Grand Theft Auto VI is finally on the way, but the most dramatic action isn’t in the game—it’s on social media, in group chats, and around dinner tables where couples are arguing about what counts as cheating. When the game launches on Nov. 19, it brings back everything that made the franchise infamous: simulated strip clubs, lap dances, even optional prostitution. But it also introduces a new twist: players must develop a romantic relationship with one of the lead characters, texting them, taking them on dates, and engaging in virtual intimacy. For a lot of people, that’s a step too far. Women across the internet have declared that their boyfriends, fiancés, and husbands are banned from playing. That’s where Skylar Mae, an OnlyFans creator worth millions, steps in. Her message is simple: relax. Virtual infidelity, she says, is not real infidelity. “They could be out at a real strip club or actually cheating on you in real life,” she told Jam Press. “It’s the same thing with OnlyFans. Hey, at least they’re doing it at home and not physically cheating on you with someone else!” Mae isn’t just defending the game—she’s asking women to examine what they’re really afraid of. Is it the pixels on the screen, or the deeper fear that their partner’s attention is drifting? It’s an uncomfortable question, but one worth asking. The GTA series has been provoking these conversations since 1997, and each new release seems to push a little harder. But this time, the conversation isn’t just about violence or explicit content. It’s about the boundaries we draw in a world where virtual experiences feel more real than ever. And as Mae points out, there’s a big difference between a partner who chooses a game at home and one who’s sneaking around in the real world. After all, relationships are complicated, and we don’t always react logically when our feelings get involved. We say “it’s not the game, it’s the principle”—but what principle exactly? A man’s right to escape into a fantasy? A woman’s right to feel secure? Both, perhaps. The truth is, no single answer will fit every couple. That’s why the debate is so heated. It’s not really about Grand Theft Auto at all. It’s about what we owe each other when we’re in love, and how much of our partner’s inner world we can control.
Mae’s argument is refreshingly practical. In her view, a man playing a video game—even one that includes fictional strip clubs and scripted romance—is not betraying his partner. He’s not hiding anything. He’s not spending money behind her back or forming an emotional connection with a real person. He’s engaging with a fantasy, the same way someone might watch a movie or read a novel. The difference is that games are interactive, which makes them feel more threatening. But Mae points out that the fear is misplaced. “They could be out at a real strip club or actually cheating on you in real life,” she says. “At least they’re doing it at home.” That pragmatic framing cuts through a lot of the noise. It’s easy to get worked up about a partner’s fictional girlfriend, but that energy might be better spent on real issues. If your relationship is solid, a video game character isn’t going to destroy it. If it’s already struggling, the game isn’t the problem—it’s a symptom. Mae also draws a comparison to her own industry: an OnlyFans subscription is not the same as an affair. It’s a transactional fantasy, not a relationship. Similarly, GTA’s romantic mechanics are written by programmers and voice actors. Lucia isn’t real. She can’t call your boyfriend at midnight. She can’t fall in love with him. She can’t threaten your relationship. She’s a collection of code, designed to give players a sense of immersion. Confusing that with real infidelity is like being jealous of a movie character. It’s understandable, maybe even human, but it’s not logical. And yet, logic rarely wins when our insecurities are triggered. That’s why Mae’s comments resonate with so many people—they offer permission to stop worrying, to trust a little more, and to recognize that fantasy and reality are not the same thing. It’s also why they infuriate others, who see any form of virtual intimacy as a slippery slope. But Mae would likely say that a slippery slope is only slippery if you’re standing on ice. If you’re standing on solid ground—mutual respect, honest communication, and real love—a video game is just a video game.
The debate exploded after a wave of TikTok videos surfaced. Shelby Haas, who has 1.1 million followers, posted a video that went viral with a warning: “Don’t let your boyfriend, fiancé or husband play GTA6.” Her reasoning? The game requires players to maintain a relationship with a female character, text her, take her on dates, and engage in virtual intimacy. Haas also expressed disgust at the game’s strip clubs and nudist themes. “The entire male population is going way downhill,” she ranted. “Why are you in love with pixels?” Her video struck a nerve, and thousands of commenters rushed to agree. “Seriously weird,” one wrote. “If there was an equally popular game for girls, these men would flip out,” another argued. Someone else branded the entire game “demonic as hell.” But the reaction wasn’t all supportive. Many accused Haas and her followers of being insecure and controlling. “It’s just a game… Are we that insecure???” one user asked. “If you are worried about a fictional character… that’s a reflection on you,” another wrote. Both sides have a point. It’s easy to dismiss the women who feel threatened by a video game as overreacting, but their concerns aren’t entirely crazy. We live in a world where emotional affairs can be just as damaging as physical ones, and where technology has made it possible to form intimate connections without ever touching someone. It’s natural to feel uneasy when your partner spends hours courting a virtual woman, even if that woman is fictional. The problem is when that unease turns into control. Telling someone they’re not allowed to play a game is a band-aid solution. It doesn’t address the underlying trust issues, and it can easily backfire, creating resentment and secrecy where there was none before. A ban might feel like protection, but it often becomes the very thing that pushes couples apart.
At the same time, the women banning GTA VI may be missing the bigger picture. Video games, for most people, are not a replacement for real-life intimacy. They’re a way to unwind, to escape, to blow off steam. The vast majority of men who play GTA aren’t doing it because they’re unsatisfied with their partners. They’re doing it because it’s fun, and because the game offers a kind of freedom that daily life doesn’t. That’s not a threat—it’s a feature. And if a woman is so insecure that she can’t tolerate her partner having a fictional relationship with a character who doesn’t exist, that’s something to look at. Not because she’s a bad person, but because insecurity, left unchecked, can poison a relationship. It creates an impossible standard: the moment a partner looks at anyone else—real or fictional—with attraction, it’s treated as a betrayal. That’s exhausting for everyone. It also sets a dangerous precedent. If we ban games because they contain strip clubs, where do we stop? Movies? TV shows? Music videos? Magazines? The reality is that most people are attracted to other people throughout their lives. That’s normal. What matters is what they do about it. A man who plays GTA and then comes to bed with his wife is not cheating. A man who hides his phone, lies about his whereabouts, and invests emotionally in a real woman is. The difference is intent and honesty. Virtual worlds don’t threaten real relationships. Secrets do. And there’s an undeniable double standard at play. Women read romance novels featuring possessive billionaires, swoon over fictional movie characters, and even play dating sims where they pursue animated men. No one calls that cheating. Women watch reality TV and develop parasocial crushes on celebrities; that’s accepted as harmless fun. But when a man engages with a fictional woman in a video game, it’s suddenly a crisis. That doesn’t mean every concern is invalid, but it does mean we should think carefully about why we’re reacting the way we are. Is it about the game, or about deeper fears of abandonment and betrayal? Often it’s the latter.
So what does Skylar Mae recommend? Her advice is surprisingly simple: play the game yourself. “My advice is to 100% play the game for yourself!” she said. “I think these girls should just jump on the game, take a look and chill out, because at least their boyfriends aren’t cheating on them in real life!” It’s a radical idea in a world where the default response to a partner’s hobby is often suspicion. Instead of banning GTA VI, Mae suggests understanding it. Pick up a controller. See what the fuss is about. You might find it’s actually fun. You might even find that the romantic mechanics are shallow and silly, nothing worth getting jealous over. More importantly, playing together turns a potential source of conflict into a shared activity. Couples who game together often report that it strengthens their bond, because it gives them something to laugh about, talk about, and compete over. The alternative—forbidding the game, issuing ultimatums, demanding that a partner choose between a relationship and a piece of entertainment—creates an adversarial dynamic. It turns a small thing into a big thing. It says, “I don’t trust you, and I need to control your behavior.” That’s not a sustainable foundation for love. Mae’s perspective is shaped by her work as an OnlyFans creator, where she sees firsthand how fantasy and reality can coexist. She knows that subscribing to her content doesn’t mean someone is cheating on their partner. It’s entertainment, nothing more. The same logic applies to GTA VI. The game isn’t a rival. It’s a product. The only way it becomes a problem is if we let it. And when we choose curiosity over judgment, we open the door to a more honest conversation—not just about games, but about what we need from each other to feel safe and loved.
Ultimately, the debate over GTA VI isn’t really about video games. It’s about trust, boundaries, and the way we define fidelity in the digital age. For some couples, any virtual romance is a line that shouldn’t be crossed. For others, it’s no different from a movie. Neither answer is wrong, but the key is that both partners need to agree. The danger comes when one person imposes rules without conversation, or when a harmless game becomes a battleground for deeper insecurities. Skylar Mae’s comments may be provocative, but they carry a useful reminder: real life matters more than pixels. A partner who chooses to stay home and play a video game is not necessarily a bad partner. In fact, it might be a sign that they prefer a quiet night at home over the temptations of the outside world. That’s not something to punish—it’s something to appreciate. Instead of asking “Is GTA VI cheating?”, we should be asking “Why do we feel so threatened by it?” The answer says more about us than it does about the game. If we can answer honestly, we might discover that our fears are less about what our partners are doing and more about what we’re afraid of losing. And that’s a conversation worth having—before the game releases, not after it’s already causing fights. So as Nov. 19 approaches, maybe the healthiest response to GTA VI is to laugh, take a deep breath, and remember that love is not a competition with a fictional character. It’s a connection between real people, built on trust, respect, and the occasional willingness to play along.
