Let’s decode if you’re becoming Cassie by putting in too much effort just to get one look from a reddish beige flag.
If you’ve ever stayed up an extra hour curling your hair just to “accidentally” walk past him in the cafeteria, congrats, babe — you might be somebody’s Cassie. Yes, Cassie Howard from Euphoria, the queen of sobbing in bathrooms, doing ice-skater routines in hot tubs, and romanticising the bare minimum from a man with the emotional depth of a wet bhatura.
Cassie-core is an energy, not a person. It’s the vibe of pouring your entire soul, wallet, and skincare routine into impressing someone who gives you crumbs. Actually, a single crumb. Microscopic crumb. It’s tragic theatre disguised as a romance, except you’re both the main character and the unpaid stagehand. And here’s the plot twist: it feels good while you’re doing it. That’s why Cassie got up at 4 a.m. to curl her hair. It’s why you stay up at midnight perfecting a Notes app poem you’ll never send. You think the glow-up will finally earn you the gaze you’re craving.
But babes, let’s be honest: you’re auditioning for a role that doesn’t even exist. They didn’t post a casting call. They don’t even have a script. And yet here you are, method-acting your way through heartbreaks they’ll never even notice. It’s giving Shakespearean tragedy, but make it hostel-core. The audience (aka your friends) already knows how this ends, but you’re too busy tightening your glitter eyeliner to see the crash coming.
What Cassie energy really looks like.
Cassie energy isn’t just “liking someone.” It’s a whole lifestyle of over-functioning for people who barely function. And the wild part? Half the time, you convince yourself you’re doing it “just because you like feeling pretty” or “because I was free anyway.” No, bestie. You’re rehearsing a meet-cute in your head like it’s a Netflix rom-com.
Here’s the breakdown: you start with the Look at Me Olympics. Suddenly, you’re not dressing for yourself, you’re dressing for the one guy who doesn’t even know what brand your lip gloss is. Every outfit is an audition. Every eyeliner flick is a prayer. Then it snowballs into the Him Calendar. You’re rearranging classes, assignments, even your naps just to keep yourself available for when he maybe, possibly, might text. Your schedule belongs to someone who doesn’t even know how to charge their phone.
Then comes the gourmet feast of crumbs. He replies with “lol” and you screenshot it like it’s evidence for the Supreme Court. He sends you a meme that’s been dead on Twitter for months and suddenly you’re convinced he’s so funny. This is where the delusion thrives; where mediocrity turns into mythology.
The worst symptom? Anxiety over authenticity. Instead of asking yourself if you’re happy, you’re asking yourself if he’s happy with you. That’s not romance. That’s a performance review you never signed up for. And the paycheck? Non-existent.
Enter: the reddish beige flag.
Now let’s talk about the creatures who activate Cassie-core. They’re not the neon-red toxic disasters we all know to run from. No, they’re subtler, trickier: they’re reddish beige flags. People who look harmless at first glance, but whose vibes slowly corrode your self-worth.
A reddish beige flag isn’t a dramatic villain. He’s not screaming, cheating, or starting fights in the canteen. He’s worse: he’s the guy who texts you “wyd” at 2 a.m. and ghosts the next day. The one who calls you “special” but treats you like a side quest. He gives you just enough to stay invested: a smile, a late-night call, a half-hearted “miss u” — and then vanishes until you’re spiraling.
This is why reddish beige flags are so dangerous. With red flags, you know to run. With green flags, you know to stay. But reddish beige? They keep you stuck. You spend weeks decoding, overthinking, excusing, telling yourself “it’s not that bad” while your energy leaks out like Wi-Fi during a storm.
They’re not dramatic enough to expose themselves as villains, but they’re not consistent enough to deserve your investment. They thrive in ambiguity. And if you’re not careful, you’ll start confusing inconsistency with mystery,thinking the hot-and-cold treatment means passion instead of immaturity. Spoiler: it’s immaturity. Period.
Time for the self-drag: reflective questions.
Okay, honesty hour. Let’s drag ourselves for a second, because the first step to escaping Cassie-core is admitting you’re in it. Ask yourself these questions, but answer like you’re on Kaun Banega Crorepati, not like you’re writing excuses in your diary:
- Do you spend more time planning how they’ll see you than enjoying being yourself? Be real. If your outfit is a mission to get his attention rather than a reflection of your vibe, that’s Cassie energy.
- Do they only acknowledge you when it benefits them? If they reply fast when they’re bored but ignore you when you’re low, congratulations — you’re playing yourself in their highlight reel.
- Does your entire mood hinge on their glance? If a single nod in the canteen makes your day but a lack of reply ruins your week, you’re handing out emotional real estate for free.
- Are you basically writing fanfiction about them in your head? Do your friends know their schedule better than yours? Have you turned their “maybe” into your manifesto?
If you cringed while reading this, same. But that’s the beauty of self-drag: once you name it, you can stop doing it. Awareness is the first glitter wipe-off before the glow-up.
Flip the damn script.
Here’s the part Cassie never mastered: she was already the main character. She didn’t need Nate’s gaze to prove it. And neither do you.
Flipping the script means redirecting that obsessive Cassie energy inward. Wear the glitter, curl the hair, spritz the perfume, not because you want someone else’s approval, but because you deserve to feel like a work of art walking into AB2. Rearrange your calendar for things that fill you up: naps, coffee runs, late-night karaoke with your girls, not for someone who treats your time like an optional add-on.
Invest in people who invest back. Friends who text first. Lovers who check in. Lab partners who actually do their slides. Reciprocity is sexy, babe. Energy that matches yours won’t drain you, it’ll fuel you.
And most importantly, learn to spot conditional attention. If their gaze only lands on you when you’re performing, that’s not love, that’s rationing. And you are not a scarcity resource. You’re not vibes-for-hire. You’re the limited-edition drop everyone lines up for. Treat yourself accordingly.
Main character energy doesn’t beg. It doesn’t perform. It glows, with or without an audience. If you’re bending yourself into Cassie, just remember: Nate wasn’t worth the glitter.
Want more chaotic chronicles, red-flag decoding, and campus survival cheat codes? Slide into Her Campus at MUJ. And if you need someone to remind you that reddish beige flags belong in IKEA catalogues, not your love life — find me, Niamat Dhillon at HCMUJ.