I once had a guy ask me – completely deadpan – if the reason I didn’t want to date him anymore was because my parents didn’t love me enough as a child. No joke. That was his closer. And to be fair, it did close things. Safe to say, the almost-relationship ended right there, emotionally face down in the Castle Street gravel.
But it got me thinking: what other deranged, unprovoked, therapist-should-hear-this things have we all been told, asked, or subjected to? Surely I wasn’t alone in dating someone who treated emotional intimacy like a non-contact sport. And so began the slow, slippery descent into the madness that is Dunedin’s dating pool – a swamp of vape breath, casual gaslighting, and the faint scent of Lynx Africa.
It turns out, the red flags here aren’t just waving – they’re building a bonfire and asking if you want to come inside for a cuddle, before stripping you of your dignity in unimaginably ridiculous ways. One girl confessed she made out with a guy who wouldn’t shut up about weed vapes and utility knives. Another ended up in a bedroom that doubled as a Monster Energy shrine – fifty empty cans stacked like cursed Jenga, radiating the energy of a teenage boy’s apocalypse bunker. And somehow? She still gave him a chance. We all do. Because in this economy? The dating bar isn’t low – it’s subterranean.
But the real horror starts when you zoom in on the mindset. It’s not just bad beverages and weirder hobbies – it’s a terrifying cocktail of male ego, unprocessed trauma, and YouTube philosophers. There’s the guy who insisted Mikhail Gorbachev was a great leader. Not because he had any meaningful grasp of history, but because name-dropping Cold War figures made him feel like he had depth – before he unironically queued up Juice WRLD like it was gospel. Or the one who wouldn’t stop reminding everyone he was in the “gifted class” in primary, as if that somehow excused the fact he now lives in a state of biohazard and treats foreplay like an urban myth.
Some red flags hit closer to the bone. One girl was told her boyfriend “couldn’t compliment her when she looked nice” because she might start expecting it. God forbid she feels loved consistently. Another had to block a male friend because she laughed at his joke. (Which, for the record, was probably funnier than the guy she was dating – and had better hair, too.) Someone else got pressured to go off her antidepressants. In week one. Like the serotonin was standing in the way of true love.
And yet, we persist. We squint past the warning signs like we’re trying to see the good in a Magic Eye puzzle. “He has emotional depth,” we tell ourselves, as he casually mentions he’d let a girl shit on his chest if she was hot enough. Maybe it’s love. Maybe it’s low standards and a fear of dying alone. Who’s to say?
Whether they’re sleeping sheetless on a mattress that hasn’t seen daylight since O-Week, or feeling personally threatened by Harry Styles, these men are real. And worse – they’re everywhere. Haunting your Tinder swipes, group chats, 2 am notifications with a “U up?” text, and the deepest, darkest corners of the Commerce building.
Take, for example, the classic case of spiritual rot: a guy who swore – on a dead girl’s grave, no less – that he wasn’t into his mate’s sister. Then went for her anyway. A bold use of the afterlife for such a weak-ass lie. Similarly, another boyfriend told his partner he didn’t have any time to see people, yet somehow managed to bike to other girls’ flats like a triathlon of betrayal. The cardio king of deceit.
And just when you think you’ve hit emotional rock bottom, in comes the guy who, after being gently dumped, pulled up the ex’s friend’s Instagram and said, “I wish you looked like her.” Honestly, if you're going to attempt a one-liner of psychological warfare, at least be hot enough to justify the trauma. He wasn’t. Not even close.
The dating pool isn't shallow – it's dried up, and the puddles are full of double standards, vague apologies, and guys who swear they were going to get you flowers… but didn't. One girl told us her ex had no job, lived with his mum (which is fine if you’re working on yourself), but then had the audacity to cheat. Like genuinely, what the fuck?
But these aren’t isolated horror stories whispered over wine. These are patterns. Tropes. Epidemics disguised as ex-boyfriends. And we’re not just here to be mean for sport – we’re here because, at some point, we have to say enough is enough: women deserve better than this. Better than a man who sees your boundaries as a personal attack. Better than vape-boy, lacks-a-shower-boy, or swore-on-a-dead-girl’s-grave-boy. (RIP to her, truly.)
You are not too emotional, too picky, or too intense. You are simply dealing with men who treat human connection like it’s a group project they forgot was due and now expect you to carry. And if they get away with it, they will – riding their bikes to other girls’ houses while texting you about how “busy” they are.
So if any of this feels a little too familiar: block him. Unfollow him. Light a candle. And next time, send his nonsense to us – because one girl’s red flag is another girl’s early warning system.