4 hours ago
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When my partner tells the story of how we first met, one detail usually sticks out more than others.
It’s not that we drank warm wine from plastic cups on our MA welcome day while making agonising small talk with soon-to-be classmates. Or how, having gravitated nervously towards each other, we eventually ditched the event for a nearby campus bar.
Rather, the detail people usually find most remarkable is that he’d heard my whole life story by the time we parted ways that evening.
Because, while I’ve always been something of an open book, not everyone is in favour of laying out the gory details of one’s life so early.
In fact, if you asked Gen Z, they might term my forthrightness ‘floodlighting’ – a new entry to the dating lexicon that describes battering a new acquaintance with the nitty gritty of your past and alienating them in the process.
While the behaviour is often seen as an attempt to foster intimacy by seeming vulnerable, psychologists warn that it can have the opposite effect and leave your companion feeling overwhelmed and more distant from you than they were before.
Of course that’s a risk, but unless something pathological is going on, I personally believe you don’t need preternatural emotional intelligence to tell the difference between the kind of oversharing that’s troubling and the kind that’s titillating and generous.
And believe me, sometimes the latter can really pay off.
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Done properly, there is something genuinely delicious about striking up a surprising intimacy with a newfound kindred spirit – a pleasure that works both ways.
Certainly, I was delighted to be trusted with the story of a new acquaintance’s nightmare ex within hours of meeting her at a party.
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Her decision to share what was bothering her with me helped us to feel emotionally connected, and the implicit invitation to offer my input meant we could chat through her options together.
At no point did I feel overwhelmed or taken advantage of – on the contrary, I was grateful to be privy to such sensitive information, and we were much closer as a result.
As for when I met my now partner, he recalls the tale affectionately, always smiling at the memory of my impulse to fast track a new friendship.
Whipping him through such choice topics as my parent’s divorce, teenage indiscretions and a difficult ex, his receptiveness told me that not only would my vulnerability be well-received, but that it would give us a foundation on which to develop a lasting bond.
A decade later, with plenty of confirmation from him, I can say I was right.
As in our case, the way someone responds to your sharing will tell you all you need to know. If nothing else, dropping a weighty story is a great way to test compatibility.
If titbits such as ‘I was totally in love with my Year 9 English teacher’ or ‘I used to be a prolific shoplifter’ are met with sympathetic nods, follow up questions, or even a similar anecdote in return, then it’s time to order another glass of wine and dig in.
If not, wind it in, and return the conversation to safer ground.
Life is too short for strained conversation, but even with the most receptive of new friends, you’ve got to sense that the time is right to deliver one of those remarks.
It ought to go without saying that, a simple question like, ‘Fancy an olive?’ should never be met with, ‘Ah, my aunt used to love olives, she died last week’ – not least because it reveals that you’re more interested in blurting something out than genuinely engaging in the dance of conversation, per floodlighting’s manipulative definition.
But that, in my opinion, is the delicate balance between purposeful sharing and toxic floodlighting. I have certainly been on the receiving end of malicious oversharing, and the difference couldn’t be starker.
I remember someone at a work-do introducing themselves before launching into a ferocious account of their ongoing divorce, clearly looking for affirmation that they were the wounded party — not only was the context totally wrong for that kind of emotional intimacy, but their refusal to read cues from me and the other people in their orbit made the whole exchange profoundly uncomfortable.
And, of course, there have been several male strangers in bars over the years who overshared in ways that were pronouncedly manipulative, presumably with the hope their confession would sweep me into bed.
Oh, your mother never told you she loved you? You’ve got nowhere to stay tonight? Your ex is crazy? Sign me up! Not.
No question, we shouldn’t trauma-dump on our dates in the hope of guilting them into intimacy. But, equally, it would be a tragedy if new couples stopped swapping vulnerable stories when doing so feels intuitive and mutually enriching, even if it is upon first meeting.
In 2025, it seems that there is a term for every social interaction or mode of being – ‘loud budgeting’ or ‘doom spending’ your money; ‘shelving’ or ‘daisy-chaining’ your romantic prospects – yet sometimes, these labels are more of a hindrance than a help.
The anti-floodlighting conversation reminds me of bad faith arguments made by men in the wake of #MeToo, asking plaintively how they could tell if their advances were welcome or going to make them the subject of a lawsuit.
The answer is, they knew the difference all along; they just didn’t like being asked to distinguish.
A blanket term like floodlighting elides the subtle nuances that separate terrible behaviour from genuine human connection. If we all were to rule out sharing, friendships would scarcely exist.
The best thing to do, in my opinion, is trust your own intuition – it is sure to be far more useful than terminology bandied around on the internet.
Much as #MeToo did not herald the end of romance or sexuality, but a shift in our tolerance for harassment and assault, so floodlighting awareness needn’t mean the end of big talk’s blessed ability to catapult strangers from acquaintances to fast friends.
Judged right, floodlighting is far more likely to be illuminating than blinding.
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