15 Settembre 2025
Rebecca Tibaldi
Would You Rather Date a Right-Winger or Stay Single? Italy in the Age of Affective Polarization.
In Italy today, that question isn’t just a joke. Since the 2022 elections, politics doesn’t only decided who governs—it seeps into our private life, shaping who we invite to dinner, who we hang out with, even who we might love. This is the logic of affective polarization, where a political opponent is not simply someone who thinks differently, but a threat to avoid—or worse, to reject.
A survey conducted right after the 2022 vote captures this dynamic well: Italians give their own party a “warmth” rating of 70 to 80 points out of 100. But when asked about rival parties, the score plunges to 20—or lower. This is not a gap of ideas but of feelings: trust, recognition, a sense of closeness.
A study by Professor Luigi Curini shows how this discomfort spills beyond politics.
Respondents were asked to imagine everyday scenarios: talking about politics with someone who holds opposite views, or seeing their child marry “across party lines.” For many on the left—and especially among Five Star voters—the discomfort was significant. On the right, tolerance was higher. In other words, Italians on the left are more likely to retreat into ideological bubbles, shielding themselves from opposing views.
And if the numbers capture the distance, everyday stories reveal its depth. My friend Roberta thought she had found the perfect match: same humor, same taste in music. Then, over dinner, he said: “Salvini was right—better to let them drown, so they’ll learn not to leave in the first place.”
It wasn’t just an extreme comment; it was a declaration of identity, almost of faith. For her—staunchly pro-European and allergic to beach-bar populism—that was enough to snuff out any spark. “I’d rather stay single,” she told me.
This is where polarization becomes affective: it’s no longer about votes, but about daily life. No wonder one in five voters in 2022 made their choice mainly “against” someone, not “for” someone. On the left, that number rose to one in three. A politics of negation, more than affirmation.
The cost for democracy is enormous. In a healthy system, opponents are rivals to be criticized—not enemies to be feared. Yet in the survey, center-left voters rated center-right parties as nearly a danger to democracy itself. That’s a civic rupture: if the other side is no longer legitimate, the democratic game collapses.
The Meloni government amplifies and exploits this dynamic. Its rhetoric pits “patriots” against “elites,” “true Italians” against everyone else. It’s an effective way to consolidate support, but corrosive for social cohesion. Because it turns political belonging into emotional belonging: if you’re not with us, you’re against us.
And this isn’t just an Italian problem. In the United States, recent studies show cross-party relationships are now rare: for a Democrat, marrying a Republican (or vice versa) is almost unthinkable.
Affective polarization has turned political dissent into a social boundary. Italy hasn’t reached that level of radicalization yet, but the data suggests we’re getting closer and as a founding member of the EU, Italy’s trajectory is symbolic: a continent that dreams of unity is fractured from within.
Social media amplifies this polarization: an indignant or sarcastic comment gets far more visibility than a calm exchange, fueling a vicious cycle where the more politics divides, the more it gets shared. Algorithms then lock us into bubbles where we see only opinions that mirror our own.
The same dynamic plays out on dating apps, which often end up working as ideological filters, as shown by Alexandra Samuel. Increasingly, profiles feature political disclaimers — “If you vote Salvini, keep scrolling” or “No PD lefties” — turning the search for love into a form of pre-screening based on party affiliation.
For couples, these divides can turn relationships into battlegrounds. Today, political alignment weighs heavily in dating: studies show it’s one of the top factors when people start seeing someone. In an age of polarization, even small disagreements feel like abysses. No surprise, then, that in a climate that fosters division over dialogue, fewer and fewer progressive Juliets are willing to cross the political aisle for love—many simply choose to avoid the conflict altogether.
And yet, the question remains: should politics really decide who we meet, who we love, who we trust? Or can we flip the script?
Perhaps the challenge is to relearn how to live with dissent. Not out of relativism, but out of democratic survival. To accept that a Meloni voter is not automatically “a nostalgic,” and a PD voter not automatically “a pompous moralist.” To carve out spaces—in schools, media, families—where disagreement isn’t taboo.
Because if politics dictates not only the ballot box but our most intimate bonds, then polarization is no longer abstract—it’s everyday life. And at that point, the question “Would you rather date a right-winger or stay single?” is no longer a paradox, but the bleak portrait of a country that has forgotten how to talk to itself.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Rebecca is currently pursuing a BSc in Politics and International Relations at University College London (UCL), with a strong academic and professional interest in sustainable development and diplomacy.
She gained practical experience in international affairs as a Diplomatic Affairs Intern at the Permanent Mission of Peru to the United Nations in Geneva. At UCL, she also serves as Head of Events, where she leads the planning and coordination of student initiatives and academic events.