Lately I’ve been thinking, is there anything more universal – and inexplicable – than a male “ick”? It’s a phenomenon so familiar that women everywhere had to gather together and give it a name. They are the quirks, the habits and the moments that trigger an internal cringe so visceral, they make us reconsider everything about our relationships. You ask yourself, “Am I being unfair?” “Am I being too nitpicky?” Is it just a passing phase, or does an ick really mark the end of the road?
Let me set the scene. There I was, making eyes at a man across the bar at Social (now MacDinton’s). He was handsome and confident, and he had that irresistible something. I sat there, mustering up the courage to go and talk to him, thinking of what I’d say. That was, until I watched him order 50 lemon drop shots and gulp them down one by one. My metaphorical bubble popped, my rose colored glasses came off and my lady boner poof…gone. In that split second, I was overtaken with disgust, leaving only disappointment in its wake. I let out a familiar deep sigh, one I have let out many times before. Another man had tumbled off my mental pedestal.
But what actually are icks, and why are they so frustrating? It’s like an unwelcome, invisible force — low-key depressing, yet undeniable. It’s that “You’ll know it when you see it” feeling that sneaks up on you at any point in the relationship. (Although it’s often in the beginning.) A man breathes too heavily, laughs in an off-putting way, smolders when you try to tell him a story, etc., and away goes all that attraction you initially felt for him. It shoots us back to reality, and some part of me wonders if it’s a self-preservation mechanism, a gut-level reminder of what we really want — or don’t.
Now, everyone has pet peeves. But an ick? That’s different. A pet peeve might be annoying but manageable, while an ick is often unshakeable, a turn-off so intense you never see him the same way again. For me the barometer is simple: if that cringey feeling kills the sexual chemistry, I’ve caught the ick. Maybe it’s unfair, but let’s be honest – men must feel the same (though maybe not as frequently).
So, I decided to investigate, starting with my friend Diane. When I asked her for her top icks, she listed them with alarming speed: “Immaturity, zero confidence, love bombing, sometimes even looks.” Looks? I blinked. I thought to myself, is there no line between personal preference and ick? I mean, not every woman dreams of a guy under 6 feet, but calling that an “ick” seemed extreme.
Also, everything she was listing seemed much worse than icks, they seemed like red flags. Could they be both? Yes. But there’s a key difference. An ick is like a bee sting — unpleasant, a little jarring but ultimately harmless. A red flag, on the other hand, is a bear attack. It’s your fight-or-flight instinct screaming at you to either run or play dead, but whatever you do, do not engage further.
Then there was my friend Patricia, who confessed she’d gotten the ick because her date had… small ears. “Aren’t we just being shallow now?” I laughed, to which Patricia simply shrugged. “It’s better to figure it out early,” she said. “Imagine trying to build a life with a guy, and every time you look at him, you’re annoyed by his ears.” Sad but true, attraction was a big part of the relationship portrait. There is an upside to getting an ick sooner rather than later.
But when Patricia added, “I think when you actually love someone, all of that doesn’t matter,” I had to ask: But don’t we all start as strangers? What if we turn away a lifelong connection because of something minor, like small ears? “Well,” she replied, “we’ll never know.” And as much as I didn’t want to admit it, I realized I was just like everyone else — I’d never successfully loved someone enough to get past the ick.
Then, I found hope. My friend Amelie has been dating her boyfriend since high school, and when something bothers her, she just points it out. “They’re not even icks at that point,” she laughed, calling them “casual relationship annoyances.” Her little gripes don’t threaten the bond because they’ve already built something real — evidence that, yes, men can survive the initial ick.
Then there’s my roommate Miranda, whose icks are more like dealbreakers. “If a guy’s even remotely interested in someone else, ick. No question.” She didn’t stop there: “Thirst traps on TikTok, skinny jeans, guys that cling to their girlfriend like some other guy is gonna whisk her away.” Her list went on, and it was clear — icks are deeply personal. What’s an ick for one might not be an ick for another. I can’t stand pet names like “sweetheart,” but Miranda doesn’t mind them at all.
I came to the conclusion that an ick is simply a high stake preference. After all, it’s all about the context. For a casual fling, the stakes are low, and maybe it’s okay to be a little shallow — to walk away when the cringe outweighs the chemistry.
But when it comes to real relationships, are icks an automatic red light? Not always, they may simply be small speed bumps that eventually lead to a calm and picturesque road. My friend Amelie waited out her icks to find they faded into quirks she loves, or, at the very least, comfortably points out. But then there are times when the ick refuses to budge, an annoying quirk transforming into a nonnegotiable that no amount of love or patience can erase. As my friend Patricia put it, “Sometimes, you just know.”
So, I guess the real question isn’t whether we can get past the icks, it’s whether we really want to.