How does a build a boyfriend quiz work? Answer simple questions and find your ideal type quickly.

` tags for structure, styled it a tiny bit with CSS – nothing fancy, just enough so it didn’t look like a total mess. For the questions, I was thinking standard radio buttons:

• <input type="radio" name="hair_color" value="dark"> Dark
• <input type="radio" name="hair_color" value="light"> Light
• <input type="radio" name="hair_color" value="adventurous"> Something wild!

And then the JavaScript part. I planned to have a function, you know, calculateBoyfriend() or something equally cheesy. It would grab all the selected values, maybe assign points, and then based on the total, show a description. Easy peasy, I thought.

But as I was typing out these options, like “Tall, Dark, and Handsome” versus “Funny and Kind,” it just hit me. This whole thing is a bit silly, isn’t it? I mean, “building” a boyfriend? It’s not like ordering a custom sandwich. “Yeah, I’ll take the six-pack abs, hold the emotional unavailability, and a side of ‘good with parents,’ please.” If only!

When Quizzes Get Too Real (Or Not Real Enough)

It reminded me of my friend, Sarah. Oh boy, Sarah. She had this list. A literal, laminated list of qualities her “perfect man” had to have. I’m talking height down to the inch, specific job titles, even the kind of car he should drive. She’d go on dates, and it was like an interrogation. “Does he tick box 7a? What about 12c?” It was exhausting just hearing about it.

And guess what? She was miserable. Always disappointed because, shocker, real human beings rarely fit perfectly into a pre-made spreadsheet of desires. Every guy had a “flaw” that disqualified him. He was great, but he liked pineapple on pizza, or his laugh was a bit too loud. Dealbreakers, apparently.

Meanwhile, my other mate, Chloe, who never had a “type,” just stumbled into a relationship with this guy who was, on paper, all wrong for what she thought she wanted. He was shorter than her ideal, worked in a field she knew nothing about, and his fashion sense was… questionable, let’s say. But they clicked. They made each other laugh like crazy, supported each other. Still together, happy as clams.

Back to the Code and the Point of it All

So, there I was, staring at my half-finished quiz code. I’d gotten the basic logic to work. A few if/else statements here, a *().innerHTML there to display the “result.” It technically functioned. You click “Adventurous,” “Creative,” and “Loves Dogs,” and it would tell you, “You built an Artistic Explorer!” or some other generic fluff.

And honestly, it started feeling like a colossal waste of perfectly good coding hours. What was I even doing? Crafting another piece of internet fluff to distract people for five minutes before they click on the next shiny thing? The whole idea just deflated right in front of me.

I mean, I could have pushed through. Added more bells and whistles, maybe even some ridiculous animations of a cartoon boyfriend materializing. It wouldn’t have been rocket science. Just more lines of code leading to a pointless “reveal.”

But I kept thinking of Sarah, meticulously checking off her list and getting nowhere, and then Chloe, who threw the list out the window and actually found something real. It made the quiz seem even more absurd. Real connection isn’t about pre-selected attributes you pick from a dropdown menu.

So, that “Build a Boyfriend” quiz? Yeah, it’s gathering digital dust in some forgotten corner of my hard drive. Good riddance, probably. I learned more from watching Sarah chase her impossible checklist than I ever would have from finishing that silly piece of code. Some projects, you start them, and then you realize the best thing to do is just… stop. This was definitely one of ’em. There are better ways to spend your time than trying to code a fantasy that has nothing to do with how life actually works.