Not a Black Cat or a Golden Retriever? You Might Have White Cat Energy

Last summer, I was deep in the trenches of researching the Black Cat and Golden Retriever Dating Theory—a TikTok-fueled trend that claims every relationship consists of one mysterious introvert (the black cat) and one eager-to-please extrovert (the golden retriever). So, turned to the most brutally honest focus group I know: my family.

“What do you guys think—am I more of a black cat or a golden retriever?” 

I tossed it into the chat just to stir the pot. (I already knew what they’d say.) My sister, Jilly, was the undisputed black cat of our clan. As a child, she avoided small talk like a disease and holed up in her room playing The Sims for entire weekends. Once, she even physically barricaded herself in a closet to avoid a family gathering. We literally nicknamed her “Mean Cat.”

Jilly responded immediately: “Sydney. C’mon.”
Then my mom: “Are you serious?”
And finally, my dad: “You wish.”

Just the warm and fuzzy reactions I was anticipating. But here’s where things got murky: If Jilly was the black cat, then, by default, that made me the golden retriever. The one who was prone to eagerly chasing a relationship on a leash—desperate to be loved.

But that wasn’t true either.

Sure, most would say I’m the chattier sister. But “sunny” and “eager to please” are hardly adjectives people have used to describe me. I was voted most opinionated in my high school superlatives (which is really just a polite way of saying “not afraid to hurt your feelings”). I take hours—sometimes days—to text back, usually too wrapped up in a story to notice. When I’m on, I’m on—warm, engaging, the life of the party. But when I’m not? I vanish. A total black cat, perfectly content in my own world, and immune to the retriever impulse of fawning over anyone. 

Which left me to wonder: If I wasn’t a black cat or a golden retriever—what the hell was I? Enter: White cat energy.

The allure of black cat energy in dating is undeniable—it’s the hard-to-get dream girl who keeps the guy guessing. Yet, as much as we try, it doesn’t work for all of us. While I’d love to exude the quirky detachment of Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, I’m more Marilyn Monroe in Some Like It Hot: friendly, open and prone to over-talking.

That’s exactly what white cat energy is about. “Light femininity…warmth and vulnerability,” says Margarita Nazarenko in the TikTok above. Unlike the black cat, who thrives on distance and intrigue, the white cat’s magnetism is rooted in openness. “She lets people in, and in return, they really see and cherish her,” Nazarenko continues. In other words, the white cat doesn’t rely on playing hard to get. Instead, she draws people in with her magnetism—they want to be close to her. “It’s less about being chased and more about being cherished.”

So, to be clear, it’s a vibe that’s far from ‘passive’ or ‘desperate’—it doesn’t carry the eagerness of a golden retriever. “White cat energy is playful, open, and makes people want to care for you and protect you,” Nazarenko explains. 

• Presence that doesn’t feel performative. A white cat doesn’t chase, but she also doesn’t withhold. It’s her openness that draws people in. She’ll allow herself to fully engage with someone—lean in, make eye contact, let her warmth shine through. But when she’s done? She’s done. No need to keep a conversation going just for the sake of it.
• Light, playful and effortless flirtation. Unlike the black cat’s composed allure, the white cat’s charm stems from her natural playfulness. Think: flirting without force. A simple “I like talking to you” at the right moment is more powerful than any silent mind game.
• Clear boundaries with a soft delivery. A white cat isn’t calculating, but she knows her worth. Instead of ignoring texts to create intrigue, she’s direct yet inviting: “Hey, I don’t love texting all day, but I’d love to catch up later.” It’s self-assured. It’s authentic. And it makes people want to be in her world instead of feeling like they have to win their way in.

In my early twenties, I saw playing hard to get as a necessary evil—something I had to master if I wanted to foster intrigue. So I did what I thought I was supposed to do: hold my tongue, downplay my enthusiasm and edit myself into someone who was detached enough to seem mysterious. But none of it felt natural. I wasn’t aloof. I wasn’t distant. And the more I tried to be, the more it felt like I was forcing myself into the mold of someone else.

So eventually, I stopped. I embraced the parts of my personality that could seem paradoxical—deeply attentive one moment, completely enveloped in my own world the next. I could be warm, present and fully engaged when I wanted to be, and still prioritize my independence when I didn’t. The irony? Simply existing in this duality has worked for me in a way that playing it cool never did.

It’s what made me realize that white cats and black cats are cut from the same cloth. A black cat is exclusive—she keeps people at arm’s length and makes them work for her attention. But a white cat is just as selective—she knows her energy is valuable, so she shares it intentionally. One guards her space with distance, the other with discernment. But the result is the same: the right people will always want in.