Is going green the new flex in the dating world?
When sustainability becomes part of our romantic appeal, caring about the planet can start to look more like a performance than a practice.

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There are plenty of things we exaggerate when we try to impress someone we are interested in. We choose the best photos for our dating profiles. We pretend we know the restaurants they mention. We suddenly become interested in a band whose name we learned five minutes ago. Apparently, we might also become better environmentalists?

I understand the temptation. If I were building a dating profile, I would obviously choose the version of myself I liked best to portray. I would pick the photo where my hair actually cooperates, not the supposedly “candid” photo someone took of me mid-sneeze. I would mention that I love baking, but probably leave out the fact that I see messages, tell myself I’ll reply later, and somehow only remember it seven hours later. 

Being environmentally conscious has become an attractive stance, both socially and morally. In a 2024 Psychology Today article, social psychologist Brian Collisson explains the psychology behind why and how eco-friendly behaviours can make someone appear more responsible, generous, and reliable, and even more desirable as a long-term romantic partner. In other words, carrying a reusable water bottle might communicate more than a preference against plastic. It can say something about the kind of person we want others to think we are.

I don’t think there is anything wrong with finding environmental awareness attractive. I would probably see it as a good sign too. The choices we make tell other people something about our priorities. Someone who thinks about waste, consumption, or the future may also seem thoughtful in other parts of life—giving us a window into who they are as a potential romantic partner or friend. The problem with this seemingly harmless psychological preference is that it risks a slippery slope of when sustainability stops being a value and becomes a covert dating strategy.

Collisson’s articulation of the relationship between environmental habits and perceived attractiveness found that study participants reported engaging in more eco-friendly behaviours when shown a potential romantic partner than when shown a non-romantic peer. Romance, it seems, can make us a little greener, or at least more eager to say that we are.

I find this fascinating because the lie itself can seem so harmless. Nobody is pretending to be a completely different person. Maybe you recycle, just not as often as your profile says. Maybe you own a reusable bag, even if it spends most of its life forgotten under your kitchen sink. But the exaggeration reveals something bigger about how we pursue romantic connections in today’s world.

Dating apps ask us to compress ourselves into a collection of photos, prompts, interests, and values. With limited space to tell strangers who we really are, we choose the parts that make us look and feel good. We don’t present ourselves exactly as we are on an ordinary Tuesday afternoon. We present the version of ourselves we hope someone will swipe right on.

Environmentalism fits surprisingly well into that status quo where perception overpowers reality  because being green can signal qualities that have little to do with recycling and planetary health. Research found that people making eco-friendly choices were perceived as warmer, more competent, and more suitable long-term partners. And that visible conservation behaviours increased perceptions of generosity and responsibility. 

Sustainability, then, can function almost like romantic social currency. Displaying it may increase our perceived value to someone else. Once a value becomes socially desirable, we gain an incentive to display it whether or not we consistently live by it. That bothers me more than someone actually forgetting to recycle.

The climate crisis is no longer a crisis anymore. According to the United Nation’s Environment Program and predictions by the world’s leading climate scientists, global temperatures are projected to surpass the 1.5 degrees celsius threshold within the next few years. Although climate projections are not a perfected science, this apocalyptic warming would supercharge natural disasters, turn millions of people into climate migrants, and produce increasingly unlivable economic, agricultural, and social conditions.

I believe that we are entering a period where environmental responsibility and consciousness must matter beyond what it communicates about our personalities. Sustainability and environmental responsibility cannot just be another adjective squeezed between “foodie” and “loves rock climbing” on a dating profile. If we care about the environment only when someone attractive is watching, then our concern has become a performance.

Of course, none of us perfectly live according to our values. Someone can care about climate change and still buy fast fashion. Someone can bring a reusable cup to campus and still order coffee in a disposable cup from campus cafes. Expecting perfect consistency would make any shred of environmentalism nearly impossible. The issue is not hypocrisy every time our behaviour falls short; it is deliberately turning our values into advertisements.

Dating already gives us plenty of opportunities to perform. We select flattering photos, rewrite prompts, and carefully decide which interests deserve space on our profiles. Adding environmentalism to that list shows how easily even our moral values can become part of personal branding.

Yet, I think relationships could also push sustainability in a more meaningful direction. Instead of exaggerating our habits to attract someone, we could actually influence each other to live more sustainably. One person’s greener habits may encourage the other to change. Personally, that is much more valuable than using environmentalism to make ourselves look attractive. If our relationships can shape our habits, then sustainability does not have to remain something we only practice for social capital. It can become something we genuinely practice together.

Maybe the question then should not be whether being green makes us more attractive—because we know it does. The questions should be what happens to our values once there is nobody left to impress.

A dating profile can tell me that you recycle, carry reusable bags, and care about the planet. Great! But eventually, the profile disappears and real life begins. What matters then is whether those values survive when they stop earning likes, matches, or approval.

Sustainability should not be something we practise just because somebody attractive might be watching. It should still matter when nobody is.

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