Fine, I admit it—I, too, would like a Golden Retriever boyfriend

2023 was a year of many things. It was the year of Barbenheimer, the Eras Tour, unprecedented levels of Swiftie-mania, and, according to some early forecasts, the Year of Pegging (and peg we did, friends!). But perhaps most importantly, it was the year that we, as a society, reached peak Golden Retriever Boyfriend. In case you’ve somehow managed to dodge this wave of GRB fever, allow me to explain.

The Golden Retriever Boyfriend is what he sounds like: a stable, guileless, loyal, romantic partner who gives his love and devotion freely—if also blindly and arguably with little discernment. The term first made the rounds on TikTok and the app formerly known as Twitter back in 2021, but thanks to some high-profile GRB representation this year—namely: Ken from Barbie and, of course, a certain NFL player who has recently become the new Mr. Taylor Alison Swift—this genre of male lover has never been in higher demand. And Reader, I regret to inform you that I, too, have fallen for the hype. I saw Taylor Swift walking her Golden Retriever Boyfriend, so *I* want a Golden Retriever Boyfriend.

Historically, as a woman who was tragically exposed to Victorian literature at a young age—parents, PLEASE check your kids’ Halloween candy for gothic romance—I’ve been doomed to lust after tortured, tragically flawed, and emotionally unavailable anti-heroes. Friends and foes of mine alike know that the bulk of my dating history consists of romantically ambiguous, inherently unstable situationships that invariably end in heartbreak. (I swear I don’t love the drama; it loves me! (Joking, I am literally addicted to chaos.) So imagine my surprise to find myself uncharacteristically enchanted by the idea of settling down with a lovable lunk of a man in recent months. Maybe I’m just exhausted from years of pining on the Yorkshire moors getting ghosted by Mr. Big types and emotionally complex pseudo-intellectuals whose indie records are *much* cooler than mine, but suddenly, adopting a sweet, simple himbo of my own doesn’t sound like the worst thing I could do. So fine, yes, I admit it: I’m ready for someone a little less Mr. Rochester and a little more Mr. Peanut Butter.

Give me a man of emotional munificence and mental simplicity, a man of pure joys and harmless hobbies, like eating steak and eggs at IHOP and staring at the moon. I no longer wish to be intellectually challenged by a romantic interest who considers himself a worthy sparring partner or fluent in sarcasm—I want to be adored within an inch of my life by a man who delights in feeding bread to squirrels, ideally one whose ability to spell the word “squirrel” is dubious.

Will it be a disaster? Possibly! Can my cynical, more-of-a-cat-person self really provide a Golden Retriever boyfriend with the loving home he deserves? Maybe not. But look, the heart wants what it wants, and sometimes the heart simply wants the unconditional devotion of a man who may or may not be able to read. So, Swift, your immeasurable influence wins yet again: Much like you’ve convinced a generation of women that we, too, could probably pull off bangs and a bold red lip, you’ve convinced me that all I want for Christmas is a Golden Retriever boyfriend of my very own. (Please, Mom? I promise I’ll take really good care of him!)

Which is to say, if you are a gentleman who is pure of heart and simple of mind, one who appreciates the little things in life, like #schmackin on Fettuccine Alfredo at Olive Garden and taking naps in all caps, applications are now open to fill the blank space on my long list of ex-lovers. Applicants who cannot spell for shit will obviously be prioritized.