This past October, 24-year-old Madeleine Sims felt hopeful about a man she had been seeing from Hinge. They had been going on consistent dates, talking about making future plans, and overall, having a great time together. Then, a flip was switched. After a recent date two weeks ago, Sims’ match walked her back to her car, and bid her goodnight with a forehead kiss. Days later, she was ghosted.

“It’s the kiss of death, for real,” says Sims. “Nothing is safe anymore.”

Sims’ experience – receiving a forehead kiss before never seeing a romantic partner again – is what some online are calling “the forehead kiss of doom and despair”. In countless videos, TikTok users, mainly women, recount scenarios similar to Sims. Many go a step further, signalling a warning call to others and offering a timeline of how soon after receiving a forehead kiss you can expect your relationship (or, in most cases, situationship) to end. “Praying for any girl who just got the forehead kiss of doom,” one video reads. “#2weeksmax.” Another gives it 48 hours.

To those who are unfamiliar with the humiliation ritual that is a situationship, the concept of “the forehead kiss of doom and despair” may require some explaining. Forehead kisses, after all, are a sweetly intimate act. They are also a sign of respect and value in many cultures. In Saudi Arabian society, for example, elders are held in high esteem and are often greeted with a forehead kiss. Similarly, in Iraqi culture, one may greet someone with a forehead kiss to display respect; this is typically bestowed upon someone of a higher status, such as a “sheikh”, as opposed to someone of your same status. 

So why are so many women online warning that, if you receive one, you should count your days? The answer, it seems, lies in the murky waters of the modern-day dating climate.

As casual dating becomes more normalised, the lines between meaningful signs of affection and throwaway ones are increasingly blurred; promises to hang out in the future, flurries of compliments, and yes, even forehead kisses, can no longer be taken at face value as signs that things are going well with a love interest. If anything, they may be a sign that ghosting is on its way. “It’s a really weird cultural indicator of what’s happening in the dating scene right now,” says Sims.

Madi Schnepfe, a 21-year-old from Maryland, has received the forehead kiss of doom and despair not once, but twice. The first experience was with a boy with whom she knew things were casual. In fact, she even had a running joke with him about not kissing her on the forehead, lest she think things were serious. Then, one day, he did. “I was like ‘Oh, I know something’s wrong here,’ but I didn’t necessarily know what,” says Schnepf. “Within two days, we never spoke again.” The second time? Different boy, similar story. “The last time I saw him, he kissed me on the forehead,” Sims recalls. “At that point, I just knew that something was off, and I probably was never going to see him again.” They haven’t spoken since.

The last time I saw him, he kissed me on the forehead. At that point, I just knew that something was off, and I probably was never going to see him again

There are many reasons why forehead kisses, as an act, can feel so loaded. As Dr Jayashree Kamblé, an English literature professor and romance genre researcher, points out, it’s not a quid-pro-quo situation. “If we’re talking within a potentially or actually romantic couple, then I would say the forehead kiss is a sign of true affection,” she says. “You’re establishing physical contact to express emotional connections without having a sexual demand attached to it.” Dr Kamblé also notes that forehead kisses can be an imitation of other relationships in your life where you receive care; it’s not uncommon for a child, for example, to receive a forehead kiss from a parent. “I think it’s a replication of other relationships, and conjures up that sense of comfort and safety, and of being valued,” she adds.

Forehead kisses bear weight in popular media, too. In the most recent season of The Summer I Turned Pretty, the character Conrad Fisher approaches his longtime love interest, Belly, right before she’s meant to wed his brother. After essentially bidding her farewell in an emotionally wrought monologue, he seals the deal with a forehead kiss. And, in the book world, fans of romance novels may recognise a trope Professor Kamblé and other romance scholars call “hurt comfort”. In this common literary plot, one character, often a man, is emotionally or physically unwell, and the other, usually their female love interest, takes care of them, which is sometimes shown through a forehead kiss. (Think, a strong, externally tough male character who gets injured, and subsequently allows himself to be comforted by the heroine.)

The chaste, non-sexual nature of a forehead kiss is indeed what many attribute its significance to. “Sex has inherently become less of a big deal to people, so a forehead kiss just feels a little bit more intimate than anything else,” says Sims. Olivia Scopa, a 24-year-old who received the forehead kiss of doom and despair after a 16-hour first date (and subsequent ghosting), feels similarly, and also offers a theory on why these kisses are doled out so casually. “Because of hookup culture, I think people want the pros and fantasy of romance and relationships, without the commitment,” she says. “They want to have fun in the moment.”

Seeing forehead kisses modelled in other more serious relationships, such as parental ones, Sims says, is another reason why they feel so significant. Their role as a “very minimal, everyday show of affection” that, as she points out, is fairly mundane, paradoxically elevates their status. “There’s something to be said about how off-the-cuff casual it is,” Sims says. “When it’s something you grow up seeing adults in your life do, it just feels like the action of a more formal relationship, despite it being something so small.” Forehead kisses aren’t the only display of affection being reinterpreted, either; many young people have come to see hand-holding as being more intimate than sex, as it’s more synonymous with a serious relationship.

The most interesting (and tragic) part of the “forehead kiss of doom and despair” is its apparent universality. It appears that so many young women have a forehead kiss horror story, with each video on the subject yields countless comments relating the experience to their own. The explanation? When you’re dating in a time when casual is king, there is no rulebook, let alone any way to discern what a certain display of affection actually means. In a bygone era, maybe these small moments of intimacy once signalled love. Today, they signal a ticking time bomb.

Despite their touching origins, forehead kisses appear to be another thing spoiled by situationship culture. For Sim’s part, enough is enough. Regardless of how she was conditioned to think about forehead kisses, she, like her fellow ghostees, now sees them as the ultimate red flag. “We should be saying #saveforeheadkissesformarriage,” she says. “They’re done to me.”