But You Say I’m Just a Friend

Why the friend zone is where you should be.

By Ryan Virden

I want to know your name and I want to know if you got a man (I want to know) I want to know everything I want to know ya number and if I can come over and) I want to know what ya like I want to know, so I can do it all night But you’re telling me I’m just a friend You’re telling me I’m just a friend

The Mario remake of the classic Biz Markie joint “Just a Friend” was my generation’s anthem for the disdain of the “friend zone.” That dreaded place where you got “stuck” if you didn’t have enough game, look good enough, weren’t funny enough, didn’t have enough money, or just generally didn’t have the sauce. I grew up internalizing the phrase “just friends” as a way of making it clear that there was another, assumingly deeper and more rewarding level that would never be reached by me and that person.

Friendship was a stop on the journey towards something better. Never something to be aspired to on its own. When I got married I told everybody that she was my best friend. Truth be told, though, I never considered the quality of our friendship.

I didn’t strive to be a good friend; that was beneath our relationship. We were more than that. And then we got divorced.

Ironically, all that coexisted with the idea that friendship is the foundation of a lasting relationship. But what does that mean? A foundation is something to be built on.

What if friendship isn’t the foundation but the finished product? What if friendship is the heart that gives life to any relationship? What if instead of being a stop on the way to something deeper and more valued it was the pinnacle? What if the friend zone was where we aspired to be instead of the designated label for a failed attempt at connection?

I was about to find out.

I had been dating for a few months post-break-up. I had done plenty of individual work in therapy and was ready to “get out there.” I did Tinder and Bumble, really all the dating apps, and I wasn’t feeling fulfilled or happy. On those apps, I said I was interested in friendship and seeing where it went, but hadn’t really thought that out. Also, I hadn’t met anybody that made me want to figure that out. Nobody inspired me to take seriously what it meant to care about friendship. And I didn’t expect that night to be any different.

We were meeting at a local Thai spot and I was running late. I finished a workout, jumped in the shower and threw something on: jeans, some boots, a t-shirt and because it was December a long-sleeve undershirt. Yup, I had two shirts on, straight out of 1997. I got to the spot first, and the moment she sat down I knew it was going to be different.

She sat down and got right to it. The conversation was real from the start. The part I remember the most was when she said she was interested in building a friendship because she hadn’t experienced that in her previous relationships.

Something inside me shifted. I felt it immediately. I wanted to be her friend. And it wouldn’t be “just friends.”

Being her friend felt like everything I was looking for. It felt like peace. We spent over 3 hours at the Thai spot talking about everything and nothing. Where I would have normally made a move or tried to rush the “getting to know you” friends stuff there was engaging, meaningful and fulfilling conversation. At the end of the night, we hugged and went our own ways.

Not exactly how other dates had ended. I sat in my car trying to make sense of what just happened. It was different in the best ways.

That was over a year ago. Since then we have intentionally centered our friendship and committed to open, honest, and direct communication. We laugh. We talk shit. We talk about everything and anything. We are free from the expectations of romantic relationships.

Which actually makes more room for romance. When I say she is my friend people smirk and say “oh yea your friend” and I know where they are coming from. I recognize the urge to avoid the friend zone. The pressure to be more. The missing that being friends is everything.

But every time we hang out I know it’s because we are choosing each other. Every minute we spend together is a choice. It’s not habit. It’s not obligation. It’s not expected.

Friends isn’t the jump-off; it’s the peak. Friendship isn’t the ash when the fire dies; it’s the oxygen feeding the flames.

I can hear some of y’all now, that’s not about friendship that’s about monogamy. Yup, I agree. One of the first conversations we had was about our mutual discomfort with the way traditional, exclusive, monogamy narrowly defines and limits what is possible in relationships.

We wanted the freedom to be able to just relate to one another in whatever ways made sense. We both committed to communication, and mutual respect, and have spent our energy deepening and building our connection. The energy we might spend worrying about our label, or what we can and cannot do we spend relating to one another.

And let me be clear, this isn’t about sex. This is about rejecting expectations and relationship hierarchies that ultimately stifle relating. We care about what’s real, not what is expected.

But really this is about scarcity. More specifically this is about the myth of scarcity. Ranking and prioritizing relationships and then ultimately rationing love is how we are taught to live our lives.

But nothing can be further from the truth. Real connections, real relationships provide abundance. The future lies in that abundance. The world we need, the world we imagine, depends on that abundance. Whether or not you’re “telling me I’m just a friend.”

Read more from The Good Men Project on Medium:

The story was previously published on The Good Men Project.

About Ryan Virden

Ryan Williams-Virden is a cultural worker, educator, and writer from Northeast Minneapolis. He is dedicated to creating a more healthy world through popular education and cultural practice. He lives in Minneapolis with his daughter and dogs. He loves to watch movies multiple times. You can follow him on Twitter @ryan612ne