A couple of Sundays ago, my wife and I were driving home when the light beautifully captured her face. I took a picture and uploaded it to Instagram a short while later, using multiple variations of an emoji that seemed fitting: a man grinning, but with hearts for eyes. I love her, which is why I did this. My love for my wife is not limited to the internet; I frequently tell her directly about it or rave about her to friends and coworkers. In the same way that I would post about how much I’m enjoying my Twin Peaks rewatch or the especially delicious sandwich I had while on vacation, it feels natural—as natural as expressing my feelings about anything online.
I wasn’t sure how to respond when I was called a “wife guy” for the first time. You would be completely mistaken if you were reading this phrase for the first time and assumed that “wife guy” meant “a guy who loves his wife.” The phrase, which gained popularity during the first Trump administration, refers to a person whose spousal love is so obvious that it is unreliable. According to the critic Amanda Hess, “the wife guy defines himself through a kind of overreaction to being married.” Along with a number of emojis depicting a man grinning with hearts in place of his eyes, the wife guy uploads a picture of his wife to Instagram. Even his closest friends may think, “Enough already,” because he will do this kind of thing so frequently. He is so loudly and consistently excited about marriage that it sets off sirens in the minds of both family members and strangers, who wonder what shortcomings he hopes to make up for with such exuberant declarations.
This specific identity is obviously one to stay away from in a world where identity is constantly performed on social media. However, as a husband who loves his wife, I can’t help but feel that when we think poorly of the wife guy, we are giving up valuable territory. Many men are already hesitant to express their emotions because they are used to keeping them to themselves. Is it so wrong if some of them are truly moved to publicly and openly declare their love?
A number of convergent trends led to the creation of the term “wife guy.” Millions of people have gotten used to sharing their activities on social media, a habit that eventually reduces most characteristics and behaviors to caricature. Do you consume a lot of Diet Coke? Be careful not to turn into a “Diet Coke guy.” However, social media’s mechanics allow for the creation and monetization of almost any identity, which is why thousands of people may fervently hope to earn a living by being Diet Coke fans. A few already do.
The wife guy appeared everywhere after a shrewd individual realized that “loving your wife” was an emotion that some people were displaying in noticeable ways. One influencer who frequently shared content about his love for his plus-size wife was known as the “curvy-wife guy.” Another influencer who shared a dramatic video about the shock of witnessing his wife fall off a cliff was known as the “cliff-wife guy.” (It was a shorter drop, and she seemed to be doing pretty well.) Celebrities like Ryan Reynolds, Prince Harry, and John Mulaney made a ton of content out of their marriages. “Honor thy wife” became an unofficial rule for contemporary living because these men wanted to be wives. The wife guy, despite his exaggerated behavior, seemed to be a welcome corrective during the #MeToo movement, which was reevaluating men’s sexist behavior toward women.
The phrase changed as more wife guys appeared. Soon, being a wife guy only required being a guy, not being a well-known person. Furthermore, the creation of this readily accessible personality made it vulnerable to criticism. Some wife guys didn’t seem to love their wives that much; instead, their affection came across as a little stage-managed, forced, or even transactional. Some well-known husbands got divorced, cheated on their wives, or started acting like they were just following the rules. Their ecstatic emotions started to feel like a front for an unpleasant reality. According to the New York Post, “sharing publicly on social media about your love for your spouse shouldn’t be a sign of cheating, but in 2022, it’s an immediate red flag.” Always a little teasing, the wife guy curdled into the blatantly derogatory.
As a result, even though my friends didn’t mean to come across as insulting, their casual comments that I was a wife guy started to feel that way.
It doesn’t seem shocking that I, a 36-year-old heterosexual man, should love my wife. I married her out of love, not because I secretly wanted to inherit her huge oil fortune (she doesn’t have one), or because I was pressured by my family to get married after an unplanned pregnancy (no baby here). A few months after we met through a mutual friend—her best friend was also my boss—I sat back and reflected, “You know, I am having a tremendously good time getting to know this beautiful, intelligent, hilarious, kind, ambitious woman with great taste in movies, books, music, and fashion that all of my friends love.” After a few years, we became engaged and married shortly after, making a number of choices that seemed as natural and obvious as getting me more bread to go with my leftover dip. I was therefore taken aback when my simple displays of devotion began to be observed—and evaluated.
Nevertheless, I can see why others might be wary. I couldn’t always help but sound smug when my wife and I were first dating and everything was going so well. I said to a friend, “It seems like we’re superior to every other couple.” Though they were not aware of the feelings I was expressing, it probably did appear as though I was pretending to be happy, even though I don’t think my friends were hoping our relationship would end.
Of course, I am aware that love isn’t about flaunting your love. Something internal and incalculable that can only be measured privately and not displayed for public viewing is present in love. In actuality, I was used to striking a more defensive stance when dating, trying to keep my composure so that I wouldn’t look back and regret how vulnerable I had been. A subcurrent of the skepticism toward the wife guy is this: the expectation that all of this publicly displayed love will eventually fall apart and be exposed as naive. The naysayer believes, I knew it.
However, getting married and falling in love has altered my perspective on the world and confirmed other beliefs that I had suspected but had not yet verified for myself. Specifically, that love necessitates vulnerability—the readiness to be foolish and naive, to let down your guard and embrace whatever comes next, good or bad. This is the only state of being that I believe is worthwhile in this life.
Naturally, I would rather keep some parts of this alchemical process and my marriage private (for instance, the amount of mess that sometimes results from two writers sharing a home). Sometimes, though, even if it makes people scoff, I just want to share it with the world. We are all acting out some aspect of our identities, and I’m okay with being a “guy who loves his wife a lot,” regardless of the moniker that goes along with it.
