Are the guys in their 20s the new designer drug?

Sneakers & Stilettos™

There was a time when women wanted stability.

A man with a mortgage. A Roth IRA. Maybe even a sensible sedan.

Now?

Now we’re out here looking at a 24-year-old with broccoli hair, silver chains, emotional instability, and a vape addiction thinking:

“Wow. He could absolutely ruin my life.”

And somehow… that’s the appeal.

The truth is, men in their 20s have become the modern-day designer drug.

Not because they’re good for you.

Not because they’re sustainable.

But because they make you feel alive in the exact same way tequila shots and bad decisions do.

They text “u up?” at 11:47 PM and suddenly your nervous system activates like a Vegas slot machine.

You could’ve ignored it.

You should’ve ignored it.

But no. Your brain goes:

“THIS is what healing must feel like.”

It’s not love.

It’s cardiovascular exercise.

Dating a guy in his 20s is honestly just adult parkour.

One minute he’s calling you “literally the hottest woman I’ve ever met.”

The next minute he disappears for 9 business days because he “needed to lock in.”

Lock in to what, Tyler?

You work part-time at a smoothie place and repost David Goggins clips.

And yet… somehow they have confidence levels usually reserved for hedge fund managers and mediocre DJs.

The problem is they come with side effects.

Possible symptoms include:

• Confusion

• Delusion

• Sudden interest in tiny sunglasses

• Listening to house music against your will

• Pretending you enjoy “spontaneous adventures”

• Re-downloading Snapchat in moments of weakness

You’ll say things like:

“He’s just emotionally unavailable because he’s young.”

No babe.

He’s emotionally unavailable because his frontal lobe is still buffering.

But there’s also something wildly intoxicating about their chaos.

Men in their 20s flirt like they have absolutely nothing to lose because they usually don’t.

No ex-wife.

No blood pressure medication.

No fear.

Just vibes and a leased BMW with 14% APR.

Meanwhile older men text:

“Good morning beautiful. Hope your Tuesday is productive.”

Which is lovely. Respectful even.

But the 25-year-old sends:

“Come over. I bought a projector.”

And suddenly you’re putting on lip gloss like a war widow reunited with hope.

It’s dangerous.

Because these boys will make you feel like the main character while simultaneously forgetting your birthday, your last name, and occasionally basic human decency.

One minute you’re mentoring them through taxes and teaching them how credit scores work.

The next minute they’re teaching you how to feel hot again.

It’s mutually destructive.

Like cigarettes in the 90s…

And honestly? Society should probably issue a warning label.

WARNING:

May cause:

• Temporary ego inflation

• Chronic overthinking

• Random gym selfies

• A relapse into crop tops

• Saying “he’s mature for his age” to your concerned friends

The worst part is they always smell incredible.

Why do they all smell like cedarwood, poor choices, and unemployment?

Science needs to investigate this.

But eventually reality hits.

You realize you cannot build a future with a man who thinks meal prepping is buying two Chipotle bowls instead of one.

You start craving peace.

Consistency.

Health insurance.

And one day you’ll meet a stable grown man who communicates properly and owns matching towels and suddenly you’ll understand:

the designer drug phase was fun…

but recovery was necessary.

Still though…

If a 26-year-old with tattoos and emotional damage asked me to go on a spontaneous road trip tomorrow?

I’m not saying yes.

I’m just asking what time we’re leaving.