Why Love For Men On The Internet Is Instant But Brief Now

The internet has found a new boyfriend. Unlike other popular internet boyfriends like Timothee Chalamet and Paul Mescal who are red carpet regulars, the latest eye candy on the TikTok and Instagram is a street vendor from Turkey and has now been dubbed by many admirers as the top attractions of 2025 in the transcontinental country.

Alper Temel, 25-year-old street vendor who sells hot corn in Istanbul has quickly become a global sensation amongst women on the social media platforms. For some, the admiration hasn’t stayed safely online. In fact, it’s spilled over from likes and simp comments on his 4.3-million-view videos to real life—visits to his stall, corn in hand (literally), selfie queued. One Instagram user wrote, “Omg I liked his face… now I like him even more! He has depth and personality,” while another who met him in person shared, “He is genuinely a humble and down-to-earth guy. MashaAllah."

With over 338K followers since his sudden rise to popularity in December, the Turkish youngster is now one of those desired men online who keep getting added to the ever-expanding roster of “internet boyfriends” and honestly a never-ending one. Like, Kylie Jenner's boyfriend, Arshad Khan (the Pakistani chaiwala with blue eyes) and Omar Borkan Al-Gala, allegedly deported for being “too handsome" (a false claim), he has also been temporarily elevated to heartthrob status by the collective female gaze, the appeal of these men has most likely been immediate, low-effort, and often disposable.

"People come from all over the world. They take photos with me. I try our best to welcome them so they have a good impression of the people here," said Temel in an online interview.

The internet boyfriend is often adored intensely but briefly, before being replaced by the next algorithm-approved object of affection or a buzz around a high-profile person which can even at times, mean they like men who are arrested for alleged murder of UnitedHealthcare CEO.

An internet boyfriend is any attractive guy who embodies idealised traits like kindness, talent, and relatability, becoming a shared, collective crush across social media platforms like Twitter and TikTok, representing modern, accessible masculinity rather than unattainable idols.

To be clear, ask most men and they’ll admit it: being desired is flattering. But they are only discovering it now what it feels like when that desire isn’t theirs to direct or control. However, these handsome hunks are not made sensations because women are romantically into them or want to partner up. Infatuation or virtual adoration in these situations blows like sudden wind. Like fast fashion trends, the men desired keep changing.

Moreover, unlike the intense enthusiasm attached to a fictional character, a rock band member or an actor, the appeal for these ordinary men on the internet simped over thrusted into a moment of fame relies on the distance or a gap that can be maintained. There is no expectation of emotional reciprocity, no looming threat of disappointment. The crush exists comfortably in the digital ether, safe from real-world complications.

And women are very, very comfortable here.

Especially, at a time when many women are publicly celebrating independence, sometimes to the point where having a boyfriend can feel almost embarrassing- the internet crush offers a neat workaround. With more autonomy, women can keep their relationships deliberately vague online- a hand in frame, the back of the neck, a shadowy reflection in the mirror. The message is clear: I have a life, a career, a personality—and yes, maybe a partner, but that’s not the headline.

An influencer from the UK told the BBC,"You don't want any part to feel like it's been helped by a man. It brings me more pleasure to say, 'I did this myself'," when asked why she prefers hiding her boyfriend on social media.

So, does simping over a hot guy on the internet and wanting that person to be your boyfriend, although fictionally, make the whole internet boyfriend trend a little performative, though? Perhaps. Yet, simping—open, enthusiastic, unapologetic—coexists comfortably with this performance. Leaving thirsty comments on Temel’s page or joking about marriage proposals doesn’t contradict independence. Women are owning the pleasure in expressing desire without consequence.

As for men, they now occupy the role of the desired. They become the recipients of viral desire is a fickle thing. Agencies may call. Opportunities may appear. But internet attention is notoriously restless. There’s no cultural handbook for men who are desired by millions and known by none. No guidance on how to return to anonymity once your face has been collectively claimed. And this is where the conversation quietly turns.

While women have long navigated what it means to be looked at, judged, and consumed, men are only now experiencing that kind of mass attention—desire without authorship, admiration without agency. Being wanted everywhere, but on terms not your own. The internet boyfriend, for all his likes and longing comments, is exposed. Desired en masse, circulated endlessly, and remembered briefly.