Why I can’t be friends with men anymore

“Can men and women really be just friends?” The question was made famous by 1989’s When Harry Met Sally. As a straight woman, I’ve been pondering my own answer for years, and in April last year, I decided it was a resounding no. This month marks a year since I cut off my male friendships – a decision that was solidified when I was asked a different question. “Can I tie you up?” my friend Wes* asked me. He just walked over to his backpack, pulling out a packing cube and unzipping it to reveal bundles of rope – leftover, he said, from a visit to a recent hookup – and placed it between us. We were on a last-minute weekend trip to the Hamptons, somewhere I’d always wanted to go (thanks to watching Gossip Girl) but never thought I could afford. An off-season deal made it possible for us to go, taking a road trip from our homes in New York, where we lived. Wes, a colleague, and I had grown close in the last year – bonding over toxic bosses and many a quarter-life crisis. He knew I wasn’t interested in him romantically or physically. At the time, I trusted him as a platonic friend. “Perhaps we could just make a big bow around your wrist,” I try to laugh off. Wes’ uncomfortable proposal came out of left field, and with two days remaining on our trip. We’d been snowed in at the hotel, passing time with card games just shortly before. He doubled down, saying he didn’t trust me – that he should be the one tying me up. I insisted I don’t want to participate, and he eventually withdrew.

Being friends with men stressed me out, left me disappointed and came with a shorter expiry date

Whether it was an inappropriate suggestion or otherwise, it was jarring and forced a realisation: if I’d been a male friend on that trip, Wes wouldn’t have done that. And if I’d been traveling with a female friend instead of him, I wouldn’t have had to navigate that type of discomfort. The incident forced me, at the age of 29, to confront a pattern in my male friendships I’d been experiencing since my teens: being friends with men has only ever stressed me out, left me disappointed and came with a shorter expiry date. I’ve had male friends make moves on me while in relationships with other people. Others disregarded boundaries when I was vulnerable – trying to kiss me after I’d gone to them for support, or when I turned to them for romantic advice about another guy. At best, friendships that felt fulfilling and stable would disappear (often without explanation) once their new girlfriends entered the picture. One told me, right after getting a girlfriend, that we could no longer hang out in-person – but I was “welcome to come watch him play local tennis from afar”. (Photo: Getty)

My life has felt lonelier than normal

After my Hamptons trip concluded, I decided from then that my friendships would be strictly female. Socially, I can be friendly in situations where I’m not the host – a friend’s birthday, a wedding – where interacting with men is inevitable rather than something I’ve chosen. But I no longer initiate or agree to hangouts with men. The only men I spend time with one-on-one are those I’m dating or in a relationship with. I’m not close to my family, so friendships are especially important to me. A year on from my decision, my life feels calmer – my nervous system is settled, no longer bracing for crossed lines in my friendships. But, while I’ve always valued time alone, my life has also felt lonelier than normal. This is partly due to moving back to London and freelancing – but cutting myself off from half the population has inevitably led to fewer plans.

Not catastrophic, but uncomfortable

It forced me to admit that I did miss having male friends. They were easier to make plans with, more reliable in showing up, and, at times, felt less judgmental than my female ones – something I’ve heard from other women, too. Some of my favourite memories – conversations, travel, feeling seen – have been with male friends. I feel like I could be my more neurotic self with them. I questioned whether I’m just bad at choosing male friends. I have wonderful female friends who thrive in their mixed-gender friendship groups. More than once, I’ve been told I’m missing out on a fundamental part of life by excluding men. So I tested it. I allowed myself to stray from my rule three times in the past few months. A crew member I got along with turned out to be a photographer whose self-funded work focused on nude women. A neighbour I went to the cinema with ignored my physical boundaries. On a ski trip, a man I was getting to know told me in a sauna he was “into Asian girls”. None of it was catastrophic, but it was uncomfortable enough to remind me why I’d drawn the boundary in the first place. (Photo: Getty)

I liken my decision to my intolerance to turmeric

The experiential data hasn’t been great, but I still wonder if I’m limiting myself. What if I did say yes to being around men more often – to neighbours, to coworkers? Working in entertainment, where so much runs on relationships, would my world feel bigger – would more opportunities come from it? But I keep coming back to the same realisation, and liken my decision to my food intolerance to turmeric. Turmeric is known to be anti-inflammatory, but every time I consumed it, I felt unwell. Doctors later confirmed I have a high intolerance. It benefits other people, but has a negative effect on me. I feel the same way about my male friendships, and I’m glad I’m doing what’s right for me. It can make life lonelier, but I’m happy with the trade-offs right now. (*Name has been changed) (Photo: Getty)