(Opinion) The Limerence Loop

“Now here’s the uncomfortable truth: Limerence is closer to addiction than affection. It’s a dopamine loop. A cycle of craving and reward.” - Michael Bautista

The sudden flash of the phone illuminates the dark room, and suddenly, a sharp thumping vibrates throughout your chest before your brain has the chance to catch up. It’s probably nothing, just another meaningless notification begging for your attention, but for a split second, it felt like everything. The validation you’ve been seeking and that possibility, that hope that maybe it was them.

We’ve all experienced this feeling at some point before, whether platonic or romantic. You’d be lying to yourself if you haven’t refreshed their Instagram profile at 2 a.m. or reread a three-word text like it’s a sacred document. At a certain point, we began to mistake this exact feeling for love: the restless, electrifying, all-consuming buzz that has us behaving like wild animals. It’s the thing captured in cinematic masterpieces and books alike. 

But what is it? Well, it’s not love, it’s limerence. And no, that’s not the new indie band that formed in Brooklyn, it’s the psychological reason you think the guy who watched your story at midnight is your soulmate. 

Psychologist Dorothy Tennov coined the term in 1979, long before TikTok diagnoses existed and “delulu is the solulu” became a lifestyle. Tennov described limerence as an involuntary state of obsessive infatuation, less “The Notebook” and more like you refreshing your Snapchat score like it’s the stock market. 

And yet, we keep confusing it with love. 

Let’s be serious for a second. Love is many things: stable, mutual, patient. But love doesn’t require you to analyze whether the word “seen” at 9:42 p.m. carries a deeper emotional meaning. Limerence, on the other hand, thrives in this chaos. It needs uncertainty, the way college students need iced coffee constantly and in alarming quantities. 

Take the classic “delusionship.” You know the one. 

You walk into Barnes & Noble on Rowan Boulevard, and there they are. Your Limerent Object, in other words, the cause of your obsessive and one-sided romantic fixation. They’re sipping a matcha latte, reading The New York Times, probably thinking about something intellectual like global policy. Meanwhile, you’ve already imagined your shared future in a cozy Montana cabin with a golden retriever named something pretentious like “Atlas.” 

You’ve never spoken.

Not once.

But suddenly, they don’t show up one Thursday, and now you’re pacing between bookshelves like a Victorian widow waiting for her lover to return from sea. That’s not love, that’s your frontal lobe being held hostage. 

Limerence convinces you that every interaction is a sign. They made eye contact? It’s chemistry. They liked your story? It has to be fate. They breathed in your general direction? Sound the church bells because there’s a wedding on the way.

Meanwhile, reality is sitting in the corner like, “Hey… maybe they’re just existing?”

Modern dating culture doesn’t help. In fact, it practically sponsors this behavior. Situationships, talking stages, orbiting. It’s like we’ve created the perfect ecosystem for emotional instability to thrive. 

Someone ghosts you but still watches your Instagram stories, and suddenly you’re decoding it like it’s “The Da Vinci Code.” “They’re still interested,” you tell your friends, ignoring the fact that the only thing they’ve committed to is being chronically online. 

And don’t even get me started on digital stalking. At this point, some of you could qualify for investigative roles based solely on your ability to track someone’s “last active” status.

You know their posting patterns. Their follower count fluctuates. The exact time they usually go to bed. But ask yourself this: do you know their middle name? Their favorite movie? Their stance on literally anything that matters? 

Exactly.

Limerence isn’t about them. It’s about the version of them you created, the one who conveniently has no flaws, no red flags, and somehow exists solely to validate you. It’s emotional fan fiction, and you are both the author and the most dedicated reader.

We even romanticized the suffering. The highs are euphoric, and one has the potential to carry you through an entire day. But the lows? Pure devastation. They take too long to reply, and suddenly you’re spiraling, questioning your worth, your outfit, and your entire personality.

Let’s be real, love doesn’t do that.

Love shouldn’t feel like withdrawal. It doesn’t make you neglect your responsibilities because you’re too busy replaying a conversation from three days ago, and it doesn’t require you to convince yourself that being ignored is actually a sign of depth. 

And yet, we keep calling it love because “obsessive infatuation that ruins your mental stability” doesn’t quite fit the rom-com narrative.

Now here’s the uncomfortable truth: Limerence is closer to addiction than affection. It’s a dopamine loop. A cycle of craving and reward. And like any addiction, it convinces you that the next hit, text glance, or even a like on your post will finally satisfy you.

It won’t. 

Because the problem was never them, it’s just an illusion.

So no, you’re not in love with the guy who leaves you on read for three days. You’re in love with a version of someone you’ve created in your head and are infatuated with the potential, that possibility, and the flicker of hope that your brain can’t stop chasing.

Which, to be fair, is a beautifully decorated place. Very cozy, and there is some great storytelling.

But it’s still just fictional.

And maybe it’s time we stop confusing limerence with emotional intimacy.