Why Do We Never Listen to Our Friends’ Advice?

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I don’t know about you, but I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve asked my friends for advice, nodded along like I’d just received wisdom from the Oracle at Delphi, and then promptly did the exact opposite of what they suggested. It’s like a cosmic joke: we turn to our friends, ask for insight, and the minute they tell us to steer clear of the guy with more red flags than a carnival, we dive right in, headfirst. Why do we do this?

I used to think it was a one-time thing—maybe just one particularly romantic misstep where I couldn’t see clearly and needed to make my own mistakes. But this pattern, this habit of politely ignoring friendly advice, has followed me around like a stubborn shadow. The irony? When a friend asks me for advice, I whip out the best guidance, ready to save them from their own romantic tragedies. I think we’re all a bit like this: therapists for our friends, chaos-makers in our own lives.

See, here’s the thing about advice. When a friend is dishing it out, it’s easy for them to see things objectively, almost clinically. They’re not burdened by the cocktail of emotions swirling in our minds, the “but he texted me that cute emoji last night!” thoughts that, admittedly, don’t carry much weight outside of our own heads. Our friends don’t get pulled into that emotional gravity that convinces us this time might be different. But it’s our heart, our little fragile, wild thing that wants to believe in fairy tales over facts. And the truth is, sometimes the only way we learn is by stumbling through the same mistake a few times, as if life is a dress rehearsal, and we’re stubbornly determined to trip on every line until we get it right.

Sometimes, I wonder if we secretly enjoy the rebellion—the thrill of doing things our own way, even if our way is absolutely wrong. Because there’s a strange, delicious satisfaction in taking the scenic route, even if it means hitting a few dead ends along the way. When our friends tell us what to do, it’s like the universe nudging us onto the sensible path. But what if “sensible” doesn’t spark joy? What if we’re drawn to a little chaos, a sprinkle of disaster, a real story?

Maybe there’s something in us that feels like no one really knows us well enough to steer us in the right direction. Our friends may know our taste in coffee, our weird quirks, and our last three flings, but do they really know what we need, deep down? The answer could be “yes,” but there’s a part of us that still wants to explore the unknown, even if it means ignoring the GPS altogether.

So we follow our gut, ignore the warnings, and then, when everything inevitably crashes and burns, we crawl back to our friends, cheeks red with shame, and say, “You were right.” And if they’re really our friends, they won’t rub it in (okay, maybe just a little), but instead, they’ll pour us a glass of wine and tell us, once again, that we deserve better. Because friends don’t give advice to control us—they give it because they want to save us from hurt, even if we’re determined to walk right into it.

Maybe the reason we don’t listen is because, at the end of the day, we’re the only ones who can walk our path. Our friends’ advice, no matter how wise, is only a map of their own experiences. And while that map is invaluable, sometimes we need to take our own turns, get a little lost, and make the wrong choices to find the right ones.

So here’s to our friends who give advice, to the paths we ignore, and to the mistakes we’ll keep making until we finally figure it out. And, of course, to the inevitable debrief over brunch, where they tell us they saw it coming all along, and we laugh, make promises to “do better next time,” and secretly wonder if maybe, just maybe, we’ll get it right on our own terms.

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