Perhaps no other romantic myth is as ingrained in the Western psyche as ‘love at first sight’: it’s appealing to think love can happen in an instant and that we’re powerless to resist its pull. But, in reality, when we use that phrase, we’re not really talking about love , so much as instant sexual attraction based largely on physical appearance .
In a digital-first world, where many connections are made on apps or in the DMs, our dating decisions still rely heavily on appearance. “ Given where we are with online dating and a general lack of human connectedness, physical attraction usually acts as a fast, low-cost cue for mate selection and quality,” says Lulu Sunnucks , a clinical sexologist, couples therapist and psychotherapist.
But what, exactly, is someone’s physical appearance supposed to communicate when we are earnestly, honestly looking for a partner?
As it turns out, much of it goes back to signals for child-rearing and safety. “Attractiveness is linked to health, fertility and genetic fitness and cues for this can vary across cultures, but it’s pretty universal.
Largely it is found that physical signs of youth and fertility are generally more important for men,” Sunnucks says. “However, jawlines, shoulder width and height are all important for women in a heteronormative sense as a way of predicting protection ability, though not necessarily actual prowess.”
From an evolutionary sense, sure, we can understand why these factors might contribute to attraction. But now that natality rates are in free-fall in the UK and other western countries , and society has significantly changed beyond ideas of basic survival, it seems strange that our approach to dating is still so driven by these base instincts.
When we look at the state of modern love, and heterosexuality’s many discontents, it’s hard not to wonder: have we got something fundamentally wrong here? What would happen if we did away with a looks-based dating system altogether and started focusing on other factors: personality, aura, compatibility?
When we look at the state of modern love it’s hard not to wonder: have we got something fundamentally wrong here?
K*, 28, a non-binary person in London, is beginning to question the value of physical attraction when pursuing new partners – noting that chasing attractiveness above all else once hindered them from achieving emotionally sustainable relationships. “Traditionally, I’d say my type was ethereal femmes and androgynous men, like pretty boys, but I’ve decentred attractiveness in dating now,” they explain.
“In longer-term relationships, I felt like the attraction and chemistry would excuse and distract from [problematic] behaviour. I’ve become more guarded now.
Even if I find someone attractive, I don’t imagine them as a long-term partner until I see how they navigate conflict. At the end of the day, I want a partner who is emotionally safe for me.”
The stratification of individuals into different value levels or ‘ leagues ’ within dating, based upon their perceived beauty, intelligence and career success, is a brutal reality of today’s relationship culture – one which K is actively rebelling against to assert their own value beyond looks. “As a mid- to plus-size person, depending on my weight fluctuation, it’s rare for an attractive person to also be into me.
I used to hold conventionally beautiful people’s attraction to a high value and be like, ‘Oh, this really attractive person is attracted to me, so I should hold onto this relationship.’”
Their perspective radically changed when they became more stereotypically attractive and could intuit that they were suddenly seen as more valuable than before. “One time I lost a lot of weight and a lot of people I used to be really attracted to were suddenly in my DMs,” they say. “That actually made me really sad to know that I was the same person, but that all that had changed was my weight.”
With the way that beauty culture intertwines with white supremacy, ableism and patriarchy, as both a reflection of these values and something which can perpetuate them, it’s worth scrutinising our own preferences in partners and what they might mean. Leanne Yau , a polyamorous relationship educator, has already witnessed some of this work being carried out within the non-monogamous community.
“As a polyamorous person, something that I often deal with on the internet is people perpetuating the stereotype that polyamorous people are ugly , and it’s something that I’ve really put a lot of effort in pushing back against,” she says.
Yau argues that gravitating towards people who don’t embody traditional beauty standards is a way of undermining the (often discriminatory) social biases about who is deserving of love. “We place a lot of emphasis, as a society, on how conventionally attractive and, therefore, how valuable someone is, to determine their overall desirability or worthiness of being in a relationship,” she explains.
“I think that queer people, polyamorous people, people who have questioned relationship norms in general, are much more likely to decentre conventional attractiveness in their dating lives because we want to push against those norms.”
It’s perhaps unrealistic to imagine straight men or women completely abandoning the idea of physical attraction, especially since it’s largely still what separates friends from partners.
For some, there’s no conscious choice involved: physical attraction just holds less innate value in terms of how they choose a partner. This might be applicable to individuals on the ace spectrum: those who experience attraction in different and varying degrees to the preconceived “norm”.
Kimberly Anne , a somatic sexologist and coach, notes that some asexual individuals who choose to form relationships value other attributes beyond physical appearance. “For people on the ace spectrum, those who feel little to no sexual attraction, the brain may assign greater significance to other qualities such as emotional intelligence, shared values, or aspects of companionship rather than sexual chemistry,” she says.
“In a time when our value is constantly being assessed by the number of likes our physical appearance gets, I believe we have a lot to learn from the asexual community.”
Ultimately, however, asexual and queer people – for better or worse – move within different social structures and uphold different norms in their love lives. For heterosexual people, there are different standards and dynamics at play.
It’s perhaps unrealistic to imagine straight men or women completely abandoning the idea of physical attraction, especially since it’s largely still what separates friends from partners. Maybe we just need to reach a reprioritisation of attraction: seeing it as a secondary, rather than primary, motivator within relationships.
For Jill*, 30, it can feel like women are heavily encouraged to date men they aren’t attracted to and are told that attraction might ‘develop’ rather than being instantaneous. “I’m such a believer in the crush and instant attraction, but there’s a real culture of women not being sure about their physical attraction to a man, often in relation to looks, and their friends and people around them pressuring them into giving the guy a chance and saying their attraction will grow later,” she explains.
“I find it fascinating because there is no way a man is telling his friends, ‘Oh, I don’t want to fuck her’, and their response is, ‘Oh, give her a chance’. It’s such a double standard.”
Maybe Jill has a point. For straight women, who have long been encouraged to sacrifice their sexual fulfilment within relationships (the orgasm gap exists for a reason, after all), perhaps there should be more – not less – social encouragement of their pursuit of physical attraction and sexual satisfaction.
As Sunnucks explains: “Ultimately, and this may sound harsh, if we don’t find someone attractive and are having sex with them, we may be suppressing the emotion of disgust. I am not sure that is sustainable.”
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