Last fall, two Hollywood factions came together to broker the peace none of us knew we needed: Selena Gomez and Hailey Bieber, pictured at the 2022 Academy Museum of Motion Pictures Gala, hugging. Cue a pop-cultural meltdown.
Internet speculation of a feud between the pair had been rife for eons. Gomez was Justin Bieber’s on-again, off-again girlfriend for about eight years until the couple announced their split in May 2018. Two months later, he was engaged to Hailey (née Baldwin). Jelena stans had waged ceaseless battle on behalf of poor, jilted Selena ever since.
In September 2022, though, Bieber addressed the rumors of an overlap between the two relationships in an episode of the podcast Call Her Daddy: “When him and I ever started, like, hooking up, or like anything of that sort, he was not ever in a relationship, ever, at any point… It’s not my character to mess with someone’s relationship. I would just never do that. I was raised better than that.” Tyrell Hampton, the photographer who captured Selena and Hailey looking friendly at the gala, wryly captioned the post “plot twist,” and here we are, still warmed by the glow of the two women’s support for one another as they rose above the internet murk. (And for a more recent example? The queen of conscious uncoupling, Gwyneth Paltrow, reaffirmed her belief in the blended family by sharing a photo to Instagram of herself hand in hand with Dakota Johnson, her ex-husband Chris Martin’s current partner.)
Speaking from personal experience, I can guarantee that there is nothing more freeing than making friends with an ex’s partner. Part of the fascination with the dynamic is that we all understand the weight of emotion involved. But too often, the new partner becomes a lightning rod for any lingering ill feeling between a one-time couple—unfair on the new person, and a surefire way to keep everyone in an unpleasant holding pattern, constantly scratching at the scabs of wounds that should be long healed.
My ex and I were together for a long time (10 years). It wasn’t easy when we broke up and he moved on—but we’d ended up with a close-knit group of mutual friends, so I knew that a scalpel-clean break wouldn’t really be an option. We’d be thrown together at birthday parties, weddings, christenings, etc, so we both did our best to make it a smooth ride for everyone involved.
Obviously, the first few times I was at parties with him and his new partner, I was stiff and uneasy, a fact I tried to cover up with smiley amiability and jokes. Of that particular time—about seven years ago now—all I remember is feeling exhausted by my own punchlines.
But it helped that right from the start, they were both kind and friendly to me. In exchange, I tried to be friendly back, to avoid being pushy (even in the best circumstances, no one needs to be messaging their ex’s new partner every day), and to form a relationship outside of the whole “ex” dynamic. And it has worked—a few years down the line we are in one another’s lives, we enjoy one another’s company, I respect and admire her—and their relationship—and I am happy that they are happy.
I know, gross! Is there anything more boring than hearing about a well-adjusted break-up? But obviously, it wasn’t all “conscious uncoupling.” I was single for about two years while they were together and there were times when I felt like I was pitiable by comparison, like I was a fuck-up, caught in the interminable hell of swipe dates and east London houseshares, while they bought a home and built a life together.
We all compare ourselves to others, and in the particular situation of exes, the “through-the-looking glass” effect is all the more confronting—here’s a person who has the life you could have had. What became abundantly clear to me, though, was that if I felt bad, it wasn’t because anyone was making me feel bad. It was more a reflection of my own anxieties, which I was projecting onto other people. This is one of the particularly dangerous fallacies of hating on your partner’s ex or on an ex’s new partner: The implication is that you hold them somehow responsible for your happiness or unhappiness. In truth, even if they did something heinous to you, hating them stops you from moving on—it keeps you in that holding pattern.
I’m wholly aware that in the grand scheme of things, my situation was an easy one. My ex and I had a fairly amicable split so there wasn’t much for me to be bitter and resentful about. And it is hard for me to imagine myself into another scenario—how much magnanimity would I have been able to muster if I’d been treated badly? Would I really have been able to rise above it? I’m not sure.
In those situations, there’s one school of thought which argues that women are held to unrealistic standards, expected to “rise above” the pain or risk being branded crazy and tragic. That whole “messy” woman aesthetic—Cassie’s emotions exploding out of every orifice in Season 2 of Euphoria, for example—felt like an interesting antidote to the Stepford wife, grin-and-bear-it approach. Because it’s true: we aren’t robots, why should we be expected to pretend we’re okay when we’re not?
But shall I tell you who wakes up the next day—tear-streaked and smelling of vomit—feeling good about losing their shit at their ex (or at their ex’s new partner)? No one. No one feels good about that in the sober light of day.
Ultimately, harboring anger or resentment towards someone you barely know takes a lot of effort. I was lucky that things worked out for me but even if you cannot be friends, it’s so much easier—so much more chic—to be respectful. The only person cowed by that chip on your shoulder is you. Or perhaps, in the case of Gomez vs. Bieber, your legion of online stans.