upgrade or downgrade? why are women treated like iphones?

i remember sitting at a cafe, sipping my chamomile tea, when someone dropped a question that made me want to vanish into thin air. it was one of those casual catch-ups old friends reconnecting, sharing small talk. everything felt fine until a girl we used to know looked at my male friend and, half-laughing, half-serious, asked

“so... is your current girlfriend an upgrade or downgrade from your ex?”

at first, we brushed it off, awkward smile, a little laugh, hoping it would pass. but she asked again. and again. and that’s when something inside me started to twist.

there’s something deeply unsettling about that question. not because it was rude, though it was, but because of what it reveals about how we see people, especially women. the fact that she kept repeating it, without flinching, told me she didn’t even realize how dehumanizing it was. it had become normal. familiar. acceptable.

but since when did relationships turn into unboxing videos?

since when did human beings—complex, emotional, evolving beings—become something you could upgrade or downgrade like a phone plan?

we used to use these words to compare gadgets. phones. laptops. now? we’re applying them to people. to love. to self-worth. as if switching partners is like switching from an iphone 11 to a 16 pro max. more features, better display.

the scariest part is that most people don’t see the problem. they say it with a smirk, like it’s harmless. but it’s not. because behind that “joke” is a dangerous mindset, one that treats women as social trophies. as display items. as something that reflects a man’s worth, not her own. and here’s the catch, it’s not just men doing this to women. women do it to each other, too.

we’ve been taught, silently, subtly, that being “better” than another woman means we’re more valuable. we compare silently

she’s prettier, but i’m smarter.

she has the body, but i have the degree.

it’s internalized misogyny dressed up as self-esteem. we climb over each other for a spotlight that shouldn’t even be so narrow in the first place.

we forget, women aren't tech specs. we're not whiter screens, better batteries, newer models. we're people.

social media doesn’t just document our lives, it gamifies them.
tiktok spoon-feeds us curated slideshows of “ex vs new girl” face-offs. two photos. a slow song. and a swarm of strangers in the comments section voting like it’s a beauty pageant.

breakups aren’t breakups anymore, they’re rebrands.
public rollouts.
a silent battle of who upgraded, and who didn’t.

suddenly, we’re all players in a game we never agreed to join.

that’s the sinister part. it doesn’t feel like a big deal, just words, right?
but language is powerful. it carves thoughts. every time we say upgrade, downgrade, traded up, settled , we teach ourselves that love is a metric. that people are products.
we turn heartbreak into market analysis. affection into asset comparison.

love was never meant to be a stock price.

sometimes, people fall for someone who isn’t “better.” not hotter. not richer.
just safer. seen. soft.
sometimes it’s not about being “more.”
it’s about being right, at the right moment.

and yet, here we are, treating connection like resale value.

we scroll through lives, swiping left and right, not realizing we’ve started comparing our hearts the way we compare phone specs. more storage. better camera. sleeker design. we start believing we need to be shiny, new, next-gen, to be worthy.

you’re not an iphone. you’re not a launch model. you don’t need an upgrade to matter.

you don’t exist to “beat” the last girl.
this isn’t some unspoken contest where you have to prove you’re prettier, smarter, and more impressive.
you’re not evidence. you’re not redemption.
you’re not a trophy to be displayed when he walks into a room.
you are not a comeback story.
you are not a plot twist designed to make anyone jealous.

you’re a person. with depth. with flaws. with softness and strength that can’t be compared, can’t be measured, can’t be replicated.
you bring something entirely your own to the table, not more, not less, just different.
and that difference? it’s sacred. it’s yours.
you don’t have to be “better than before.” you don’t even have to try.

love isn’t about being the upgrade.
it’s about being seen. truly.
you , exactly as you are, deserve that kind of love.

so the next time someone asks,

“are you an upgrade from his ex?”

just smile and say:

“i’m not an iphone. i’m a person.”