Loving someone who doesn’t know you exist: Why parasocial relationships matter

There’s a particular ache — subtle, persistent — that arises from caring deeply for someone who will never know your name. It is a form of affection that asks not for reciprocity, but merely for presence. A character. A content creator. A face behind a screen. Somehow, they feel close — and yet, unmistakably, they are not.

At its simplest, a parasocial interaction is emotional intimacy without obligation, because there are no strings to begin with. Only a screen. Just a screen. Coined by media scholars Donald Horton and Richard Wohl, the term captures our tendency to form one-sided bonds with media figures: talk show hosts, digital creators, comfort streamers, even animated characters with algorithmically softened eyes.

But the phenomenon has evolved — sprawling across a spectrum of intensity:

This is not a misperception but a mechanism. Designed to feel personal, media sustains the illusion of reciprocity through constant exposure, emotional cues, and the quiet repetition of presence.

The brain is wired for familiarity; what it encounters repeatedly, it begins to trust. When a face — whether real or fictional — appears often enough, the mind gradually codes it as emotionally significant.

Here’s what unfolds: mirror neurons activate, dopamine is released, and emotional memory comes online. The same neural pathways engaged in real-life connection respond when a favorite creator uploads a vlog — or when a fictional character makes it to the season finale.

This, according to Horton and Wohl’s theory of “intimacy at a distance,” is the core of parasociality: a sense of closeness constructed through consistency. You watch. You listen. You come back. And the brain, loyal to pattern, begins to register it as a relationship.

The body, as it turns out, doesn’t discriminate between real and not-quite. In a 2007 study, media researcher Eric Knowles found people with strong parasocial bonds exhibited physiological responses: quickened heart rate, increased skin conductance, as their favorite characters moved through distress, joy, or relief. The emotions were observed, mirrored, and physically registered.

Even sleep patterns, appetite, and a sense of hope can become tethered to the wellbeing of a media figure — or the imagined condition of a fictional one. Emotions do more than respond to storylines; they begin to live inside them.

This isn’t a glitch in the system. It’s proof that we are, and have always been wired to connect.

To experience a sense of bond with a media figure is not an anomaly, but a reflection of human relational wiring. In certain contexts, that connection can offer a subtle, restorative kind of solace.

Parasocial bonds can serve as emotional scaffolding — easing loneliness, affirming identity, and reducing social anxiety — as explored by media researchers Rachel Kowert and Christopher J. Daniel. They also have the potential to expand a person’s inner world: prompting self-reflection, sparking creativity, and opening doors to new causes and communities, according to psychologist Bradley Bond. Perhaps most importantly, these relationships don’t necessarily replace real-life connections; they can exist alongside them.

Because at times, that podcast host does resemble an older sister: steady, familiar, reassuring. And that animated character may come to embody safety in its most recognizable form.

Not because the relationship is real, but because the feeling is.

Yet when left unexamined, affection can quietly expand into fixation. What starts as comfort may harden into dependence; identification, left unchecked, risks becoming overidentification. The boundary begins to dissolve: between care and control, between engagement and entitlement.

And the consequences aren’t just emotional. They’re material:

In short: it becomes a relationship you can’t leave, with a person who was never really in it.

There is a certain sincerity in caring without reciprocation. But that sincerity becomes misdirected when we overlook the fundamental nature of parasocial relationships: they are inherently one-sided.

In 2024, Khairi and his team proposed three grounding habits:

The goal is not to dismiss these attachments, but to hold them with gentleness; to acknowledge their value without allowing them to crystallize into fixation.

There’s no need to erase your fan accounts or discard your K-pop lightstick. But perhaps take a walk. Reach out to someone who meets you in return. Explore a hobby unlinked to an upload schedule.

Stay invested, but remain anchored. Parasocial affection can be meaningful — even sweet — but it was never meant to consume you entirely.

There is life beyond the screen. Allow it to surprise you.

Ultimately, parasocial relationships reflect less the individuals we follow and more the internal needs they illuminate: for recognition, connection, and psychological continuity.

And while the person behind the screen may never learn your name, what they offer: comfort, inspiration, and a sense of steadiness remains no less real in its impact.