Look, I don’t care how many TikTok life coaches or pastel‑coloured Instagram posts try to convince us otherwise, “platonic friendship” between a straight bloke and a woman he finds attractive is mostly bullshit.
And don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying men and women can’t be friends. Of course they can. But if you reckon 99% of those “he’s just like a brother to me” situations aren’t hiding at least a little bit of “if the planets aligned and she got drunk enough on a Friday night, he’d be running over there in his best sneakers with no pants on,” then you’ve been sniffing too much incense at your yoga retreat.
I’ve seen it. I’ve lived it. You know how many “platonic” friendships I’ve watched blow up like a dodgy microwave? A few drinks, a bit of flirty banter, and suddenly Brad’s trying to cop a feel on the couch while pretending he’s just “stretching.”
And don’t even get me started on the blokes who swear blind they’re not interested. “Oh no mate, she’s like a sister.” Oh yeah? Then why are you staring at her arse when she walks away like it owes you rent?
And for the ladies — don’t think you’re off the hook. You know exactly when he’s into you. You know. You keep him around because it feels nice having someone to kill a Saturday night with, or move furniture, or tell you you’re gorgeous when your actual boyfriend is too busy playing Warzone. And that’s fine — but let’s not pretend this is all some purely innocent, wholesome Disney subplot.
Because eventually one of you cracks. One of you — usually the bloke — says something dumb at 1am after “just one more drink.” Or you’re both lonely one night, a little horny, and suddenly “Netflix and chill” isn’t so theoretical anymore. And boom — there goes the friendship.
I once had a mate swear to me that he could sleep in the same bed as his “platonic female friend” and nothing would ever happen. Spoiler: he woke up naked, confused, and with one less friendship.
How about this for a stitch‑up: one of Perth’s so‑called “elite privates” — who may or may not still be plying her trade — pulled this little number on me back in my thirties.
And like a bloody idiot, I played along. Chauffeur? That was me. Personal errand boy? Tick. Emotional support muppet? Double tick. She’d sleep in my bed — “just friends” of course — drag me into fashion store cubicles while she stripped off to try on clothes (you know, totally normal “friend” behaviour), kiss me on the cheek, bat her eyelashes … and all the while I’m going quietly insane thinking, is this going somewhere, or am I just here to carry the shopping bags?
So one day I grew a spine. I told her what I actually wanted. And what did I get? “Oh, we’re just friends.” Just friends. Like I was some sort of horny parasite for thinking maybe all this naked‑cubicle‑sleep‑in‑my‑bed caper meant something more than me being her unpaid Uber with a pulse.
That was it. Game over. She earned herself a one‑way ticket to my Fuck Off Zone, and I’ve got to tell you — that is self respect.
Platonic my arse.
So yeah, maybe some of you manage it. Maybe some saintly unicorn of a man really does just want to be your mate, and there’s zero sexual tension. Good for you. But for the rest of us mortals? It’s like leaving a cheesecake in the fridge and swearing you’ll never touch it. You can pretend all you want, but at some point you’re eating that cheesecake.
Anyway. That’s my rant.
So, ladies: do you really think these blokes hanging around “as friends” aren’t secretly waiting for their shot?
And blokes: are you guilty of being that “platonic friend” hoping she breaks up with her boyfriend?
Chuck it in the comments. Be honest. Lie if you want — but we all know the truth anyway.
Author: Master Yoda
For: Langtrees.com
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