In defence of the long-distance situationship

Sweet or sinful?

The word 'situationship' tends to send a shiver down most modern daters' spines. But are they as toxic as they're cracked up to be? One writer makes a case for why we should embrace the long-distance situationship – for the time being.

I know what you’re thinking – immediately no. A long-distance situationship? These are arguably the worst three words ever strung together in the realm of modern dating. But hear me out: they’re not as soul-destroying as you might think.

The nightmare of a situationship lies in its very nature: murky, undefined, and guaranteed to have both parties interpreting it completely differently. If I were to begrudgingly define it, it’d be an ambiguous not-quite-dating, not-just-a-one-time-hook-up, but more-than-friends dynamic.

It’s got all the thrill of romantic ambiguity with none of the structure. Depending on your attachment style, or what stage of life you may be in, that’s either exhilarating or a one-way ticket to an emotional breakdown.

Now, I realise I’m not exactly selling this. But, if you throw in a bit of distance - I don’t mean the hassle of getting from Manly to Bondi, I’m talking inter-continental – it’s a whole new league.

Because my love life continues to be chaos, I have been in not one, but two long-distance situationships over the past year. The first was my ex-boyfriend (terrible, I know). He moved to New York while we were together in London and, in true cinematic cliché, only realised what he had after he willingly left it behind.

Situationships can be fun or hellish – no inbetween. Image: Pexels

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t entertain the fantasy – he even offered to fly me out – but as time passed, my feelings dwindled. Instead, it became a game of low-effort attention and a secret indulgence in his desperation. Call me cruel, but distance has a funny way of making things feel less… real.

Fast forward to the present and I’ve found myself in a similarly sticky situation. After the ex debacle, I swore I’d never spend my precious time and energy on a man thousands of miles away but I have, you guessed it, done it again. 

I briefly dated someone last year, but he has temporarily moved to Europe. After barely speaking for a few months, we reconnected in my DMs at Christmastime. This man has that mysterious, hard-to-read energy, so my anxiously attached ass immediately latched onto the thrill of digital back-and-forth.

Distance has a funny way of making things feel less… real. Image: Pexels

When I asked dating coach Sera Bozza, founder of Sideswiped, why a long-distance situationship is so addictive, she shared that it was due to it offering the emotional high of connection without the logistical headache of a real relationship. Its dynamic affects our psychology in a way IRL dating doesn’t.

The dopamine hit? Immediate. The anticipation of his name flashing on my phone? Exhilarating. The sporadic flirting? Fun. I relish the dirty little secret that’s just between me and my iPhone. 

Bozza shared that intermittent reinforcement keeps you hooked: “When communication is unpredictable, it becomes more rewarding (like a slot machine). You get just enough to stay invested but never enough to feel secure.” I consider it the emotional equivalent of slamming back a tequila shot—there might be consequences, but the rush is too good to resist.

And so, the cycle continues.

When communication is unpredictable, it becomes more rewarding. Image: Getty

Having spent the best part of a decade now deleting and redownloading dating apps (a sobering reality), I’ve long abandoned the capacity to entertain men whose personality hinges on flaunting their catch of the day or making comments about my large thighs. Conversation may ignite, but attention span inevitably dwindles before I even have a chance to contemplate the idiocy of dating a man in his 30s looking for ‘intimacy without commitment’.

Leaning into a faraway interest is a “dating cheat code” says Bozza, so instead of the hassle of proactively searching for a new romantic connection, I microdose with enough of one to satiate me. 

A long-distance flirtation adds a separation from reality – the maybe effect. “When distance keeps someone just out of reach, the brain fills in the blanks. You’re not texting them; you’re texting the highlight-reel version of them that exists in your head,” says Bozza. A figment of my imagination, the suspense, sexual tension and hope offers a whirlwind escape from the reality that is modern dating. 

Though fun, Bozza questions the strategy of hope. “If there’s no plan (no visits, no conversations about the future,) then what’s keeping this alive?”  

A long-distance flirtation adds a separation from reality – the maybe effect. Image: Pexels

Of course, the irony is that my most recent long-distance entanglement just fell apart in a predictably underwhelming way. After months of back and forth, my trying to plan a meet-up in Europe this summer was met with indifference. My confrontation of the lack of reciprocal enthusiasm was met with an infuriating avoidance. 

“So ask yourself: Is this connection growing, or is it just lingering? If it’s starting to feel like emotional quicksand, it might be time for a conversation – or a conscious uncoupling from the fantasy.”

I swallowed Bozza’s musings with a crushing weight of reality. You might question what I expected. While I wasn’t looking for commitment, I was asking for mutual understanding. 

I enjoyed the frivolous flirting and romanticising a faraway love interest, but it has taught me to recognise when something has run its course. If you get the sense someone doesn’t care, it’s because they don’t. Equally, if you aren’t phased by what’s playing out in front of you, you have the choice to keep playing or walk away.

Situationships, flings, hook-ups – they come and go. Enjoy the fun, flirtation and frivolity they have to offer, but when they are no longer serving you, set yourself free.

Originally published as In defence of the long-distance situationship