The Unhinged New Dating Trend That’s Just FOMO for People Who Can’t Commit
Look, I get it. The economy is a flaming dumpster fire, the housing market is a joke, and the dating pool is basically a puddle of lukewarm tap water that someone sneezed in. So, naturally, the terminally online have invented a new way to make finding a partner even more miserable. It’s called “shipping.” No, not the cute fandom thing where you want Harry Potter to kiss Draco Malfoy. I’m talking about “relationship shipping,” and it’s the emotional equivalent of ordering a pizza from five different restaurants, never eating any of them, and then getting mad when the delivery guy expects a tip.
For the uninitiated (you lucky bastards), “shipping” in the dating world is when you have multiple potential partners on the back burner, but you don’t actually date any of them. You just… keep them in the queue. You text them. You flirt. You maybe go on one vague, low-stakes coffee date. But you never, ever commit to a single person because you’re too busy “optimizing your pipeline.” It’s like you’re a venture capitalist, but instead of funding startups, you’re investing in emotional hostage situations.
This isn’t just “playing the field.” That’s a classic move. You know, the old “I’m seeing a few people, but I’m not exclusive” schtick. No, shipping is worse. It’s the corporate-ification of romance. You are literally treating human beings like products in an Amazon shopping cart. You’ve got “Item A” who makes you laugh, “Item B” who has a better job, and “Item C” who looks like Ryan Gosling’s less angry cousin. But you can’t hit “buy now” on any of them because you’re afraid a better model might drop next week.
The term first started floating around TikTok and Twitter (yes, I’m still calling it Twitter, fight me) as a “soft launch” for people who are too chickenshit to admit they’re just stringing people along. The logic is flawless: if you never pick a ship, you can never be on a sinking one. You are simultaneously dating everyone and no one. You are the Schrödinger's cat of the singles scene—simultaneously in a situationship and single until someone opens the box, and by “opens the box,” I means asks for a definition of the relationship.
And the community? Oh, they love it. They call it “protecting your peace” and “not putting all your eggs in one basket.” They write think-pieces about how it’s “empowering” and “healthy” to have a “roster.” Newsflash, Karen: a roster is something a sports coach has. You are not a coach. You are a 28-year-old who still uses a “mood” filter on their Instagram story. Having a roster just means you’re afraid of being alone and also afraid of being with someone. That’s not a personality, that’s a panic attack.
Let’s break down the main archetypes of the “shipper,” because you’ve definitely met one:
**The FOMO Fiend:** This person is convinced that the second they commit to someone, a literal angel will descend from heaven and offer them a better deal. They treat dating like a stock market crash. “Oh, I like this person, but what if the person I liked two years ago finally texts me back?” They are paralyzed by the fear of missing out on an even better option, so they end up with nothing but a phone full of unanswered texts and a dopamine deficiency.
**The Spreadsheet Stan:** This is a psychopath, but a highly organized one. They have a literal (or metaphorical) spreadsheet. Height? Check. Income? Check. Proximity to a good taco place? Check. They are “data-driven” in their approach to love, which is a red flag the size of the Titanic. You are not a hiring manager. You are looking for someone to watch Netflix with and argue about where to get takeout. If you need a pivot table to decide if you like someone, you need a therapist, not a date.
**The “We’re Just Having Fun” Liar:** This is the most dangerous one. They present themselves as super chill and low-maintenance. “I just want to see where things go!” they say, with the same energy as a cat pretending it wasn’t about to knock a glass off the table. They are “shipping” you alongside five other people. They are “open to possibilities,” which is just corporate-speak for “I’m keeping you as a backup in case the hot person at the bar doesn’t work out.”
The absolute best part of this trend is the inevitable crash. Because shipping isn’t a sustainable strategy. It’s like trying to run a marathon by sprinting for 100 meters and then collapsing. Eventually, one of your “ships” will notice they’re being treated like a late-night Amazon delivery. They’ll ask, “Hey, what are we?” And you, the shipper, will panic. You’ll either ghost them, send a voice note that sounds like a hostage recording, or—my personal favorite—you’ll “soft launch” a new ship on Instagram to make the old one jealous.
It’s a beautiful cycle of emotional inefficiency. You’re spending more energy managing your “fleet” than you would just, you know, dating one person like a normal human being. But that’s the 2025 dating scene for you. We’ve optimized everything else in our lives—our work, our grocery shopping, our coffee orders—so why not optimize our love lives into a joyless, transactional hellscape?
And the kicker? It doesn’t even work. Study after study (and countless Reddit posts on r/datingoverthirty) shows that this kind of behavior leads to burnout, anxiety, and a profound sense of loneliness. You’re so busy “shipping” that you never actually dock
Final Thoughts
After years of covering global supply chains, it's clear that shipping remains the unsung hero—and Achilles' heel—of our interconnected world. The industry's quiet efficiency often masks the brutal reality of volatile fuel costs, geopolitical chokepoints, and the relentless pressure to decarbonize while margins shrink. Ultimately, the pandemic taught us that even the mightiest economies are only as resilient as the oldest, most invisible link in their logistics chain.