I got older, I craved real-life romance. I imagined a high school relationship as beautiful and perfect as Steve and DJ from Full House or Troy and Gabriella from High School Musical. I wrote my first name alongside the last names of my crushes, daydreaming about my future wedding, but that type of romance wasn’t in the cards for me.

After graduation, I thought about how my parents and several aunts and uncles met in college, and I hoped I would have similar luck. While I tried my best to avoid hookup culture and met (and sometimes dated) really great guys, marrying my college sweetheart didn't happen for me either. This brings me to my post-college years, where I really noticed both a broken dating culture and the rise in romantic cynicism.

The Normalization of Romantic Cynicism

Our current dating environment isn’t what I imagined for myself when I was younger. I always pictured the years between graduating from college and getting married as a relatively short yet fun period of my life, full of adventure and romantic dates as I tried to find my future husband. Part of this didn’t come true because it’s not always realistic (turns out, life isn’t a rom-com), but it would be naive to pretend our current cultural attitudes toward dating don’t play a role.

We see examples everywhere. From clothing brands selling sweaters that say “dump him” to viral TikToks about young women decentering men, the rise of casual misandry seems to be related to romantic cynicism. It’s easy to argue that it’s just a rebranded version of the “men are trash” mentality, but its mid-2020s version is far more pessimistic and borderline fatalistic. The virality of pieces by The New York Times Magazine titled “The Trouble With Wanting Men” and “Is Having A Boyfriend Embarrassing Now?” in Vogue proves this line of thinking is popular among young women, and it’s sad.

It’s easier to complain about how hard things are than actually put in the work to find someone.

The hard truth is it's difficult to be a romantic optimist right now because the dating landscape can be… bleak. Dating app fatigue has us craving real-life connections, but it’s hard to have a meet-cute in the Starbucks line when everyone is glued to their phones. On a macro level, political division between men and women is stark, and plenty of bad-faith actors exploit this in online spaces. It can be tempting to fall into the trap of romantic cynicism because it’s easier to complain about how hard things are than actually put in the work to find someone. Is it difficult? Obviously. But difficulty isn’t a reason to quit. It’s a filter.

It’s so easy to fall into romantic cynicism that I’ve fallen into the trap myself, but cynicism never once made my life better. Optimism has. And at this point, staying romantic in a culture that mocks it feels like its own kind of defiance.

The logical conclusion of casual misandry and romantic cynicism is women giving up on dating and romance. While every woman has a right to make her own choice regarding how she wants to live her life, it becomes a problem when women are outright shamed for craving romance. I experienced it myself back in college, and what struck me as odd was that my friends and I, who wanted more traditional futures, were never rude to the women who wanted different futures. While it’s gotten better since college, I still hear snide comments like, “But don’t you like your independence?” or “Why would you let a man drag you down?” I do value my independence. I’ve built a life I’m proud of. But wanting a partner doesn’t undo any of that. If anything, it only adds to it.

Vilifying romance is so normalized in our culture (even Olivia Dean got hate for “pushing trad wife propaganda” simply for wearing dresses and celebrating romance) that sometimes I found myself falling into it. I was so tired of dating app conversations that led nowhere and guys who said they wanted a relationship, but just wanted to hook up. But after a while, I realized that complaining about it wouldn’t solve anything and that just sitting around waiting for love to come find me wasn’t realistic. I wasn’t destined to be alone forever because I’m still single; I just haven’t met my future husband yet. I had to change the way I dated and my mindset, dropping the cynicism changed everything. Not because my circumstances changed overnight, but because I stopped bracing for disappointment and started leaving room for something good.

It’s a refusal to succumb to cultural despair and nihilism in a society that rewards it.

When I’m not working as a writer, I work at a local library. One day, a cute guy, probably only a few years older than me, came to ask me a question while I was working at the front desk. We chatted for a few minutes as he told me about his taste in books, his new job, and his close relationship with his family. By the time he left, a coworker of mine told me she picked up flirty vibes from the conversation, and I cursed myself for not getting his name. To my surprise, he came in the next day and made a beeline for my place at the desk. He was quick to mention he’d been there the day before and asked for my help in finding something. After I finished helping him, he said, “See you next time,” and left. I was so giddy that I didn’t even realize I’d missed asking for his name… again.

I wish I could say I’ve seen him since, but I haven’t. I keep reminding myself that what is meant to be will be and that I know a few married couples who met on a whim and eventually found their way back to each other. But what does this have to do with embracing romantic optimism? That's the whole point.

If I were a cynic, I would have forgotten this interaction or wrote it off as just another day at work or even resented him for approaching me at all, but being a romantic optimist made it somewhat whimsical. I choose to wake up every day wondering if that’s the day I’ll meet my future husband, and sometimes I head into work wondering if today will be the day I see my mystery man (or as my coworkers call him, Prince Charming) again. Even if he’s not the one for me, it was still a fun interaction that reminded me of how exciting and beautiful flirting can be. Some people would call that naive. I’d call it paying attention to your life instead of sleepwalking through it.

I choose to wake up every day wondering if that’s the day I’ll meet my future husband.

The library interaction wasn’t the only spark I’ve felt, though. Shifting to having more serious conversations on dating apps (even though it leads to fewer matches) has allowed me to make great connections. For the first time in what feels like forever, I find myself smiling at my phone when a guy texts me, and instead of overanalyzing it or pretending I don’t care, I just let myself enjoy it.

Some may argue it’s naive to crave romance right now because of the state of the world, but living during chaotic times is nothing new. Many of our grandparents lived through global conflicts like World War II, but still pursued romance. What makes us any different? In a culture and media landscape that seems determined to divide us and make us as miserable as possible, choosing romantic joy is a small yet effective form of rebellion. It’s a refusal to succumb to cultural despair and nihilism in a society that rewards it. Sure, some may argue that it’s not that deep, but what if it is? What if the most radical thing a woman can do in 2026 is simply refuse to stop wanting love?