Let me start with a confession: I once dated someone who was not my boyfriend.

Yes, I know. That sentence alone sounds like the beginning of a WhatsApp voice note from your most dramatic friend.

But welcome to modern Gen Z romance, where we can spend every weekend together, split fries at Artcaffé, hold hands at Junction Mall, watch Netflix on someone’s laptop in a bedsitter in Rongai, and still confidently say, “We’re not really dating.”

Apparently, that’s called a situationship.

If you’ve never heard the term, a situationship is basically a romantic relationship that refuses to pick a lane. It’s more than a casual hookup but less than an official relationship. You text, you hang out, you share emotional moments, maybe even meet each other’s friends, but there’s no label, no commitment and no clear future.

Honestly, I used to think it sounded cool. Modern. Mysterious. Like the kind of thing emotionally mature people with good playlists and soft lighting in their rooms were doing.

Then I tried it. Mine started the way many Gen Z romances start: Instagram DMs.

He replied to one of my stories, a blurry sunset photo I took while stuck in Nairobi traffic, and suddenly we were talking every day. Soon, we were grabbing mutura at roadside joints after evening walks, sharing memes and having long conversations about life, politics and which matatu playlist was superior.

But whenever the conversation got close to the question, “So… What exactly are we?” it would get suddenly intricate.

“We’re just vibing.”

“Let’s not complicate things.”

“Labels are unnecessary.”

At first, I convinced myself this was very mature. Very modern. Very Gen Z.

But then came the small confusing moments.

Like when my friend asked, “Is he your boyfriend?” and I replied with a 45-second explanation that sounded like I was defending a thesis.

Or when we ran into someone he knew at Sarit Centre and he introduced me as “a friend”.

Friend?

I had spent three weekends, flour smeared on my face while trying to cooking chapatis in his kitchen. If that’s friendship, my real friends deserve an apology.

To be fair, I understand why situationships appeal to many people in my generation.

Dating today is chaotic. Apps, social media and endless options make relationships feel like a buffet where everyone is afraid to commit to one plate. In fact, studies show that many Gen Zs mention situationship preference in dating profiles, reflecting a growing comfort with flexible relationship labels.

However, for my case, I realised situationships were not my cup of tea on a random Tuesday evening.

I had just had a terrible day. My boss had sent a “Meet me in my office first thing tomorrow” message (the professional equivalent of a horror movie soundtrack), and all I wanted was comfort.

So I texted him.

His response?

“Sorry, I’m busy.”

Now, normally that would be fine. People get busy.

But something about that moment made me realise the uncomfortable truth: In a situationship, you can invest relationship-level emotions, while receiving friendship-level responsibility.

And suddenly, the math felt… unfair.

Of course, not every Gen Z sees situationships as a problem.

Evans Opiyo, 24, explained over coffee:

“Honestly, situationships are great. There’s companionship without pressure. We both know we’re still figuring out our lives.”

For many Gen Zs juggling university, side hustles, internships and existential dread about the economy, a low-pressure relationship can feel practical. When you’re worried about rent, career paths and whether the price of eggs will rise again, emotional flexibility starts to sound appealing.

But here’s the part people don’t always mention. Situationships are also emotionally confusing.

Research suggests that a large number of people who have been in situationships report experiencing heartbreak or emotional distress when expectations between partners don’t match. That makes sense; when a relationship has no defined boundaries, it’s easy for two people to walk into it with completely different assumptions about what it means.

And that confusion is something many Gen Zs are starting to question. Emily Wanjiru, 23, put it bluntly during one of those late-night conversations that start as jokes and slowly become philosophical.

“I tried a situationship once. Never again. It felt like being in a relationship where you’re expected to care, but you’re not allowed to ask for anything.”

That sentence stuck with me because it perfectly described the weird emotional math of the whole arrangement.

You’re texting every day. You’re spending weekends together. You’re sharing parts of your life that normally belong inside a relationship. But somehow, you’re also pretending none of that means anything.

And honestly? That level of mental gymnastics deserves an Olympic medal.

When you zoom out, situationships reflect something bigger happening in our generation.

We grew up watching marriages fall apart, hearing endless ‘relationship advice’ online and navigating a world where everything, from careers to relationships, is uncertain.

So maybe we’re afraid to commit. Or maybe we’re just tired. But I’ve come to realise something simple: Clarity is underrated. I don’t need fairy-tale romance. I’m not asking for dramatic proposals at Uhuru Park.

I just want someone who can answer a basic question without buffering like slow WiFi.

“What are we?”

Because after my brief and slightly confusing situationship era, I’ve come to accept my truth. Life already has enough complicated situations.