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2025 was the year of yearning

We couldn’t stop longing for what it didn’t have 

After a decade defined by hustle and optimisation, 2025 turned toward something softer and unresolved. The year of yearning.

From breakout show ‘The Summer I Turned Pretty’ to Charli XCX’s viral hit ‘party 4 u’, the past 12 months of romance have been all about reaching out and never touching. But why has this childhood sense of longing had such a comeback?

According to Impact, as our sense of love faces ever more complex hurdles in the digital world, yearning provides a way of investing in grandiose romance – the kind we might associate with a bygone era. When social media makes it easy to access everything at once, yearning is a way to keep intimacy and connection on a pedestal.

The irony is, yearning has defined romantic popular culture for centuries. Just look at the Bronte sisters – they can thank unrequited love and Mr Darcy’s clenched fist for their prevailing literary impact.

But perhaps that’s why we’ve fallen so hard for longing this year. It represents a time before hyper technology, a slower time when love was able to unfurl innocently. Bojana Jovanovic suggests films and series are now ‘celebrating the slow pace of emotions […] the tension in glances, all those subtle moments that never grow into something final,’ as a way of feeding our hunger for nostalgia.

Yearning offers an escape hatch from the transactional logic of modern dating, where interest is measured in response times and algorithms.

In a landscape where dating apps encourage efficiency and optionality, longing becomes a way of resisting closure. It allows feelings to exist without being immediately tested against reality, at least.

Psychologically, of course, yearning is safer than it looks. Imagining intimacy can feel more rewarding than sustaining it, partly because fantasy is immune to disappointment. It ultimately prolongs the ideal by keeping it out of reach.

But this distance also makes projection easy. Perhaps it’s a way to safeguard our imagination against the advent of AI. We’re leaving spaces for our mind to fill by denying it certain information – which feels like a kind of rebellion against the bombardment of information we’re fed online.

That’s evidenced by the fact that 2025’s yearning wasn’t just confined to romance. Journaling and vision boards, reading more, all provide ways to yearn for a version of ourselves that isn’t yet realised.

And it’s also a way to revert to childish behaviours. Growing up is scary, and hard. For those of us approaching our 30s and facing real-world responsibilities, yearning like our teenage selves is a nice way to dive back into the soft cushy days of our youth.

The pessimist in me might argue that yearning can slide into inertia, or show up as a way of aestheticising inaction. But the collective turn toward longing last year didn’t feel like a refusal to grow up. It felt more like an admission that not everything needs to be solved immediately

To yearn is to acknowledge absence and stay with it, rather than rushing to fill the gap. In a culture obsessed with optimisation, I welcome that pause.

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