There is a peculiar anxiety that settles over many monogamous people when the subject of non-monogamy arises. It’s an almost primal reaction, as if merely acknowledging its existence might send their own relationship toppling like a Jenga tower with all the weight-bearing pieces removed. The sheer hostility that many monogamists direct toward non-monogamy is, to put it plainly, disproportionate and a little bit ridiculous.
This fear and loathing masquerades as concern, morality, or even pity. “It never works,” they say, eyes brimming with the sort of smug certainty typically reserved for people who have read exactly one article about polyamory, (usually a horror story about someone who tried to date three people at once and wound up ghosted by all of them). Others adopt the tone of a wise elder: “It’s just a phase. Eventually, you’ll want something real.” The subtext is clear: non-monogamous relationships aren’t legit, or at the very least, they aren’t as legitimate as their tidy, neatly framed, legally ratified counterparts. It’s a curious belief, given that divorce statistics suggest monogamous people aren’t exactly winning at the longevity game either.
There is an almost evangelical zeal with which monogamous people defend their structure. As if non-monogamy were some kind of moral contagion that could upend the delicate social fabric of romantic life. But here’s the thing: if monogamy is so stable, so natural, so self-evidently the best way to love, why does it need to be defended with such fervour? Surely something so ironclad would not need a phalanx of pearl-clutching traditionalists foaming at the mouth at the mere mention of alternative relationship models. And yet, time and again, we see monogamous people react as though a polycule moving in next door will result in the immediate collapse of their marriage, their children spiralling into anarchy, and their dog forgetting how to sit on command.
At the heart of this hysteria is a deep and often unexamined insecurity. Monogamous relationships, for all their cultural dominance, are often fragile. This is not a condemnation; it’s simply a reality of human relationships. But rather than admit that monogamy has its own pitfalls, many would prefer to pretend that the entire house of cards is held aloft by divine mandate. If people can be happy, truly, deeply, sustainably happy, in relationships that don’t conform to the standard one-partner-for-life model, then monogamy is revealed not as the one true way, but as a choice. And choices, as we all know, are terrifying. If there is more than one path to fulfillment, then every person in a monogamous relationship must reckon with the possibility that their decision was shaped not by inevitability, but by conditioning.
This explains the knee-jerk assumption that non-monogamous people must be lying, to themselves, to their partners, or to both. It is simply too inconvenient to believe that someone could love, desire, and commit to multiple people in a way that is not inherently chaotic or doomed. Better to insist that non-monogamous people are delusional, that their relationships are riddled with jealousy and deception, that heartbreak is just around the corner. But let’s be honest: if every non-monogamous relationship failed tomorrow, monogamy would not be any stronger for it. It wouldn’t suddenly mean that monogamous relationships were inherently healthier, just that some people tried something different and it didn’t work for them. The reality is that every relationship structure has its own difficulties, and monogamy is not the grand exception it purports to be.
Even the language around non-monogamy is laced with an undercurrent of disdain. People in polyamorous or open relationships are “playing with fire,” “trying to have their cake and eat it too,” “living in a fantasy.” If a non-monogamous relationship ends, it is proof of the model’s inherent flaws. If a monogamous relationship ends, well, that’s just what happens sometimes. The double standard is exhausting, and the unwillingness to acknowledge it is nothing short of intellectual dishonesty.
Perhaps the most baffling aspect of the hostility toward non-monogamy is how little it actually affects monogamous people. The existence of non-monogamous relationships does not change the fundamental mechanics of monogamy. No one is coming to confiscate wedding rings or issue mandatory polyamory licenses. There is no shadowy cabal plotting to make monogamy illegal. And yet, the mere fact that other people are living differently sends waves of panic through the monogamous world, as if the sheer presence of an alternative is a personal attack.
This is especially ironic given how often monogamous people insert themselves into non-monogamous conversations. They are eager to dismiss, critique, and invalidate, even as they insist they have no personal stake in the matter. “I could never do that,” they declare, as if someone had personally extended an invitation. Imagine wandering into a restaurant, standing up on a chair, and announcing, “I could never eat a plate of oysters,” while people who enjoy oysters simply continue eating their meal. That is the level of absurdity we’re dealing with.
The truth is, the world would not end if more people embraced non-monogamy, nor would it end if monogamy remained the default choice. But if monogamous people could unclench just a little, could take a deep breath and realise that someone else’s relationship structure does not threaten their own, we might all get along a little better. There is enough love, commitment, and joy to go around. And if the idea of that is distressing, perhaps the real issue isn’t non-monogamy at all, it’s the fragility of the belief that monogamy is the only valid way to love.
