Real commitment used to lead to milestones. A marriage, a mortgage, a job, a new city. These were all declarations, not just one-off choices or premeditated decisions. Today, permanence feels less like security and more like risk: to our identity, our autonomy, our finances, even our sense of self—especially as a woman who has been told both to settle and to have it all.

Fair warning, this essay is not nostalgic for compulsory marriage or shrinking yourself to fit into someone else’s script.

Last summer, I finally made the drive up from Philadelphia to Centralia. Reddit posts warn that little draw remains. Gone are the pits spewing white smoke that Bill Bryson described in A Walk in the Woods while commenting that Centralia is “the strangest, saddest town I believe I have ever seen.” The stretch of Route 61, cordoned off due to the fires and transformed by taggers into a shifting canvas affectionately named "Graffiti Highway,” was buried in 2020.

The 2000s ushered in a progressive discussion on gender and sexual orientation and has since challenged social signifiers of what it means to be a man. It has thrown confusion into a vat of insecurity for those whose identity rests in material, surface level traits. In an effort to combat this, conservatives have reclaimed antique signifiers to masculinity; manliness has been pushed to the extreme. Any hint of emotionalism, the acceptance of women as equals, or physical weakness is considered a betrayal to the inherently ‘masculine.’