TikTok’s “Penny Method” Might Feel Personal, But It’s Actually Relationship Psychology 101

Their first date was at Four Horsemen in Williamsburg. Justin somehow snagged a reservation two weeks in advance—something Nadia didn’t know was possible. He showed up in a linen shirt, slightly unbuttoned, and when he hugged her hello, she noticed he smelled like cedarwood and clove. It was the kind of scent that enveloped his entire vibe: I know what I’m doing. He asked real questions. Listened with his full face. Walked her to her apartment and asked, “When can I see you again?”

The second date was a picnic in McCarren Park. He brought a bottle of rosé and a checkered blanket that made the whole thing feel like an A24 summer short. He called her “his kind of weird.” He responded with, "Yeah—we're definitely going to that" when she mentioned that Tribeca Film Festival was next month. She fell asleep the following Monday rereading his texts, replaying his voice notes. 

Week two, she woke up to a matcha latte on her doorstep. He had a client meeting in the area and wanted to surprise her. That night, they cooked dinner together at her place. He brought fresh basil. Told her he deleted Hinge. Said something about how easy this felt. Nadia took a sneaky pic of him straining pasta over the sink. She sent it into the chat: "Knows his way around the kitchen 👀." Little did she know she’d scroll back to that photo weeks later like it was a missing person's poster.

By week three, things got quiet. He still texted, but only after she texted first. Plans were fuzzier now—more “I’ll let you know” than “Can I see you Tuesday at 8 PM?” He called her Naad in a voice that felt automated. And he stopped asking questions. She mentioned a big presentation at work, and he responded with a 🔥 emoji. Not a sentence. Not even punctuation. Just a red flame floating in space.

Week four was a Friday night. He showed up at 10:45 PM and brought a bottle of wine in a CVS bag. No basil. No anticipatory voice notes. No focused attention. They watched a movie in silence. Halfway through, he picked up his phone and never put it back down. She offered to cook again and he said, “Honestly, I’m wiped. Can we just chill?” Nadia smiled. Said of course. Then she stood in the kitchen, ravenous, scarfing down a mini bag of Cheetos she stole from work.

If this dynamic feels even slightly familiar, let me introduce you to The Penny Method.

Imagine you and your roommate agree to add one penny to a jar every day. At first, the effort is mutual. But four weeks in, you realize you’re the only one who's still contributing. That’s exactly how the “Penny Method” plays out in dating. Thousands of TikTokers have flocked to the app to describe the same slow-burn pattern: Someone starts off strong—planning dates, texting constantly, making you feel chosen—then gradually dials it back. Less time. Less effort. Less intimacy. But because the jar isn’t empty, you stay, hoping the next deposit will make up for the deficit.

Like most TikTok theories, however, the Penny Method didn’t appear from nowhere—it parallels decades of relationship psychology. In 1983, social psychologist Caryl E. Rusbult introduced the Investment Model of Commitment, which proposed that people stay in relationships not just because they’re satisfied—but because they’ve already invested too much to leave. “Commitment is determined not just by satisfaction, but by the size of the investment and the perceived quality of alternatives,” she wrote. In other words, even when the dynamic shifts—and you’re no longer getting what you want—your brain tells you to keep pouring in effort. Why? Because walking away would mean admitting that all those early deposits were for nothing.

Yet, while Rusbult’s theory was developed in the early ’80s—long before Instagram DM's and “u up?” texts became standard tools of courtship—the pattern is still the same. Lure someone with intensity, then retreat just enough to make leaving feel like a loss. 

Meet The Expert

Dr. Caryl Rusbult, PhD, was a social psychologist and professor at VU University Amsterdam, widely recognized for her work on commitment in romantic relationships. She earned her PhD in Psychology from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill and went on to develop the influential Investment Model of Commitment, which explains why people stay in relationships—even when satisfaction fades. Her research, funded by the NSF and NIMH, explored how emotional investment, sacrifice, forgiveness, and perceived alternatives shape long-term attachment. Rusbult’s work remains foundational in relationship psychology and is honored through the Caryl E. Rusbult Young Investigator Award, which supports emerging scholars in the field.

Let’s go back to Nadia and Justin. In the first week, his effort was undeniable: an impressive reservation, a picnic in the park, a matcha latte on her doorstep. And according to Rusbult, these little gestures are what lay the foundation for commitment. It starts with “investments,” defined as “resources that are attached to a relationship and would decline in value or be lost if the relationship were to end.” That includes time, emotional energy, shared memories, mutual friendships, physical intimacy and financial costs. More to the point: Every hour spent together—every vulnerable conversation and thoughtful action—becomes its own kind of currency. A penny in the jar.

By week two, Nadia wasn’t just enjoying Justin’s presence—she was starting to depend on it. The daily texts, the spontaneous displays of affection, the subtle “we” language… the more pennies Justin added, the more valuable the jar became to Nadia. And once that sense of emotional security set in, she began to shift from evaluating the relationship in the present to protecting it for the future—what Rusbult describes as “an orientation toward persistence… a long-term view that reflects psychological attachment and intent to maintain the bond.”

“As people become increasingly dependent, they tend to develop strong commitment,” she continues. “They may begin to see their partner as more attractive and their relationship as more rewarding than they would have earlier.” In other words, Justin’s early behavior became a lens—one that colored even his smallest gestures with assumed meaning. In fact, when he told her he’d deleted Hinge, Nadia didn’t hesitate. This was her invitation to attach him to her future.

Something changed in week three. Justin still texted—but only after she did. Plans that were once made weeks in advance turned into vague “I’ll let you know” messages. When Nadia mentioned a big presentation at work, he responded with a meager emoji. Per Rusbult, this is where the imbalance begins to show itself—but not always in obvious ways. As one partner begins to withdraw, the other often overcompensates. “When people become highly committed, they often begin to view their relationships through rose-colored lenses… minimizing faults and explaining away negative behavior in order to maintain the connection.” 

Here’s where the research is most resonant to the Penny Method: Commitment doesn’t always fade when satisfaction does. It often lingers—precisely because of everything that came before. Rusbult found that “people who are more dependent on their relationships tend to react to doubt or uncertainty by investing more, not less.” Meaning that Nadia had already committed (mentally) to a future with Justin. So, instead of pulling away, she doubled down—adding more pennies to a jar that he had quietly stopped contributing to.

By week four, Nadia knew something was off—but she couldn’t bring herself to name it. Justin still showed up, technically. (Coming over late-night with cheap wine from CVS.) It was the bare minimum; a slowly fading echo of what she once felt. And at this stage, Rusbult’s model doesn’t predict a breakup. It predicts persistence. “People may remain committed to relationships not because they are satisfying, but because they are invested and perceive few attractive alternatives.” The emotional math gets blurry—because even if the relationship no longer meets her needs, leaving feels like wasting everything she’s already put in. It’s what’s known in psychology as the sunk cost effect: something that happens when the weight of your past investments distorts your present judgment.

This is the crux of the Penny Method. It can feel paralyzing. The jar isn’t full anymore, but it’s not empty either. As long as there’s something left in it—an occasional text, a half-hearted plan to hang out—someone like Nadia can convince themselves there’s still value to preserve. The phenomenon is what Rusbult calls “nonvoluntary dependence,” a state where people remain committed to partners even in the absence of real satisfaction. Again, not because they’re happy—but because the cost of walking away feels greater than the cost of staying stuck.

Just because someone brought you matcha in week two doesn’t mean they want to build a future with you in week six. But again, when we're emotionally invested, we tend to replay old gestures like evidence in a case we’re trying to win. Rusbult explains that people often “maintain commitment by focusing on positive aspects of the relationship and ignoring or downplaying negative ones.” We remember the playlists, the sleepovers, the sweet texts—while brushing off the radio silence and the “sorry, work’s crazy right now” texts.

Brutal truth: people show you who they are in the present. Not the past. If their effort has dwindled, it's best to meet them where they are now—not where they used to be. Recognize the current pattern. If the pattern has changed, so should your responses to it. (Match his energy)

One of the biggest traps of the Penny Method is waiting for the other person to read your mind—or worse, assuming that you won't get what you want if you ask for it. But according to Rusbult, partners who are committed to maintaining their relationship engage in “pro-relationship behaviors,” including open communication, constructive feedback and active problem-solving. Translation? People who want to invest will respond to a direct ask.

Naturally, this can feel like jumping off a cliff. Many of us avoid vulnerable conversations out of fear we’ll seem needy, dramatic or too much. But silence won't preserve the connection you want—it only preserves confusion. And if you’re already questioning their effort, what do you have to lose? Worst case: you learn they’re not willing to meet you where you are. You're free to walk away. Best case: you give them a chance to step up.

Let me start by saying that we—especially my fellow Zillenails—have become too quick to label. TikTok gives us clean categories: narcissist, love-bomber, avoidant, gaslighter, walking red flag. And while those terms can help us see patterns, they rarely capture the full shape of a relationship (or person, for that matter). Every connection is nuanced. Circumstances change. People evolve. You can meet someone who shows up fully until four weeks later, something shifts—suddenly they’re not the same version of themselves. Does that make them a toxic love-bomber who penny-methods you? Not necessarily. From my purview, this is simply the nature of getting to know someone—and realizing that they might not be for you. 

That said, of course, social media has rewritten the rulebook. We’re not just navigating relationships—we’re analyzing them in real-time against a feed of bite-size advice, pop psychology diagnoses and aestheticized breakup stories. The result? We tend to bypass our own instincts in favor of what sounds right. So, while the Penny Method might be trending, its value doesn’t lie in whether it’s “toxic.” It lies in what it can bring to the surface. Are you the only one making an effort? Are you justifying someone’s pullback because they used to show up differently? Are you staying not because you’re satisfied—but because you’ve already invested too much to leave? These are the questions to ask yourself. 

At the end of the day, what matters most is recognizing when your effort isn’t being reciprocated—and figuring out what you want to do about it. You don’t have to make a snap judgment. You’re allowed to have a conversation. And most importantly, if you want to leave, you can do that, too. All that matters is that you check-in with yourself to see the dynamic for what it really is—and ask the question we so often overlook: Is this what I really want?