Is Romance Dead? A Modern Perspective.

Happy New Year Lovers!

In between Trump becoming President and my social schedule, it feels like the world is in total chaos. Welcome to 2017. The last 6 months of assuming a new role in my job that actually pays means I haven't had any time to put a single manicured nail to keyboard and tap out all the goss on love for you lately. I know, kill me. But the truth is, I have also been on a little bit of a dating lull. After some rather traumatic experiences (which I will be recounting this year), I think I finally reached my peak and decided to take some time out to do me, boo boo.

With that said, the time has come for the queen of romantic commentary to resume her throne (so humble) and thus, I am back. I could spend the rest of this paragraph making promises about all the great content I'll have coming up this year blah blah, but just assume I will and also - expect a lot MORE content (sorry not sorry for bombarding you, but you love it). And from now on, I'll be writing more about Love, Life and Louboutins - because a woman is so much more than the man she is dating. She is also about what shoes she is wearing and her thoughts on political issues. That and I have many things to say and I am very bad at withholding opinions. So with the formalities out of the way, let's dive into my first blog of the New Year.

Yesterday afternoon, I went to go see the much-hyped, critically acclaimed and Ryan Gosling-adorned, 'La La Land'. As an avid fan of the musical film and theatre genre, let me just say, I was not disappointed in the least. The film was a truly cinematic experience, delivering laughs, musical delight, whimsical nostalgia and most all, an old-fashioned peek into the art of romance even though it is set in modern times. And this is where the film caught me off guard. Because as much as I loved the music and walked out with a spring in my step, I found myself dealing with a sinking feeling in my stomach post-watch. How could I be sad after two solid hours of the Gosler, you ask? I’ll tell you. Because I was grappling with the realisation that perhaps, this kind of magical, tender, subtle romance now only exists on the silver screen and we, as the Tinderella generation, may never know the joy of experiencing such true, honest love.

Without ruining it for anyone who hasn’t seen it, there is a scene in the film where Seb (Ryan Gosling) sits shyly beside Mia (Emma Stone) on their first date, watching a movie in an old-theatre. As the film plays behind them, they spend seconds nervously eyeing one another’s hands and coyly avoiding making the first move, until they finally grip one another’s fingers in a slow, sweet motion. It’s the kind of moment that brings a smile to your face, because you feel that warm, fuzzy feeling fluttering inside you, your heart beating a little bit faster as their hands inch closer to one another’s. As soon as the scene is over however, you realise, this really must be the movies. Because were it real life, Seb would’ve met Mia on Tinder with the opening line ‘Sup babe’, already placed his hand firmly on Mia’s inner thigh by now, using his right hand to continue swiping right for his next hook-up, his iPhone brightness set on night mode so she doesn’t see.

Okay, cynical, but you get my point. We all know technology has basically corrupted our ability to interact as normal human beings. We’ve lost the civility of being able to carry a conversation, observe basic manners and actually use our words to communicate face-to-face. Hell, forget chivalry, a woman is supposed to be happy if a man finds five minutes to send a text in his busy work day. You know, because calling is so much extra effort.

And I’m not blaming the men alone. We women seem to have dropped the standards for obtaining our affection so low that we might as well be handing out our hearts on a stick with a free scoop of ice cream. We’re afraid to vocalise when we’re unhappy with the way we’re being treated, fearing we may come across too picky or undeserving of better treatment. We don’t want to be thatttttt girl who says she wasn’t happy. Not when you know he could swipe you left in 30 seconds.

The hook-up culture that has entrenched our generation has turned commitment into some kind of Voldemort-like curse word, with every second person on the street claiming they have a fear of locking themselves down, if not because of genuine reasons, but because it’s the in thing to do. If you’re not casual, you’re not cool. You’re not supposed to make a big deal out of anything anymore, love included. He doesn’t text back? So what, be cool. She’s dating 6 other guys? Chill man, it’s casual anyway. It’s like we’re committed to not committing. So where the hell can romance blossom in between all this running away?

The songs we listen to no longer talk about seeing a woman across the room and being struck by lightning or lust. Nope instead, we hear about how Shawty be poppin' it down on the flo' and how dem watermelons be juicy. Gone are the days of 'The Way you Look Tonight'. Nope, now it's 'when yo ass gonna come over so we can hit and quit it boo?' Dismal.

I remember once saying to a girlfriend of mine that I was sick of men propositioning me outrightly for sex on online dating apps and acting entitled to sleeping with me without exerting any of the effort that goes into such shared intimacy. Her response was almost as bad as the act itself, ‘It’s a hook-up app, what do you expect? Aren’t you glad he’s getting to the point?’ Uhhhh, NO? No I am not? Something about her tone implied that apparently now I’m supposed to be grateful someone treats me like a piece of meat up front so no one’s time is wasted? LIKE HELL NO. I am no one’s fillet mignon, no matter who, what, when or how I choose to date.

When it comes down to it, maybe romance really only does exist in La La Land in 2017. But yesterday I bit the bullet and made a decision that I wouldn’t run away from the romance anymore. I’m propping my standards up this year, waiting for my Seb and Mia moment (could be a long ass wait, I know) and pulling a Selena by keeping my hands to myself. Maybe I’ll date less, maybe the only man who’ll look at me this year will be my accountant at tax time and maybe I’ll spend Valentine’s Day with a bucket of chocolate chip cookie dough, singing along to the soundtrack of Glee Season 1 (standard plans, locked in every year unless otherwise directed). But it's a small price to pay if I get my own moonlight dance with Gosling.

R xx