The “ick factor” was once mostly tied to dating: an abrupt, inexplicable wave of discomfort that flips attraction off like a switch. Maybe it’s how someone deals with money, the relentless typos in their texts, or a remark that lingers for the wrong reasons. It’s subtle but powerful, and once it hits, it’s hard to shake. But as with most things, Gen Z has expanded it. Now, getting the ick shows up in friendships and social dynamics too.
When you’re close to someone, especially an old friend, it’s like seeing them through rose-coloured glasses. You overlook things. Others might point out habits or comments that are grating, but you can’t see it. There’s this kind of social filter that softens all their edges, like a loyal lens. You’re not completely blind to it, but the quirks just don’t land the same way.
Then something shifts. Maybe it’s a single moment or a slow build, but suddenly the veil drops. You start to see them clearly, and everything feels dialled up: the cheap shots dressed up as humour that now seem careless, the constant sarcasm, the nosiness, even the way they type “u” instead of “you”. The little things you used to let slide now stand out.
A good friend is like wallpaper in a well-loved home. The cracks and faded spots tell a story - imperfections that blend into comfort. It’s a test of your connection, proof that true friendship holds even when the surface wears thin.
The ick doesn’t always end a friendship, but it does mark a turning point. It forces a reckoning: seeing who they are without the goodwill goggles, and feeling the difference. It makes you realise how much our relationships depend on the concessions we make, what we choose not to see, until we no longer can.