Lovebombing is hands down the most morally complex and philosophically loaded word in the Gen Z dating lexicon. To put it simply, it’s a Bumble-swiping stint gone too well, too soon. Think grand gestures, expensive gifts, and pet names like “honeybun”—all used as a clever ploy to trap you. Once you’re hooked, addicted, and start believing in the magic of instant algorithmic amour, the rug is pulled from under your feet. The chat goes quiet, flowers stop showing up. It’s my favourite kind of evil, the fleeting fantasy that disappears as quickly as it arrives. Clearly, the love-at-first-sight trope is butchered to its core, it’s simply too good to be true in the 21st century.
Of course, lovebombing has existed way before the era of Tinder, Bumble and Hinge. You are told that you are the one and this is for keeps. You hear it in words, gestures, gifts, and promises. And then without a warning – poof – all this evaporates. Lovebombing is a grand deception, enacted just to ensnare you into believing. As soon as you start to believe, the mirror breaks.
As heartbreaks go, this one has a special place in hell. Because gaslighting reaches a whole new level in this game.
As smart as I am, it took me hours and hours of research to remotely understand the manipulative art that is lovebombing. Like any other beautiful girl, I fully get why a guy would promise me his grandmother’s jewellery just by looking at my pictures and a fun evening at Blue Tokai. Shocker, it’s all a lie. The lifelong diet of heartwarming love stories is now proving severely unhealthy. Was Jay Gatsby the original lovebomber? Makes sense because those house-sized bouquets were surely not sustainable. Modern Romeos have less lavish ways to woo their temporary Juliets, and in the age where breadcrumbing is the norm, their bluff is too easy to call.
If the time duration between “hey” on the dating app and the big red heart emoji on WhatsApp is less than a week, it’s definitely not sincere. If a Hinge match starts commenting on all your posts right after joining the Instagram follower list, he’s giving himself away. A professional lovebomber can keep up the act for weeks, months and even years. It’s a favourite tactic of toxic boyfriends to pull after every abusive episode. It’s amazing how they dodge breakups with a bomb of a you’re-the-love-my-life pitch effortlessly churned by ChatGPT.
It’s no honeymoon
Lovebombing does have its materialistic perks. Heart-shaped pizza, a trip to Puducherry, black gold earrings, mosquito repellent racket—you’d be surprised how much guys shell out initially just to ghost you eventually. One girl was gifted a set of bangles barely two days after a lousy first date, while another was bribed with a MacBook Air for five minutes of Facetime. When a Delhi-based podcaster kept rejecting a pushy dude’s advances, he sent a big hamper of Paperboat juice to her office.
A 26-year-old Dubai-bred friend of a friend living in London was offered the best seats at The Script (Irish rock band) concert. When she said that her parents wouldn’t let her go, the man sweetened the deal with backstage access. Motivated, she started texting back more frequently, and soon found out that he never had the tickets, forget the backstage access. She only got the front-row seats to male disappointment.
Apart from gifts, gestures are equally extra in the lovebombing manual. I will never forget the questionable love poem my Hinge match wrote me after our first date. It was more like a cringebomb that got him unmatched instantly. Smarter players exist. My pal in IIM-Bangalore is hooking up with a guy who irons her clothes, and brews coffee for her when she pulls all-nighters. He sings songs praising her beautiful eyes. But he wants things strictly casual because he already has a girlfriend in another city.
Then, there are men who pull odd stunts, always in the cringe-to-creep spectrum. Take my colleague’s two-week situationship in college—this guy would travel to her hostel every night after curfew just to wave at her. She lived on the third floor, so he couldn’t actually see her but he sure managed to entertain half the girls watching from their windows. He also creeped the hell out of the other half. Guess that’s what they call mixed signals.
The 20-something girlies with their extra-alert ick radar aren’t buying into the millennial honeymoon phase anymore, which is just the pre-exposed term for lovebombing. That doesn’t mean they don’t enjoy it. Juggling a swarm of Tinder matches at once would become too dry without it. In fact, it helps streamline the roster—whoever lovebombs best lasts another week in the game. Sign me up, kiss the ground I walk on for as long as you like, and then get out of my hair before I am bored.
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(Edited by Zoya Bhatti)