When is the right time to tell the person I’m dating about my late grandpa’s favourite type of mint?
Hinge recently surveyed 30,000 of its users worldwide and found that 52% have experienced what’s known as the ‘vulnerability hangover.’
Originally coined by American academic Brené Brown, it alludes to ‘that exposed, second guessing feeling after opening up emotionally on a date’ — whether it’s showing how much you might care about the other person, or giving them a detailed rundown of your family’s medical history.
This post-sharing wave of fear typically occurs the day after a date, much like traditional alcohol-induced hangxiety.
You’re strolling around, sipping your first flat white of the day. And then you remember that you let slip one too many anecdotes about your co-dependent relationship with your childhood hamster.
All of a sudden, you’re in the midst of a grade A menty b.
Dating feels like a high-stakes gamble
Why does vulnerability feel like such a big deal? Dr Madeleine Roantree, psychologist and relationship expert, tells Metro it comes down to two usual culprits: social media and the pandemic.
We live in a world where ‘every interaction can be screenshot, shared, or dissected online, turning vulnerability into a high-stakes gamble,’ she says.
Younger daters might feel this pressure most acutely, she adds, because we didn’t get the practice in before the world locked down.
‘Gen Z missed out on socialising opportunities, in effect robbing them of a training-ground in emotional connectivity, with a knock-on effect of reducing resilience to rejection.’
Dr Roantree goes on to add that the ‘added amplification of the constant “no’s” Gen Z face across dating apps, job hunts, and social feeds,’ compounds anxiety and a kind of emotional burnout.
One of the most interesting pieces of data from the Hinge report was that 48% of Gen Z men hold back from emotional intimacy because they don’t want to seem ‘too much.’
We can thank toxic masculinity for that idea, because guess what? In reality, most daters welcome vulnerability.
Moe Ari Brown, a therapist working with Hinge, tells Metro: ‘Even though we often fear being “too much,” Hinge’s research shows that only 19% of daters say other people’s vulnerability makes them uncomfortable.’
In other words, the other 81% are either into it or completely unfazed.
Coping with vulnerability hangovers
If you’re someone who feels nervous about the prospect of opening up and being vulnerable with someone in a romantic setting, Dr Roantree suggests remembering that your internal ‘alarm signal’ may be overly sensitive.
‘If you suspect that your alarm is too sensitive (you feel overly anxious about being vulnerable) start practicing in low stakes scenarios, for example tell a friend that you appreciate their friendship, or a colleague that you enjoy their company, basically share how you feel about someone.’
‘Perhaps try journaling to get a feel of what it might sound like. When it comes to dating, start by sharing that you enjoyed someone’s company, that you would like to see them again.’
‘Ultimately, remember vulnerability isn’t weakness; it’s the shortcut to real connection, we just need to learn how to lean into it and when we meet the right people they will lean back.’
Moe continues: ‘It’s becoming more common for women to make it clear that they want someone to “chalant” them while dating (meaning the opposite of nonchalant). We’ve found that most daters, regardless of gender, want emotional depth; they just approach it differently.
‘My encouragement to daters is to give each other the benefit of the doubt: most people aren’t avoiding deeper connections; they’re just hoping the other person will make space for it.’
Playing it cool is our armour in dating
Referencing the viral ‘Is Having A Boyfriend Embarrassing Now?’ article from Vogue, Dr Roantree wonders if these vulnerability hangovers are directly linked with daters opting for ‘quiet relationships’ and ‘soft launches’, so they can test waters without diving in.
‘I see it as a savvy self-preservation, but it creates a standoff where everyone waits for the green light that never comes,’ she says.
I see it often in my date coaching work, people feel paralysed not wanting to make the first move, it’s too overwhelming . We can see how the detachment from intimacy plays out as ‘DTR’ (defining the relationship) becomes cringey, and we now have the rise of “situationships” and non-committal labels.’
One of the ways daters have tried to avoid awkwardness in dating is by relying heavily on technology to play cupid.
Hinge’s report also shows that younger daters are experimenting with new ways to connect and build emotional intimacy—’from voice notes to 60% of younger (18–22-year-old) Gen Z daters being open to using AI to help them in dating.’
But what if you’re someone who feels much more comfortable engaging in layered, deep, conversations face-to-face?
I don’t know how to small talk
Vulnerability hangovers aren’t always directly linked with sharing romantic feelings, it might just be that you’re an oversharer by nature!
Danielle Bryce, a TikTok creator and author who talks about her experiences navigating the world as someone who is both autistic and has ADHD, recently shared her take on vulnerability hangovers.
‘I don’t know how to small talk,’ she begins.
‘I genuinely don’t understand it. So, instead, I’ll info-dump, waffle, and just overshare. I open my mouth and suddenly I’m spilling out all these personal things that most people wouldn’t even say out loud.’
She goes on to talk about how she’ll then spend days on end cringing about what she’s said and how she wishes she better understood the ‘rules of light conversation.’
Danielle will definitely not be alone in this.
Moe shares: ‘If you’ve been hurt before, acknowledge the wound without rushing past it. Notice how those experiences shaped your expectations, your fears, and the protective strategies you’ve developed.’
They add: ‘It can also be powerful to gently challenge the old stories that show up in the aftermath: the “I’m too intense,” “I scared them off,” or “I shouldn’t feel this much.” Those stories often reflect someone else’s limits, not your worth or your readiness for connection.’
