“They’re getting engaged in December,” my friend told me one afternoon. She was talking about our mutual friend and her boyfriend, who were both in their early 30s and had been together for around three years.
“Makes sense,” I said, but I was curious how she knew this information. Did the boyfriend confide in her about his plans to propose? Had my friend asked him? Or did she just have some kind of psychic intuition about the timing of it? None of these turned out to be the case. It was the bride-to-be, my friend explained, who was helping plan her own proposal.
Since this conversation, I’ve heard about some version of this happening repeatedly. I have one newly engaged friend who designed her own ring from scratch before getting proposed to, working one-on-one with a jewelry designer who would text her daily updates on the progress. Before it was finished, she tried on a model ring to ensure the proportions were correct. The model was made out of clay, and it looked like someone had put mud around a diamond.
Another friend saw an A.I. rendering of the ring on her finger before her fiancé purchased it and later got down on one knee with it. Another, whose boyfriend refused to tell her exactly which day he would be proposing but disclosed it would be on a weekend in July or August, proceeded to get a Russian manicure every single Friday for two months. Her nails were destroyed come fall, but they looked perfect in her long-anticipated engagement Instagram.
For previous generations, the only person who knew about an upcoming proposal, aside from the groom, was the father of the bride. Now everyone knows, often including the bride herself.
The proposal, by its very definition, is an actual question—one that is asked with the hope of a yes but no guarantee of one. That risk was, historically, part of what made it meaningful. Today, not only is the question itself no longer a surprise, neither is when they will pop it. The ring, too, is, as established, fully under the bride’s control. The modern-day proposal has therefore become some kind of strange ritual where you propose to yourself through the vessel of a partner.
There are many choices that, once engaged, the bride gets to make. The entire wedding, for one. The flowers, the cake, the invitations, the dress. In fact, the proposal may be the only, if not the final, decision the bride’s counterpart ever makes without her again.
But back to the rock. “I don’t want to have a bad ring,” another one of my soon-to-be-engaged friends confessed. “If he’s spending money on me, it should be exactly what I want.” Women in the past might have given their input on a ring if offered an “upgrade ring,” something that is occasionally done 10 or 20 years down the line. Now it’s becoming more and more common for one’s partner to have nothing to do with the ring beyond paying for it.
The days of dropping hints to your best friend or sister and hoping your partner is smart enough to ask them are long gone. Mystery and subtlety and whimsy and romance have been replaced with full disclosure, a Pinterest board, and a group chat with the jeweler.
The engagement ring used to be a timeless heirloom, meant to be cherished and passed down through generations. It has since, like so many things, become yet another branding opportunity. One that potentially lacks longevity but does provide immediate relevance. Hence, ring styles that take over in accordance with trends online.
The teardrop, east-west, and bezel have all recently had their moments. The oval solitaire’s popularity surged after Hailey Bieber was proposed to, in 2018. The ring’s designer, Jack Solow, said of the collaboration process with Justin Bieber, “Justin wanted something that would gracefully accentuate Hailey’s beautifully shaped hands. We settled on an oval stone that was just exceptional in its length and grace.”
The ring, designed with Hailey’s essence in mind, has since been mass-replicated. “He did good, didn’t he?,” I imagine a woman saying to her friends as she shows them her engagement ring, barely if at all conscious of the fact that “he” in this scenario is not her fiancé but Justin Bieber.
There’s an argument to be had that making these decisions together is a natural extension of fourth-wave feminism. Why should women have to wait around for a man to choose when they want to get engaged? Or, worse, be given a sub-par ring that they have to pretend to love? It sucks to have to fake-like a present you secretly hate, even when it’s a T-shirt from your mom, on Christmas. An engagement ring amplifies that pressure by however many thousands of dollars.
I understand all of that, but the feminism argument really falls apart when you think about the fact that the pre-planned proposal still maintains the façade of the unexpected, traditional, and heteronormative moment. It’s become a performance, much like the wedding itself.
The rise in women taking control over their own engagements seems clearly driven by how much everything around the proposal has become “content.” There’s a difference between wanting to share good news and curating self-marketing. You can tell when someone gets a dog for content, has a wedding for clout—or, even more disturbingly, a baby. According to insights shared in a 2023 Meta Instagram Trend report, proposal announcements (along with weddings, baby announcements, and so on) consistently outperform average content.
Whether the actual proposal is intimate with just the two of you or with every friend you’ve ever had hiding in a bush, it still ends up being more or less public. Maybe it’s not that my soon-to-be-engaged friend doesn’t want to be given a ring that isn’t exactly what she wants, but rather that she doesn’t want to be given a ring that isn’t exactly what she wants to post.
If “proposals” start being entirely planned by both parties in the relationship, we should really give them a new name. The moment you and your partner start planning a proposal should now be the “proposal.” The moment where your partner gets down on one knee with the photographers, the flower petals, and the ring you’ve picked out should hereby be known as the “play-posal.” An interactive exhibition at the Museum of Love—a setup meant for Instagram, like the Museum of Ice Cream.
Granted, it might seem like the whole being-surprised thing may be a bit outdated, but isn’t it quite possibly also one of the most romantic things that can ever happen to you?
Cazzie David is a columnist at AIR MAIL and the author of No One Asked for This. Her new book, Delusions, will be published on March 3, 2026
