There was a time when attraction had a certain electricity to it. Two people in a room, trading glances, hiding their interest inside a witty joke, letting the tension build slowly and deliciously. It was playful. It was exciting. It was fun. Now, in my forties, I find myself genuinely mourning it.
A colleague recently showed me how her fiancé proposed. He sent her a ring emoji and a question mark. Over chat. She thought it was cute. I was horrified.
When words became optional
I once nudged my nephew to go talk to a girl who was clearly watching him during a group city tour. He looked at me like I'd asked him to defuse a bomb.
"I'm not really a words person."
I tried to explain that flirting doesn't have to be verbal. A held glance. Holding a door open. A small, deliberate kindness. But instead, he shuffled over awkwardly, asked for her Instagram, and they texted for two days before the whole thing fizzled into nothing.
And that's exactly the point. Flirting isn't just about attraction — it's about chemistry. It tells you, quickly and honestly, whether there's actually something there. A DM exchange simply cannot do that.
Is flirting becoming extinct?
I've talked about this with friends, and we keep coming back to the same question: why has flirting become such an endangered art form?
One male acquaintance insisted that flirting only works if you're conventionally attractive. I completely disagree. I once fell head over heels for a man who, on paper, had nothing going for him — not tall, not classically handsome. But the way he looked at me from across the table, the sharpness of what he said, and then that moment when he helped me on with my coat and let his hand rest on my shoulder just a beat longer than necessary... I was done for.
He wasn't pushy. He wasn't trying too hard. He simply had confidence — and that made all the difference. Which makes me wonder: is that what we've lost? Not the skill, but the self-assurance to use it?
Chronically online, rarely present
I think a big part of the problem is online dating. When there's an app for everything, we stop knowing how to function without one. We barely look up from our phones long enough to catch someone's eye — let alone hold their gaze with intention.
We almost never meet people "in the wild" anymore. And when someone does catch our attention in real life, the instinct now is to find them on Instagram and slide into their DMs. It's efficient, maybe. But it's also completely devoid of magic.
It's really not that complicated
Here's what frustrates me most: flirting is not rocket science. It's not some rare talent reserved for the naturally charismatic. It's a basic human interaction.
You send a small signal. If the other person responds positively, you continue. If they don't, you stop. That's it. If a woman is interested, it shows — she laughs, she leans in, she holds eye contact. If she's not, that's obvious too. So why does it feel like such an impossible task for so many people?
And here's the thing: flirting through body language is actually the safest way to test the waters. At a party, a bar, a dinner — you exchange a few glances, maybe a few words, and if it's not going anywhere, both of you can quietly retreat without any awkwardness. Compare that to a man walking straight up to a woman and asking for her number before they've even spoken. Brave, yes. But if she's not interested, it's excruciating for everyone.
When it goes very, very wrong
I'll never forget sitting at an outdoor café, catching eyes with a guy across the terrace. The looks were mutual. He came over. And his opening line was:
"You have a great body."
I thanked him politely, hoping he'd pivot. He looked me up and down and said it again. That was it — any interest I had evaporated on the spot. Because flirting is mental stimulation first. The brain is the biggest erogenous zone we have, and real flirting engages it. It's foreplay for the mind.
I remember a dinner, years ago, where I ended up in an unexpectedly brilliant flirtatious exchange with a friend of a friend. We were both in relationships. Nothing happened, nothing was going to happen. But his quick wit, his knowing glances, the way he made me feel genuinely seen — I thought about that conversation for days. No one was betrayed. We never met again. And yet it remains one of my warmest memories.
That's what we're giving up when we replace all of this with a ring emoji and a question mark. And I, for one, think it's worth fighting to bring it back.
