We hope you enjoy this op-ed from a HC Columbia guest writer.
Months of mixed signals and somehow they all point in the same direction: the friend zone. A hell-like purgatory full of reading into texts and body language, frustration, and comparing yourself to Duckie in Pretty in Pink. To expose your feelings would “ruin everything”, and to keep them in is torture. And since this is Columbia, there is no prom or ball where it all comes out.
You two watch movies together, hang out with other friends, and get insomnia cookies. You stay up til 2 am listening to music and humming along, no need for words. They know “everything about you” and you can “trust them with anything” (except your feelings). In short, you’re positive that if you (or they) would just make a move, you could live as happily-ever after as is possible in a tiny college dorm.
If only it wasn’t for the friend zone, the hours in Butler would be less lonely, the programming due tomorrow less annoying, and the dining hall foods edible. Late at night you think, which is worse? Spending time with them longing to be something more, or staying away and listening to Taylor Swift.
And then you realize the worst part of the friend zone.
You aren’t even friends.
Remember all those times he showed up 20 minutes late? So many times, that once or twice you “asserted your independence” by leaving without him. After all, you think, they should know what it’s like to chase you. Don’t boys love the chase?
According to Psychology Today a healthy relationship (yes, relationships include friendships) relies on mutual respect, honesty, trust, communication, consideration, and acceptance. And if you’re sitting by your phone for hours, playing 2048 and waiting for a response to a daring “hey ;)” a few of those factors are probably missing.
In my many months in purgatory, a favorite hobby of mine was to blame the guy. And since I am the friend zoned one, that’s my prerogative. I’d lament to my roommate, “He gave me his state championship watch, but then the next week he ignored me”. To my best friend, “I always message him first”, and to the random girl at dinner, “I touched his arm. Bold move if I do say so myself.”
This all completely ignores, of course, the mixed signals that I gave him. Mainly that in my desperate search for affection I wouldn’t text him for days, hoping he would text me first, stalk his Facebook instead of asking him how his day was, and generally act incredibly awkward at all times. But when I could blame him for his “terrible communication skills” and “inexperience with dating”, my faults did not come to mind.
Blame isn’t just about relationships. It’s ingrained in us. Blaming them allows us to hide from the real problem (our feelings) behind something else, like we hide our real selves behind perfectly composed texts and profile pictures. Some people will blame my fears on me being a millennial. The girls at dinner nudge me, “grow a pair” and “make a move”. Throughout all of this, I sit in my room and wait for the “right” moment.
Not to insult your friend zone struggle, and not to insult mine. We could both be following Wikihow’s steps to the letter, and still get nowhere. Sometimes blaming them has a perfectly good cause, like, say, oh- they aren’t into you. And if they aren’t into you, there’s a bigger problem at hand then the mixed signals. One person in the friendship is reaping what the other sows.
So take a second and think. So take a second and think. If you are constantly blaming the person for their inadequacy, or realizing their failures are all in your head, is this really even a friendship? Telling the truth about your feelings would “ruin everything”, but lying, omitting, and scheming aren’t? If you can’t trust them with your feelings, consider their feelings, and accept the consequences, no glass slipper is going to give you a happily ever after.
The year is almost over, and it’s now or never for my friendzonerelationship and everyone else’s. Because in summer, all the false pretenses of a relationship we’ve been using all year to protect ourselves from both commitment and getting hurt melt away. And we’re left alone with a cold glass of “could have been”, and an empty inbox.
About the author: Devon is a friendzoned freshman at Columbia. She is studying Statistics-Computer Science.