On August 14, 2025, two articles—one by Johanna Ferreira for PS Juntos and another by Professor Katherine Twamley for The Conversation—cast a revealing spotlight on a generational shift in attitudes toward dating, romance, and relationships. Their perspectives, rooted in both personal experience and academic research, offer a window into why increasing numbers of women, especially among Latinas and Generation Z, are choosing to deprioritize romantic pursuits, embrace celibacy, or even reject the traditional relationship script altogether.
For Ferreira, a Latina and the eldest daughter of Dominican immigrants, the journey to decentering romance began with a simple but radical idea: what if life didn’t revolve around finding a partner? Drawing inspiration from pop culture icons like Samantha in Sex and the City, Ferreira found comfort in the notion that women could be their own soulmates, and that men could be “just these great nice guys to have fun with.” She notes, “In Samantha’s world, Samantha came first.” This philosophy, once considered radically feminist, now finds resonance among a growing number of women who advocate for “decentering men” or going “boy sober.”
Ferreira’s experience is not isolated. She points to the South Korean 4B movement—a radical feminist initiative where women pledge not to date, marry, have children, or engage in sexual intimacy with men—as a powerful example. The movement’s “four nos” have stirred debate far beyond Korea, with many American women now embracing dating breaks or celibacy as a response to misogyny and patriarchy. Ferreira clarifies that her own choice isn’t about rejecting men wholesale. Instead, she believes, “life becomes a lot more enriching when we don’t make it all about dating, sex, and finding a romantic connection.”
This perspective is especially striking given her cultural background. Ferreira describes growing up in a family that, while rooted in Dominican traditions valuing family and often celebrating men, never pressured her to marry or have children. She credits her parents for prioritizing education, career, and faith over traditional milestones. “Even now, when I’m 39, my dad still reminds me that my future partner will come in God’s timing—that I shouldn’t give it too much thought,” she writes. Her father’s pride in her independence stands in contrast to the pressures many Latinas feel from extended family and cultural expectations.
But Ferreira’s story also reveals the emotional toll of modern dating. After ending a nearly decade-long relationship that spanned her twenties, she found the world of dating apps and speed dating “exhausting and often insincere.” The pressure to date, amplified by reminders of her “biological clock,” led her to join apps like Bumble and Hinge—even when her heart wasn’t in it. She reflects, “Dating can be exhausting. It takes time and energy. The apps are full of toxic love bombers disguised as ‘the potential one.’” Ultimately, she realized that these efforts were draining her, and that genuine connections often emerged only when dating was the last thing on her mind.
Ferreira’s embrace of celibacy and dating breaks aligns with a broader societal trend. According to Professor Twamley’s analysis in The Conversation, Generation Z is experiencing a marked decline in sexual activity and a growing disillusionment with traditional romantic relationships. Data from the National Survey of Family Growth show that between 2022 and 2023, 24% of men and 13% of women aged 22 to 34 reported no sexual activity in the past year—a significant uptick compared to previous years. In the UK, similar trends are reported: surveys reveal a downward trajectory in both sexual activity and dating app usage, particularly among straight Gen Z individuals.
What’s fueling this shift? Twamley identifies a complex web of political, social, and economic factors. One major theme is the “gendered political divide” among young people. Election data from several countries indicate that women aged 18 to 29 are becoming more liberal, while their male peers are trending more conservative. A recent multinational study found that Gen Z is more divided on gender equality issues than previous generations. These political rifts, Twamley argues, are making romantic connections more fraught. “Political disagreements that once could have been overcome in a relationship have now become deeply personal,” she observes, especially as they touch on issues like reproductive rights and experiences of misogyny.
Persistent gender inequalities also play a critical role. Twamley notes that, despite advances, women in heterosexual couples in the UK still do 60% more unpaid domestic work than men—a gap that persists even when both partners work full-time. This imbalance, she explains, contributes to a phenomenon dubbed “heteropessimism”—a sense of disenchantment with heterosexual relationships, often marked by irony, detachment, or frustration. “Many women express weariness with the gender inequalities that can appear in relationships with men,” Twamley writes, adding that research shows women are, on average, happier single than men.
The South Korean 4R (4B) movement exemplifies how gender stereotypes and inequality can drive women to reject traditional roles. Young Korean women, frustrated with expectations to marry and bear children, are increasingly opting out of romantic relationships altogether. In the US and UK, similar attitudes are emerging, with some women identifying as “boy sobers” and choosing voluntary celibacy. Toxic behavior and harassment on dating apps only exacerbate this trend, pushing many to seek fulfillment outside the dating world.
Economic hardship further complicates the landscape. Gen Z is coming of age during a period of economic depression, making it harder for young people to establish and maintain intimate relationships. The costs associated with dating—dinners out, gifts, even securing private space—can be prohibitive. Financial insecurity, coupled with rising mental health challenges and anxieties about the future, leaves little room for romance. “Some see a romantic relationship as an additional risk from which it is better to protect oneself,” Twamley explains.
Ferreira’s story echoes these broader trends. By freezing her eggs, she gained peace of mind about the possibility of future motherhood, freeing herself from the relentless pressure of the “biological clock.” She emphasizes self-care, mental calm, and personal growth over societal expectations. “I wish we lived in a world that wasn’t defined by couples and families,” she muses, “that didn’t accuse women like me of being bitter, scorned, or traumatized just because we’d rather spend our time taking ourselves out for a spa day or socializing with friends than swiping through dating app profiles.”
As both Ferreira and Twamley make clear, the choice to deprioritize dating is not necessarily a rejection of intimacy or connection. Rather, it’s a response to a world where political divides, gender inequalities, economic pressures, and digital toxicity have made traditional romance less appealing—and, for some, less attainable. Whether this trend will persist or evolve as social and economic conditions change remains to be seen. For now, a growing number of women—Latinas and Gen Z among them—are finding empowerment, peace, and fulfillment by putting themselves first.
