When Did We Start Performing Instead of Living?

I recently read an article in British Vogue (as I’m sure many of you did) titled “Is Having a Boyfriend Embarrassing Now?” — and it sent shockwaves through the interwebs, as women everywhere rejoiced at finally being heard. Writer Chanté Joseph’s words captured what so many have been quietly feeling: a deep fatigue with performance, expectation, and the outdated scripts of love.

For generations, women were handed a checklist: find the man, ignore the red flags, get the ring, the house, the children (sacrifice your body)—and smile through it all. But what happens when the performance ends? When the house starts to feel like a stage set, and the person beside you feels like a stranger? Many women have awakened in their forties, fifties, even sixties, realizing they’d been cast in a role they never auditioned for — one that cost them their confidence, independence, and sometimes their sanity.

As a stylist in my forties, I’ve seen this awakening up close. My work isn’t really about clothes — it’s about women remembering themselves. Reclaiming their identity. Looking in the mirror and recognizing, perhaps for the first time in years, the woman staring back. That’s the real transformation — not the new bag, not the dress — but the rediscovery of self.

Somewhere along the line, we started performing instead of living. I did it too. Like so many women, I once treated dating like a résumé — checking boxes, proving my worth through someone else’s validation. And yes, I’ve dated them all. But now, in my forties, I’m profoundly grateful I didn’t choose any of those men — not because they weren’t good people, but because I finally learned to stop auditioning.

As a woman who runs her own business — and knows that independence is the ultimate luxury — I refuse to settle for breadcrumbs or emotionally unavailable men who can’t articulate what they feel or what they want. Men who can’t sit in the discomfort of listening. Why on earth would I trade my freedom for the role of caretaker to two tiny terrors (otherwise known as toddlers) when I can build a life entirely my own? Marriage may be a contract, but partnership — real partnership — is a choice.

Choosing not to perform for society is radical. It invites judgment. But we’re living through a seismic shift — one where women are rewriting what success, partnership, and happiness actually look like.

So perhaps the real question isn’t “Is having a boyfriend embarrassing?” but rather: When did we start performing — and when will we start living again?