(And yes—if it wasn’t obvious, we’re Team Conrad.)

If you’ve been anywhere near TikTok, you know The Summer I Turned Pretty is having its cultural moment. Every other video is either a soft edit of Conrad staring moodily at Belly or someone screaming about why Jeremiah is the better boyfriend. And while I love a good fictional love triangle, the whole Conrad vs. Jeremiah debate is giving me déjà vu.

Because I’ve dated both.
I married one of them.
And watching this show with Girl, Hang Up eyes? It’s painfully familiar.

Let’s get this out of the way: I’m not here to fight about which fictional boy you’d rather kiss under fireworks.
I’m here to talk about why Jeremiah Fisher is the kind of guy who feels safe—but doesn’t grow.
Why he might look like a walking green flag from a distance—but if you’ve ever been with a man-child? You know exactly what’s coming.
And why watching Season 3 feels less swoony and more like secondhand embarrassment in real time.

Jeremiah is who you date when you want to feel chosen.

He’s golden retriever-coded. Flirty. Loud with his affection. He’ll kiss you in front of everyone and tell you he loves you before you’re even sure what you’re feeling. He says all the right things. He knows how to comfort. He wants to be needed.

But here’s the thing:
Wanting to be needed isn’t the same as showing up.
Performing emotional availability doesn’t mean you have emotional maturity.
And I think that’s the trap so many of us fall into—especially when we’re young, insecure, or coming out of a relationship where we weren’t seen.

Jeremiah looks like a healthy partner.
But he avoids conflict.
He cheats when things get hard, then calls it “a pause.”
He spirals anytime someone else’s emotions aren’t convenient for him.
He cries to make himself the victim.
And he wants the fantasy of being the sweet, stable guy—but can’t actually handle emotional depth without crumbling.

That’s not love. That’s a tantrum in a friendship bracelet.

And honestly? Season 3 is hard to watch.
Because we’ve all been there—with the guy who says all the right things, but folds under any kind of pressure.
The guy who treats vulnerability like a performance.
The guy who clings to you when it benefits him but disappears the moment you need something real.

Jeremiah is a man child.
A charismatic one, sure. But one who panics when things stop being fun.
He’s not your partner. He’s your dependent.

And that realization? It hit hard.

Because Conrad, on the other hand? He’s not perfect. Not even close.
He shuts down. He gets overwhelmed. He pushes people away.
But he’s trying. He’s going to therapy. He listens. He apologizes. He grows.
He actually sits with hard feelings—his and yours.
He’s not easy to love, but he’s learning how to love better.

Watching the show, I realized the reason I used to be drawn to guys like Jeremiah is because I didn’t trust my own voice.
I wanted someone loud about loving me—even if they didn’t understand me.
Even if they couldn’t meet me in the depths of who I was.
Because someone like Conrad? Who might actually see my mess and stay?
That felt terrifying.

And that’s where this connects back to Girl, Hang Up.

A huge part of this brand—this podcast, this blog, this space—is about helping women untangle the relationships that looked good on the outside but left them quietly unraveling.
The ones where they were chosen, but never understood.
The ones where they were supported—until they had needs.
The ones that turned into emotional labor camps because “he was trying,” but never evolving.

That’s Jeremiah energy.
And if you’ve dated one? You know how much it drains you.

So yeah, scream about the love triangle. Post the TikToks. Pick your boy.
(Again: Team Conrad. Obviously.)

But if you’re still healing from someone who told you everything you wanted to hear and still broke your heart anyway…
If you’re trying to figure out why you feel wrecked by a guy who “never even treated you that badly”…
If you’re finally realizing that comfort without accountability is just a slow emotional bleed?

You’re not alone.
You’re not crazy.
And no, you’re not asking for too much.

You’re just waking up to the fact that love isn’t love if it requires you to shrink, stay quiet, or tolerate someone else’s stuckness.

And if you’re still not sure which one’s worse?
The one who can’t love you?
Or the one who pretends to?

Girl, hang up.