“We are so not passing the Bechdel test.”

This not-so-offhanded remark came from a friend. We were sitting in a group, deep in one of those casual conversations discussing the intricacies of who we were or weren’t seeing. How content our situations did or noticeably did not make us feel. The usual post-mortems of dating lives, crushes and situationships. His comment reflected something deeper and lingered with me long after the conversation ended.

For those unfamiliar with it, the Bechdel test was introduced by American cartoonist Alison Bechdel in 1985, as a simple measure of female representation in film and other works of fiction. There are three criteria to pass it: there must be at least two named female characters and they must converse with each other about something other than men. A surprising number of works fail this simple test altogether. My friend’s half-joking remark brought to my attention an interesting extension to be made. Can we “Bechdel test” our everyday lives?

Of course, the test does not translate perfectly. The friend who made the comment was male, so the first criterion does not strictly apply. But the spirit of the idea still holds: How often do our conversations revolve around relationships, dating and men? And how often do we talk about literally anything else?

An idea not necessarily limited to heterosexual relationships, these conversations surrounding the horrors of college dating can be applied broadly. However, the concept of centering of men is naturally not the central issue in relationships notably not involving them.  

With the idea planted, I could not stop noticing it. I became hyper-aware of the topics that dominated everyday exchanges with friends. Walking back from lectures, meeting for coffee or at a late-night dinner party, conversations seemed to loop back again and again to romantic entanglements. Sometimes, within the first few sentences of a conversation, we were already deep, weeding through the emotional turmoil of our love lives. This is not to say that we talk about nothing else. We do talk about work, family, ambitions, politics, fears and plans for the future. However, there are moments when these topics feel oddly sidelined by the urgency of romantic drama. It is as though relationships become the central narrative thread through which we structure our lives. Excitement about personal growth becomes framed around how attractive or available it makes us. Even self-worth can begin to orbit around whether or not someone wants us.

What makes this strange—something my friend hinted at from the start—is that friendships are formed for so many other reasons: shared values, humour, goals, interests and worldviews. Why, then, do these often take a back seat to the analysis of potential or existing romantic relationships? Why do the people we are and what we want sometimes feel secondary to who we are seeing?

The topic followed me into various other conversations with other friends, one of which offered a completely different approach. She argued that worrying about whether we “pass the Bechdel test” in real life is unnecessary. Women, she said, are judged constantly on their relationships regardless of whether they talk about them or not. We are scrutinised for being too obsessed with romance and equally criticised for appearing too indifferent to it. From this angle, monitoring our own conversations becomes just another form of self-policing. Feminism, after all, is rooted in choice. If women want to talk about relationships, love and sex, they should be able to do so without shame. These topics are not trivial, nor is the wish for connection a failure of ambition or intellect. It is part of life and, therefore, part of conversation. Her view on the situation gave me some reprieve from the constant self-analysis and led to a deeper conversation about some of the confinements still placed on women in society. However, it also led me to contemplate how her point, in part, renders this article in itself wholly unnecessary. 

Unless both arguments can be true at once. There is nothing inherently wrong with talking about relationships. In fact, it is unavoidable. But there is something worth questioning when anxieties surrounding romance begin to dominate our mental and emotional landscapes. Bella de Paulo, PhD, writes about the impact that our daily conversations about romance can have. Rumination on romantic relationships, particularly the uncertainty and rejection, can contribute to increased levels of depression and emotional distress, especially among women. More than that, a study done on college students showed that increased conversations on dating led to a decreased interest in education, mostly targeting women. When every conversation becomes a rehearsal of worry, comparison or self-doubt, the cost is not just social but psychological.

The point, then, is not to banish discussions of love from our lives. It is to notice when they crowd out everything else. To ask whether we are giving the same attention to our creative ambitions, friendships, political beliefs or personal growth as we do to the status of our love lives. To consider whether our sense of identity is being quietly reduced to our desirability or availability.

With Valentine’s Day approaching, a cultural moment designed to amplify romantic pressure, this question feels especially timely. Without adding yet another source of anxiety to an already nerve-racking season, it may be worth briefly examining the flow of our everyday conversations. What do we return to when silence falls? What topics feel most urgent? What stories do we tell most often about ourselves?

Perhaps the real value of applying the Bechdel test to life is not in passing or failing, but in using it as a tool for reflection. A way of noticing patterns rather than judging them. So maybe the question is not whether we pass the Bechdel test of life, but whether we allow ourselves to be more than the sum of our romantic narratives and whether our conversations reflect that.