We've been getting 'the ick' for forever. But now it's gone too far.

The ick is trending. 

We hear it online, we hear it in reality TV, and there was even an entire episode of the cult Netflix hit Nobody Wants This dedicated to the phenomenon where attraction dies and is replaced by that harbinger of doom in a relationship: contempt.

But let's not pretend that the ick is something new. Since time immemorial - or at least a time before social media - women have been experiencing the ick. First coined in the TV show Ally McBeal, and further popularised in a 2003 episode of Sex and the City, 'getting the ick' quickly became a catch-all phrase for that moment when something a potential partner does that immediately repulses you.

Watch: Youtuber Haylo Hayley explains how 'the ick' is destroying romance. Post continues after video.

Psychologically, it's that moment where the heady rush of attraction fades, and a behaviour or trait in a partner cuts through the fog of lust to lodge itself in that area of your brain that registers disgust. In its purest form, the ick is useful; its logic and preference peeking up to remind you that, long term, this match your lust is in favour of, potentially won't work. 

I still remember the first time I got the ick.

I'd been seeing someone for a few weeks, the excitement of attraction and novelty masking all the red flags about his personality that would eventually turn into dealbreakers. 

We were out at a bar with friends, and suddenly he reached over to my beer and slammed a little dish of tomato sauce down inside it, causing the liquid inside to foam up and over the top of the schooner glass, soaking my shirt. He'd meant it to be a harmless prank, but I saw red.

It was an immature move, sure, but the reaction I had was outsized to the act itself. It was like I was looking at him with fresh eyes - the suave, handsome guy I'd been all over just days before suddenly had me recoiling. It was like I could no longer access the part of me that was attracted to him. I broke things off the next day. 

What's important to understand about the ick is that ultimately, it's not about the other person at all. They may do something that breaks the spell, but the feeling of having the ick is often your own intuition telling you that the match is unsuitable, that some vital element required for things to continue is missing. 

Somewhere along the line though, we've weaponised the ick as a tool to critique men we haven't even met. Worse, it seems that it's becoming more and more focused on physical or financial elements, rather than behavioural ones.

The hashtag #ick on TikTok has over 200K posts, many from women pointing out things that disgust them about potential partners - or their current ones.

@wyszkay we can’t do anything… #ick #icks #redflags #redflag #relationships #fyp #love #viral ♬ original sound - guy with the list 🗒️

"When they tag their location on Instagram," explains one creator to the camera, "think about it, they're scrolling through, picking out the rainbow colour scheme, tilting the text, then choosing the little fonts on their phone - it's WILD."

Another posts a picture of a man tying his shoelaces. A third is underwater footage of a man kicking his legs to stay afloat while snorkelling.

@xnonexistentxx oh! #swimming #ick ♬ original sound - sillywilly

"Wow," comments one incredulous man underneath the footage, "we're not even allowed to keep ourselves alive now."

And while many of the videos are meant in jest, the trend seems to have morphed into something far more cruel. Somewhere along the line, a personal preference (ie: 'I like tall men') has turned into a license to decry any man who doesn't fit the bill as 'ick-worthy'.

"Men being shorter than me is a real ick," explains a contestant on the latest season of Netflix's Love is Blind - ironically, just moments after confiding to producers that she fears a potential match might judge her for her body size.

"One major ick in a guy," confides a 23-year-old family member, "is when he has a Samsung."

Sorry? In the year of our Lord 2024, are we genuinely OK with saying a man's height or choice of electronic device disgusts us? 

Consider for a moment the outrage that would ensue if a man posted about being 'disgusted' by a woman with tattoos? By a tall woman? By a woman who drove a certain type of car?

We would rightly label him a misogynistic prick and be done with him. 

Picking a man's physical characteristics and posting online about how deeply they turn you off is the TikTok equivalent of a 'No Fat Chicks' bumper sticker. Let's not lower ourselves to their level, ladies.

Because let's be clear: there are still plenty of genuinely disgusting characteristics running rampant in the male community. Men who don't understand consent. Men who think what a woman wears impacts their right to safety. Men who think women owe them their attention, or that their worth is dependent on the number of people they've slept with.

When we've got genuine villains like Andrew Tate out there telling a generation of boys what a woman should and should not be able to do, and a potential world leader poised to regain office and strip women of their reproductive rights, let's remember where our disgust should truly lie.

And it isn't with the way a man ties his shoelaces.

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Feature image: TikTok/Netflix.