So, this just in: People still have a weird, sanctimonious obsession with women’s bodies.

Shocking, I know.

A team of researchers—undoubtedly fueled by caffeine and the existential dread of living in a society—published a study in the European Journal of Social Psychology confirming what women have been muttering under their breath for centuries: their bodies are judged through a moral lens way more than men’s.

It’s as if, upon birth, women receive an invisible tag that reads:

“Public Property: Subject to Societal Scrutiny.” The study suggests that when it comes to bodily autonomy—decisions about appearance, health, or simply existing in a body—people are much more likely to cast these choices as moral quandaries if the body in question belongs to a woman.

Men, on the other hand, apparently get a free pass to make all kinds of bodily decisions without a chorus of disapproving murmurs. Lucky them.

You’re here because your husband is yelling at you, and you’re trying to figure out why.

Maybe he’s always been this way. Maybe it’s new. Maybe it’s getting worse.

Maybe you find yourself shrinking when he starts. And maybe, in a moment of solitude, you grabbed your phone, typed this question into Google, and paused before hitting search.

Because something about the question feels like a failure. Like you should already know the answer.

But you don’t.

And you are not alone.

So many women are typing this into Google that it auto-fills in the search bar. This isn’t a you problem. This is an epidemic.

And, thankfully, science has been studying this.

If you’ve stumbled upon the phrase “my wife is from a thousand years ago,” congratulations, you are officially lost in the existential fog of the internet. Welcome. We have snacks.

This delightful little meme has been making the rounds, usually attached to a photo of some poor soul marveling at his spouse’s old-fashioned sensibilities.

Maybe she refuses to microwave leftovers, preferring to revive them on the stove like an ancient alchemist.

Maybe she washes Ziploc bags with the painstaking reverence of a medieval scribe preserving sacred texts.

Or maybe, just maybe, she insists that tea must be made with loose leaves and reverence, as though the ghosts of her ancestors will materialize to judge her if she dares use a bag.

Imagine waking up one day and realizing your spouse isn’t just a liar—he’s a work of fiction.

That’s exactly what happened to Tareasa "Reesa Teesa" Johnson.

In February 2024, she did something extraordinary: she turned personal devastation into a masterclass in digital storytelling.

Her 50-part TikTok series, "Who TF Did I Marry?" captivated over 400 million viewers with its tale of love, deception, and the slow-motion unraveling of a man who turned out to be more illusion than reality.

But beneath the surface of her saga lies a fascinating psychological case study in wounded narcissism, a term used to describe folks whose self-image is so fragile they construct elaborate fantasies to sustain it.

Once upon a time, in the not-so-distant past, people met their future spouses through friends, at parties, or after a prolonged period of staring awkwardly across a crowded room.

But now? Now, love is a multi-billion-dollar industry with algorithms, swipes, and a whole lot of existential crises.

With around 350 million people globally relying on dating apps and the industry raking in over $5 billion annually, we can confidently say that romance has been thoroughly monetized.

In Australia, for example, 49% of adults have used a dating app or website, while an additional 27% dipped their toes into the digital dating pool at some point.

And yet, in this brave new world of curated profiles and bio-optimized romance, something seems amiss.

If the 21st century had a patron saint of infidelity, it would be Esther Perel.

She is the high priestess of complexity, the shaman of sexual transgression, the goddess of "we should really talk about this more openly."

But what if, just what if, some hurt partners feel less like participating in a TED Talk on the joys of deception, and more like curling up in the fetal position with a pint of Häagen-Dazs?

Perel’s rise to relationship guru superstardom is no accident.

She is a spellbinding speaker. She is elegant, erudite, and, let’s be honest, charmingly European.

Her books, Mating in Captivity and The State of Affairs, have been devoured by those looking for a new lens on long-term love. And yet, in the dimly lit corners of the internet, a quiet but firm rebellion against her gospel has been brewing.

College students, armed with smartphones and hormones, have turned to dating apps like Tinder and Bumble with the fervor of prospectors panning for gold—except the gold here is more ephemeral and often comes with a disclaimer.

A recent study published in Computers in Human Behavior finds that college students using these apps are more likely to engage in risky sexual behavior.

The twist? Boredom appears to be a key motivator for women seeking connections, while both men and women share an appetite for excitement.

This revelation paints hookup apps not just as matchmakers, but as modern boredom busters—with consequences.

Gen Z’s evolving views on marriage highlight a significant shift—one where romance is increasingly detached from commitment.

Economic realities, digital culture, and a preference for authenticity over idealism drive their approach to relationships.

For Gen Z, love is often secondary to partnership.

According to Pew Research (2024), 79% of respondents value marriage as a tool for financial and emotional stability rather than a romantic ideal.

Rising costs and job precarity mean that relationships are often evaluated through a practical lens.

Historically, lavender marriages—unions between a man and a woman designed to conceal one partner’s sexual orientation—emerged during an era when societal norms rigidly defined love and family.

Popularized in Hollywood’s golden age, these arrangements were pragmatic solutions to moral scrutiny and career protection.

Today, lavender marriages are experiencing an unexpected revival, but for different reasons. Gen Z, navigating a world of skyrocketing housing costs, student debt, and fragile job markets, is reimagining these unions as practical partnerships for survival.

Marriage, for many, has evolved into a strategic social contract rather than a purely romantic pursuit.

It turns out middle-aged men are the power users of dating apps—swiping more, using more platforms, and staying longer than women.

According to The International Journal of Clinical and Health Psychology, men aren’t just chasing flings—they’re navigating a complex digital social ecosystem.

Let's unravel the whole saga, complete with science, psychology, and a bit of existential humor.

There you are, scrolling mindlessly through your phone, ignoring your partner’s voice in the background.

Not maliciously. Not intentionally.

Just the kind of ignoring that happens when a human being has been married or partnered for longer than six weeks.

And then, suddenly, it appears—the meme. The one with the exhausted-looking couple in a Target parking lot. The caption reads: "Married for 20 years. Argued the entire car ride. Still holding hands on the way in."

You snort. You show it to your partner. They snort. Neither of you apologizes for whatever nonsense you were arguing about earlier.

This is love.

Once upon a time, before TikTok algorithms could decide our dating personas, people simply were.

Now, thanks to the vast neural net of social media, we find ourselves choosing between two archetypes that have taken over modern romance: Brat and Demure.

They are two sides of the same performative coin, and like all good internet memes, they probably started as a joke. But here we are.