So, let’s get real for a second. Ever wanted a rom-com-style love life without actually feeling that heart-fluttery, slow-mo-running-through-an-airport attraction part? Yeah, welcome to the wonderfully weird and wildly valid world of Cupioromantic folks.
I didn’t even know what Cupioromantic meant until I spiraled down a late-night identity crisis and accidentally found a Tumblr thread sandwiched between frog memes and existential Gen Z poetry. But now? I get it. Sorta. And if you’re here, you probably want to understand it too—or maybe, deep down, you are it and you’re just putting the pieces together.
Anyway, grab some tea, a slightly stale croissant, and let’s unpack this thing.
So What the Heck Is Cupioromantic?
In non-dictionary terms: Cupioromantic folks want romance. Kisses on the forehead, good morning texts, arguing over what Netflix show to watch—but they don’t actually feel romantic attraction.
Wild, right?
It’s like ordering a milkshake knowing you’re lactose intolerant. You crave the whole idea, the vibe, the aesthetic. But deep down? Your heart just isn’t doing the fluttery thing it’s apparently “supposed” to do.
Some things that might scream “Hey, you might be Cupioromantic”:
- You dream of anniversaries and Pinterest-style dates.
- But when someone actually flirts with you? Meh.
- You can’t tell if you’re crushing or just admiring their Spotify playlists.
- Relationship memes = relatable. Flirty DMs = awkward silence and panicked typing.
I learned this the hard way when I once tried to woo someone using a homemade playlist. Turns out I was more into the idea of us than them. Whoops.
Where Does It Fall on the Romantic Spectrum?
Okay, so picture romance as a giant buffet. You’ve got aromantic folks on one end who don’t feel romantic attraction and don’t want romantic relationships. Over on the other end? Your average romantic types—the Disney-princess-wannabes and hopeless romantics.
Cupioromantic? Smack in the middle. It’s like wanting dessert but not being able to taste sugar.
So let’s compare:
Cupioromantic vs. Aromantic
Aromantic = no romantic attraction + no desire for romantic relationships.
Cupioromantic = no romantic attraction + does want romance.
Think of it this way: aromantic folks are chilling on a solo camping trip, totally content. Cupioromantic people packed a tent and marshmallows but still need someone to help pitch it.
Cupioromantic vs. Demiromantic
Demiromantic folks feel romantic attraction only after deep emotional bonding. Kinda like unlocking a boss level.
Cupioromantic people? They want the final boss fight from the beginning—but don’t really feel the thrill when they get there.
Makes sense? No? Same. It’s slippery.
The Origin Story—Cue the Flashback Music
Where does this whole Cupioromantic identity come from? Not from a Netflix series, surprisingly.
The term comes from the Latin “cupio,” meaning “I desire.” It popped up on AVEN (Asexuality Visibility and Education Network) forums—somewhere between deep threads about attraction types and someone debating if dogs can be aromantic (yes, this happened).
I wish I could say I found this out by reading some fancy academic paper. But nah—I got schooled by a 17-year-old on Discord who said “bro you might be Cupioromantic fr.”
Real Talk: What Being Cupioromantic Feels Like
It’s a bit like going to a party where everyone’s making out, and you just want to hold hands and talk about mushrooms. You crave the closeness, the connection—but the spark people describe? You’re still waiting for it to show up in the mail.
Sometimes it’s:
- Wanting a partner but not understanding the obsession with “the spark.”
- Feeling left out when friends gush about crushes.
- Asking yourself: “Am I broken?” (spoiler: you’re not).
Cupioromantic isn’t confusion. It’s a legit identity, even if the rom-com world doesn’t get it.
Dating as a Cupioromantic: The Fun, The Weird, The Awkward
I once tried Tinder. Made it three swipes in before panic-yeeted the app off my phone.
For Cupioromantic folks, dating is… complicated. You want that cozy couple aesthetic—matching Halloween costumes, shared Google Calendars—but the spark? It might not be there. Ever.
And explaining that to a potential partner? Tough.
“Hey, so I want to date you, cuddle, maybe raise a houseplant together.
But I won’t feel romantic attraction.”
Cue confusion.
Some partners are chill with it. Some aren’t. That’s okay. But communication becomes hella important.
Myths, Misfires, and Misunderstandings
Alright, let’s bust some of teh biggest myths:
“You’re just aromantic and don’t know it.”
Wrong. Aromantic = doesn’t want romantic stuff. Cupioromantic = bring on the rom-com chaos, just without the romantic feels.
“You’re confused.”
Maybe I am. But not about this.
“You just haven’t met the right person yet.”
Cool. And maybe pigs will fly next Thursday.
Honestly, it’s exhausting being told your feelings are a phase. But just like liking pineapple on pizza (controversial, I know), being Cupioromantic is a personal flavor—valid and very much real.
Pop Culture & Representation (Or Lack Thereof)
Wanna know how many Cupioromantic characters exist in media? Like… maybe two. And even they’re probably accidental.
Imagine a sitcom where someone dates purely because they like dating, not because they’re drawn to the person. Now subtract the melodrama. Add a turtle. That’s the representation we need.
Random Historical Detour (Because Why Not)
Fun fact: Victorians believed love could be diagnosed as an illness—called “romantic melancholia.” I like to think a Cupioromantic person back then probably just wanted someone to pass the tea without all the poetry.
Also, shoutout to page 42 of the (totally real) book “Garden Mishaps & Miracles” (1998) which weirdly compares human attraction to composting. That metaphor? More accurate than you think.
Being Cupioromantic in a World That Loves Love
Weddings. Rom-coms. Valentine’s Day. Even toaster commercials get romantic.
Living as Cupioromantic means navigating a world built for people who catch feelings faster than I catch a cold.
So how do you cope?
- Find community. Reddit’s r/asexuality or even niche Discord servers = lifesavers.
- Practice radical self-acceptance.
- Be open but unapologetic. You don’t owe anyone a “fix.”
My therapist once said, “If you crave the connection, chase it—on your own terms.” Best $85 I ever spent.
Things Cupioromantic Folks Actually Want
This isn’t a universal checklist, but it tracks:
- Emotional closeness. Deep convos at 2AM? Yes please.
- Consistent companionship. Someone to text “made soup” to.
- Romantic aesthetics. Flowers, dates, cheesy pet names—without the lovey-dovey butterflies.
- Mutual understanding. Less pressure, more realness.
Honestly, I’d date someone just to share Spotify playlists and cry at Pixar movies. Sue me.
How to Be a Good Friend/Partner to a Cupioromantic Person
Rule #1: Don’t try to fix them.
Rule #2: Listen without assuming.
Rule #3: Validate their identity. Even if it’s not your experience, it’s real for them.
And maybe bring snacks. Emotional convos go down easier with Oreos.
The Final Thought I Scribbled on a Coffee-Stained Napkin
(Yes, really. I spilled iced mocha on it. Pete from the café offered me a new one. Legend.)
Cupioromantic people aren’t broken. Or lost. Or waiting to be “saved” by the right meet-cute.
They just experience romance a little differently. And that difference? It deserves the same respect, space, and celebration as any other identity.
If you’re reading this and nodding along, maybe laughing awkwardly and wondering if this is your label—then hey. Maybe it is. Or maybe it’s a step in figuring out your own beautifully weird truth.
