Real Talk | The Complicated Comfort of Having a Dude as a Best Friend

Okay, so having a male best friend? It’s weirdly heavy and hilarious all at once. People see us together and immediately start writing a soap opera in their heads. “Are you dating?” “Do you like him?” “Is something happening behind the scenes?” Spoiler alert: no. But yes, even our friends sometimes whisper, “Are you sure there’s nothing there?” Like, calm down, we’re just… chaotic. Platonic. Completely insane together in the best possible way.

Paul and I are messy, loyal, and somehow survive each other’s nonsense. He knows the parts of me I try to hide—the late-night crying jag, the mornings after bad decisions when I’m pretty sure I’ve lost my mind. He’s been there through all of it. Without judgment. Without hesitation. Without letting society’s weird “male-female boundaries” creep in.

And yes, people misread us. They see the constant texts, him showing up at my door like it’s nothing, the endless conversations that go nowhere and everywhere all at once—and they assume desire, flirting, sparks. They’re wrong. Our friendship isn’t a romantic rom-com; it’s survival. It’s trust. It’s the kind of intimacy that doesn’t need labels or definitions.

Honestly, I wouldn’t trade it for a thousand swooning clichés. Not the raised eyebrows. Not the whispered assumptions. Not even the side-eye from friends who think they know our story. What we have is simply friendship. Messy. Beautiful. Complicated. Perfect in a way that can’t be explained.

Paul is my chaos buddy, my personal therapist-slash-co-conspirator. And the blur at the edges that makes people think there might be “something else”? That’s just us being us—intense, loud, ridiculous, and completely unbothered by what anyone else thinks.

Here’s to male best friends who show up when the world won’t, who witness your mess without flinching, who laugh with you, cry with you, and somehow make the chaos feel manageable.

And honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way.

~smy