You Asked Everyone for Love Advice and Now Nothing Fits

It usually begins with one perfectly innocent question.

“Do you think I should text him?”

Your friend thinks absolutely not—you should let him come to you. Your sister thinks this is ridiculous and, of course, you should text him. Someone else reminds you that men like a little mystery, while another woman says mystery is exactly why everybody is single. Your mother would simply like to know why nobody picks up the phone anymore.

Excellent.

You had one man and one question. You now have six opinions and the beginnings of a headache.

And this is how a perfectly ordinary love life can turn into an enormous fitting room, with everybody you know standing outside the curtain holding something they would very much like you to try on.

Everybody Has Brought Something for You

At first, it is rather lovely. You are confused, they love you, and naturally they want to help.

One friend hands you the elegant little rule about never chasing a man. Very chic. Then another woman leans in with something much more relaxed: just tell him you like him.

Well, perhaps we will try that one too.

Before long, somebody has brought in if he wanted to, he would, while someone else insists that good relationships sometimes need patience.

Wonderful.

Two completely opposite dresses are now hanging from the same hook.

And more things keep coming through the curtain. Give him space, but do not let things go cold. Be yourself, but perhaps not quite all of yourself just yet. Say what you want, only do not make it feel like pressure.

At some point, even the mirror would like everyone to settle down.

Still, you keep trying things on because surely one of these women knows something you do not. One has been married for twelve years. Another once dated a man who sounds vaguely similar. Someone listened to a podcast. Somebody else has a cousin who met her husband in an airport after ignoring him for six months.

By now, anyone with a cousin and a romantic story is beginning to sound strangely convincing.

The Fitting Room Is Getting Crowded

And once this many opinions have made it through the curtain, the original question starts getting rather hard to find. You came in wondering whether to send a message; now there are warnings, rules and several women outside insisting that what they handed you looks fabulous.

One woman has brought Make Him Miss You. Another is holding Tell Him Exactly How You Feel.

They clash terribly, naturally, but both are being presented as classics.

So you keep changing.

Wait. Do not wait too long. Be open. Keep a little mystery. And somewhere among all this changing and adjusting, the man himself has almost become a side issue.

From outside the fitting room, the scene is becoming rather entertaining.

A woman went in wanting to know whether she should send a message. Forty minutes later, clothes are hanging over the door, somebody is pushing another opinion underneath the curtain, and she can no longer remember what she was wearing when she came in.

That is the peculiar thing about too much love advice. Even perfectly sensible advice can become useless when you keep trying to squeeze it onto a life it was never made for.

It may look gorgeous on your friend, but on you, somehow, the sleeves are in the wrong place.

At Some Point, You Have to Come Out

Eventually, something unusual happens: for five whole minutes, nobody hands you anything.

The fitting room becomes quiet enough for you to look around and notice what has accumulated in there. Rules on the hook, warnings over the door, somebody’s aunt’s favorite theory folded neatly in the corner—and somewhere under all of it is the original question you walked in with.

You may even remember that before everybody started helping, you had an opinion of your own too. Imagine that!

Perhaps one of those lovely little rules really does suit you. Another looks wonderful until you actually try to move in it. And one that sounded fabulous over coffee may turn out to belong very clearly to somebody else.

Which is hardly surprising, because love advice has one rather inconvenient quality: it rarely comes in your exact size.

Your friends can still bring beautiful things to the fitting room. Some will suit you. Some will need a little adjusting. A few should probably go straight back on the hanger before anyone becomes too attached to them.

Eventually, though, the curtain has to open.

After all the changing, pinning and turning around in front of the mirror, you are still the one who has to walk out in whatever you chose.

Which does rather limit the usefulness of twelve women waiting outside the fitting room with one more thing for you to try on.