The first and only time I tried to ghost a man, it ended in a harrowing monthlong search for a priceless possession and more communication with him than our three dates combined.
I’d put this man on a PIP after date number two, giving him one final chance to win me over. But after arriving at a movie an hour early, meandering around the parking lot, and feeling absolutely no urge to kiss him during the snoozer of a film, I decided maybe this wouldn’t end in romance. It didn’t even end in free snacks.
It always hits you like the violent morning sun after a bender: the sobering reality that you’d be 100%, if not 150%, fine with never seeing someone again.
Unfortunately, that someone was looking at me so tenderly, so earnestly, it made me want to vomit. I swallowed my guilt. Then the migraine set in as soon as I tried to formulate my exit plan.
I cycled through the classics: “I need to focus on myself.” Or “Work is crazy right now.” But then I remembered I was a college student with a career in partying.
So I moved on to a more honest excuse: “I can’t really put my finger on why, but being with you makes me feel like I’m drowning inside of an active volcano.” Too harsh.
I then considered a more forgiving approach, like “I have a terminal illness.” Ugh. No. I was way too Type B to keep track of the follow-up lies. And, you know, karma.
With no viable excuse, I resorted to monologuing about the movie in grave detail, concluding that I’d never see it again. Secretly hoping my date would understand I didn’t want to see him again, either. Instead, he took my chatter for mutual attraction because he was a normal person receiving normal cues. And in a gesture I’m sure he pictured as insanely slick, he wiggled off his silver bracelet and tried to shimmy it up my wrist.
I politely declined. I was more of a gold than a silver. But he smiled. “Take it as a souvenir of our great night. Or as collateral so I can see you again.” Incredible. I didn’t know my movie ticket included a one-way trip to hell.
He managed to accessorize me with his parting gift, and when he dropped me home, I was sure a side hug would signal my disinterest. As if a side hug isn’t the most common hug in a vehicular configuration. I ran straight inside and face-planted onto my bed. How the hell was I supposed to get out of this one? We had three more classes together before I could fade into obscurity.
The next morning, I banished the bracelet to a forgotten drawer after discovering it had left a dark green halo around my wrist. Great, I was literally allergic to him.
During our final three classes, I made sure to sit by the exit and slip out early. By the last class, I thought I’d made a safe escape. But there he was, standing in the quad with a friend, waving me over like it was a damn town hall.
I made polite small talk, and when my future-ex-boyfriend kindly asked about my summer plans, I told him I’d be gone for the foreseeable future. A little here, a little there. I then realized this meant I’d have to block him on Instagram since I’d really be in LA all summer. And I’d obviously be posting thirst traps.
His friend smiled at me like he was onto my ruse, so my legs moved before I could formulate another lie. “Have a great summer!” I yelled over my shoulder as I walked away. Oof. Did I just hit him with a HAGS?
To my horror, he followed up by text to say it was nice to see me and to let him know when I’d be in LA again. I decided that without the threat of school, I was now free to be a stranger. Poof. Gone. Who was she? An amicable breakup he knew nothing about.
Then, a few weeks later, I got another text.
He was sorry to bother me, but wondered if he could come by and grab his bracelet. Why he was so desperate to retrieve something with a confirmed history of turning my skin green was beyond me. But I was no thief.
Despite being fully available, I told him I was swamped at my internship, where my primary responsibility was watching clips of The Bachelorette and turning them into memes. Apparently, no matter how hard you try to avoid it, everything circles back to “Work is crazy right now.”
I told him I’d leave the bracelet for him to collect, shoved it in my mailbox, and spent the rest of the day screenshotting photos of JoJo Fletcher crying as she chose between the other Rodgers brother and an insufferable guy who looked like he started a Venice run club.
Then, another text. My date had gone by to grab the bracelet, but it was missing.
I assured him he was mistaken. I’d definitely put it in the mailbox that morning. In an old envelope…
That might have been addressed…
To me.
Fuck.
The mailman had been by that morning. I literally waved to him. How does that even work? The stamp was used. Where was the envelope going? I had no choice but to tell my date that his bracelet had entered the postal abyss.
Suddenly, I was a customer service agent tasked with locating an item of “great sentimental value.” I mean, it certainly wasn’t worth anything financially.
Every week or so, I’d check in with him, delivering disappointing updates and profusely apologizing for my blunder while conveniently ignoring the fact that I was still very much in LA. I guess I should’ve believed him when he joked that the bracelet would be collateral. It was basically a glorified ankle monitor. And in trying to avoid one uncomfortable conversation, I’d accidentally entered into a monthlong throuple with him and the United States Postal Service.
In the end, we never found the bracelet. He was kind enough to let it go, thanking me for my effort, and never once making me feel like an asshole.
I did that all by myself.
Ghosting in dating is generally unacceptable. Making someone feel seen only to disappear without explanation leaves them questioning their own intuition. What they thought was mutual suddenly feels like a misunderstanding.
That said, there’s a difference between rejecting someone after a first date and calling it quits after five. The first warrants a brief acknowledgment of their time and a polite nod to incompatibility. No one needs an essay about how much you enjoyed the small talk and how you wish them success in all future endeavors. By date five, a little more context is owed. Time, effort, and a few personal details have likely been exchanged. Everything in between should be handled proportionally.
Sadly, every break-up text will feel a little HR. There’s no elegant way to say, “And for these reasons, it’s a no from me.” But does every termination deserve a formal performance review? Or can the trial period simply end?
What about the relationships that fall outside the usual bounds of love, work, family and friendships? How do we navigate a mismatch in intentions with a casual acquaintance, a hairdresser, or the person we gave our number to at a bar? When does someone’s expectation of us become an obligation to respond?
I posed the question to my Instagram followers: Is ghosting ever justified? The majority said yes. And when I invited their most outrageous ghosting stories, the responses made a compelling case for disappearing.
When we’re on the receiving end, ghosting feels like an attack on our character. When we’re the ones ghosting, it’s an honorable boundary. And sometimes, we work so hard to avoid being cruel that we accidentally create a catastrophe.
So, for the sake of everyone’s time and your good karma, I present…
The People You’re Allowed to Ghost:
The Girl You Met in the Bathroom — You trauma-bonded, made plans to take a heated Pilates class and start a beaded anklet business together in Sardinia. You were six martinis deep. Neither of you remembers the other’s name. No worries.
The One Who Circles Back — If you’re committed to ghosting, go with integrity. Don’t resurface three weeks after a date and make me feel like I won a date with you at an auction. It’s a no from me. Unless it’s been a long winter.
The Promoter — They got you into the club. They showed you a good time. They’re not coming home to meet your parents. Let it die love x
The Slow Fade — If our conversation has disintegrated into the weather and variations of “that’s crazy,” I think we’ve both submitted our resignations.
Service Providers — You have two options: I disappear quietly or I go full Karen. So enough with the “you’re due for a visit” messages, or I’ll hit you with a STOP.
The Group Chat That Won’t Die — The bachelorette came and went. The bride is on her third child. Why am I still receiving sunset photos from Susan, the random bridesmaid?
The Favor Chaser — If your entire text thread consists of “omg sorry I forgot to respond to your last text but [insert favor]” messages, consider charging a subscription fee for your services. Otherwise forward all future requests to spam.
The Unsolicited Suitor — Thank you for your recurring offers to be my sugar daddy. I appreciate your confidence in our future happiness and the consistent fire emojis on my stories. Unfortunately, I’m not quite that desperate yet.
The Guy at the Bar — If I meet you at a loud, low-lit bar, chances are I’m not willing to move the interaction to a second location. Unless it was truly electric, I usually give out my brother’s number then check in the next morning to see who’s texted. If no one has, I lowkey feel slighted. Who ghosted who?
The Person Who Won’t Take No for an Answer — I’ll say it nice, I’ll say it twice. If you ask me thrice, blocking will suffice. (Unless you’re a promoter <3)
Sometimes we spend more time justifying our inaction than addressing the issue head-on. It’s like cheating on a test (before AI). You’d spend so much time programming answers into calculators and memorizing cheat sheets that, by the time the exam rolled around, you’d done far more work than if you’d actually studied.
And sue me, but sometimes I'd rather be ghosted than receive a weirdly formal message about a casual experience! Other times, the silence brings out my deepest insecurities. The absence of answers is fertile ground for a wandering mind…
So maybe the golden rule isn’t one-size-fits-all. Who really knows how they want to be rejected? Sometimes it’s easier to be the victim than the villain. At least when you’re dumped, everyone’s on your side.
But who’s there to comfort the girl who lied her way through an entire summer and lost a man’s most prized possession?
[A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR]:
There was a guy who would always make plans with me, only to ghost when it was time to meet. Finally fed up, I left him a haunting voicemail one night while waiting curbside for my Uber. I woke up the next morning in a cold sweat. I couldn’t remember any specifics other than repeatedly calling him Casper…
I immediately began spiraling. Why didn’t anyone stop me? My friends would have to answer for my crimes!
But somewhere beneath the shame, I knew I’d probably dropped a few bangers. The only solution was to double down. I placed my morning McDonald’s order and opened our texts:
“You gonna send me that voicemail or what?”
What a good and also funny read 👏
The bracelet story had me invested 😂 But there's such an interesting psychology behind this. We sometimes go to ridiculous lengths to avoid one uncomfortable conversation. Do you think we ghost more to protect someone's feelings or to avoid our own discomfort?