The Biggest Dating Surprise I’ve Had? Genuine Effort Now Gets You Labeled “Clingy.”

When showing you care becomes a dating sin.

My thumb paused mid-air, hovering over the “send” button. It was 11 A.M. on a lazy Saturday, the morning after a genuinely lovely first date. He had picked a cozy café, asked questions that weren’t just lifted from a Buzzfeed listicle, and even offered to walk me to my Uber. I wanted to text him—just a simple, “Had a great time last night. Hope you got home okay 😊” and maybe float the idea of grabbing dinner next week. It felt natural. Honest. But then that little voice kicked in. Wait. Don’t. It’s too soon. You’ll seem clingy.

When did kindness and intention start sounding alarm bells?

It wasn’t always like this. Or maybe it was, but it didn’t feel this hostile to softness. Somewhere between swiping right and swiping left, we’ve started treating genuine affection like it’s radioactive. There’s now this unspoken code—one that says if you’re too warm, too available, too willing to plan the next thing—you’re “too much.” In fact, “too much” is probably the most common silent breakup phrase in modern dating. Not because people are too intense, but because they show up. Early. And that’s scary.

Coolness is the new currency

Dating today feels like a constant audition. Not for love, but for appearing unbothered. We’ve become pros at curating text delays, choosing the “right” number of emojis, and withholding enthusiasm until the other person breaks first. We call it protecting our peace—but often, it’s just preemptively mourning a relationship that hasn’t even begun.

I remember matching with someone on Bumble last month. We hit it off. He messaged consistently, remembered I had a team meeting I was nervous about, and even sent a meme I’d once said reminded me of my childhood dog. Attentive, right? Thoughtful. Sweet. And yet, I found myself pulling away. “Is he too into me?” I asked a friend. She sipped her iced Americano and said, “He’s giving low-key clingy.”

That word again. Clingy.

He wasn’t love bombing me or planning our wedding. He was just showing up with genuine interest. And somehow, that tripped my alarms. I ghosted him. Not because I didn’t like him. But because I didn’t trust myself to like him back without scaring him off. How did we get here?

The small things now feel suspicious

Let’s be honest—there are big gestures that can come off overwhelming. Calling ten times in a row? Yes. Showing up unannounced? Absolutely. But today, even the smallest acts of romantic clarity get branded as “needy.” Things like:

• Texting back within minutes of a great date.

• Saying you’d like to see someone again without wrapping it in a joke.

• Sending a meme during the week just to make them smile.

• Clearing your schedule to prioritize meeting again soon.

All of these are just expressions of interest. Yet, in today’s dating playbook, they read as desperation.

I’ve caught myself delaying texts not because I’m busy, but because I don’t want to seem like I’m not. I’ve lied about being “booked” when I was free. I’ve edited messages to remove the second exclamation mark. Not because I didn’t mean it, but because I didn’t want to scare someone with my excitement.

We’ve become so afraid of being vulnerable that even our kindness comes with disclaimers.

Dating apps and the illusion of endless options

Part of this fear, I think, comes from how dating apps have rewired our expectations. There’s always another profile. Always someone newer, more interesting, more perfect. So we stay half in, half out. And when someone leans in fully, it jolts us.

Apps have given us abundance but stripped us of certainty. We're talking to multiple people at once, hedging bets, never really sure where we stand. And when effort isn’t mirrored exactly, it feels risky. People are ghosted mid-conversation, mid-planning, mid-sentiment. We’ve all become a little emotionally sunburnt.

And when you’re burnt out, even a kind “good morning” text can feel like a weight. Not because it is—but because your emotional cup is already so full of small disappointments that you can’t bear even one more drop.

The irony of wanting connection while avoiding connection

Here’s the kicker: most of us do want something real. We’re just terrified to be the first to say it. We’ve been taught to keep it breezy. That wanting something—especially from the start—is the fastest way to lose it. But the more we pretend we don’t care, the less space we leave for something real to grow.

I have a friend—let’s call her A—who went on three wonderful dates with a guy. There was chemistry, comfort, shared Spotify playlists, the whole thing. After the third date, she told me she wanted to ask him if he was seeing anyone else. Not to lock him down, just to be transparent. But she didn’t. She was afraid he’d label her intense. So she backed off. Became “cooler.” Less present. He took the hint and faded. Weeks later, she told him the truth, and he said: “I thought you weren’t into me anymore. I didn’t want to pressure you.”

They both wanted the same thing. But silence won.

What if clingy was just another word for caring?

I’ve thought about this a lot. What if the thing we’re calling “clingy” is just someone trying to show up for you? What if we’ve spent so long being cautious that we’ve forgotten how to just… like someone, freely?

Maybe it’s time to change the language.

He didn’t message too much. He was consistent.

She didn’t move too fast. She was clear.

They weren’t clingy. They were present.

And maybe we need more people like that. People who are still brave enough to text “Good night” without wondering if it makes them weak. People who plan second dates before the first one ends. People who want to see you, not just keep swiping to soothe their ego.

Choosing intention over indifference

So yes, I did send that message. That Saturday morning text. It wasn’t long or dramatic—just honest. He replied an hour later with the same softness. We’re meeting again soon. Maybe it’ll go somewhere, maybe it won’t. But I’m proud of myself for showing up, not editing my care.

I’ve decided I don’t want to be cool anymore. I want to be kind. I want to be present. I want to be intentional. Even if it means risking rejection. Even if it means being called “too much.” Because if caring is a crime, then I’ll serve the sentence gladly.

The next time someone labels your effort as clingy, remind yourself—it takes strength to show affection in a world that prizes detachment. And the right person won’t see your presence as pressure. They’ll see it as home.

So be brave. Be warm. And if you feel something—say it.

That’s not being clingy. That’s being real. And real is rare.