In this op-ed, Gabby Burke wonders what happened to teen romance in the Snapchat era, examining the state of dating culture for youth.
When I was 13, someone told me that if I didn’t kiss a boy by 16, my chances of dying alone would go up by 60%. The science was questionable, but the damage was real. I’m now 17, unkissed, and statistically doomed, I guess — but very much still here. And maybe more confused than ever.
I’m 17 years old and I’ve never had a serious relationship. I don’t use Snapchat or participate in any kind of online dating, which, in 2025, is basically the same thing as not having a social life at all. I rarely post on the social media I do have and I keep a close circle of friends in real life.
Data shows that my lack of social media use is not average for someone my age, but the dating aspect isn’t so atypical — at least according to 2015 statistics, the most recent I could find, showing that only about one-third of teens at the time had ever been in a romantic relationship. Still, the idea of teen romance looms large in our culture, and in my teenage mind (every time I see my aunt, she reliably asks if there are “any new boys,” so I know I’m not alone in my interest). But because of that social media piece, teen dating is, in my opinion, unrecognizable based on what it once was.
Hallway flirting has been largely replaced by Snapchat streaks; “do you want to hang out after school?” has disintegrated into DMs or cryptic Instagram stories. Asking someone out is cringe, swapped for “hanging out” or “talking,” probably defined differently based on who you ask.
So, what happened to the kind of high school romance my aunt is constantly asking about? Why are the new rules of dating so... weird?
Let’s start with the obvious: social media. While it’s easy to pin all the blame on Instagram and TikTok, I don’t think it’s the sole villain in this story; it’s more like the instigator. A lot of kids my age grew up watching YouTubers like Piper Rockelle and Lev Cameron post weekly videos about how “in love” they were — posting Q&A’s about their romances, getting their partners lavish gifts, uploading full-blown music videos about their relationship. It was all curated, polished, sometimes fake, and all public. Somewhere along the way, that became the blueprint. Love was no longer about quiet moments, it was about Instagram highlights, public declarations, and aesthetic couple selfies. Relationships became performance art — and when everything’s public, it’s easy for things to fall apart under the spotlight.
Now, even crushes are being reposted on TikTok. And when people do date, the world might know before their best friends do. We’ve stopped talking about our relationships with our mouths — we post them.
But if some teens are too open, others are too scared to even try. I fall into the second category. I’m a busy teen with a strict no-Snapchat policy (I just don't like the idea of an app that facilitates avoiding real conversations). In fact, I use social media to watch The Costco Guys, and that’s about it. I don’t post much, and I don’t flirt online — which, apparently, means I don’t exist romantically.
I’m not alone. I’ve seen sweet, kind, totally normal teenage girls get torn apart for not dating. It’s as if these online dalliances seem to serve as “proof” that we’re desirable, and opting out of that confuses, and even enrages, some people. But in what feels like a homogenous landscape, putting myself out there, especially online, feels like an emotional risk I’m not ready to take. It’s not uncommon for teens like me to be afraid to be themselves, as we figure out exactly who ourselves actually are. But in our current online era, when our every move feels scrutinized and we’re vulnerable to being accused of acting “cringe,” the stakes feel even higher.
So, here we are, stuck in the emotional limbo of situationships and flirty memes and secret DMs. I’m all for taking your time, but there’s something unsettling about how normal it’s become to half-date. To keep things vague. To never ask the question, “So... what are we?” (Spoiler alert: If you have to ask, you already know the answer. )
The wildest part? Teens still want love — or at least I do. I know I’m not alone in feeling terrified of doing it wrong, of being too much, or not enough. Of loving someone who won’t text back. Or worse — someone who leaves you on read.
We grew up in a world that told us love should be public, but our feelings should be private. That we should be desirable but detached. Open but mysterious. Committed but not too committed.
Is it any wonder that I’m confused and scared about seeking love?
Maybe it’s Tinder. Maybe it’s TikTok. Maybe it’s COVID. Or maybe high school love was never as magical as the movies made it out to be — we just really want it to be real. Either way, I am 17, still without a situationship, still not on Snapchat, still without a roster, still kind of okay with it and kind of not.
