Love. It’s supposed to be magical, right? We’re told it’s an adventure, a journey filled with surprise, passion and moments that take your breath away. But in today’s world, where nearly everything is just a click away, something about love feels like it is slipping through our fingers. Instead of meeting eyes across a crowded room like Baby and Johnny in “Dirty Dancing” (1987) or bumping into someone like Anna and William in “Notting Hill” (1999), we meet with a swipe. With a left or right. With a “like.” It’s fast, efficient and convenient—but where is the charm?
For me, there’s something deeply unromantic about the idea of meeting my partner through an app. It’s not just about love happening; it’s about how it happens—the story, the meet-cute. I’ve always believed that love is meant to have a story. How can anyone blame me after hearing all the beautiful stories I’ve grown up with? From the very ordinary tale of my parents to the magical fairytales of princesses and princes.
One of the first things people often ask couples is, “How did you meet?” In that question is the hope of hearing something beautiful, something serendipitous. But when the answer is, “We met online,” it feels… flat. Empty. Not because meeting someone online is wrong, but because it lacks the individuality and spontaneity that make a love story great.
I want a story to tell, one that’s ours—something beyond algorithms and profile pictures. I don’t want the beginning of my love story to feel like a transaction—swipe, match, message. Where’s the romance in that? The idea that love can be reduced to scrolling through a catalog of people, trying to find the one who fits, feels like online shopping.
In her book “The End of Love: A Sociology of Negative Relations,” sociologist Eva Illouz discusses something she calls “emotional capitalism”—the idea that our emotions, even love, are shaped by market forces. I feel this every time I hear someone describe dating these days. Love, something so powerful and emotional, has become commodified. We’ve started treating each other like products on a shelf. Swipe left, not interested. Swipe right, maybe. It’s fast and easy, but it takes away the intimacy, the serendipity, the thrill.
What’s missing in this new “market of love” is the sense of wonder—the feeling that meeting someone could be the result of fate, like Jamie and Landon in “A Walk to Remember”(2002), or chance or some cosmic alignment. But when it happens online, it doesn’t feel like destiny. It feels like shopping. And maybe that’s why I resist it so much. I don’t want to be chosen based on a few pictures and a bio. I don’t want to be another option in a never-ending roster of potential partners. I want to be more than a swipe.
I suppose I’m a bit old-fashioned. I believe in the beauty of chance encounters. The magic of locking eyes across a room (like Mia and Sebastian in “La La Land,” 2016). The awkward but charming moment when two people unexpectedly meet, like Amanda and Graham (“The Holiday,” 2006). I believe in the kind of love that surprises you—that feels like it was meant to happen.
I want my love story to be one I can share with my friends, family and future children. I want to say, “This is how we met,” and have it feel special, not mechanical. Because love should feel special, shouldn’t it? Like a once-in-a-lifetime connection, not just another match in an endless sea of profiles. I’m not saying every meet-cute needs to be extraordinary—I don’t need nine seasons and 208 episodes like Ted Mosby in “How I Met Your Mother” (2005) to tell my story. There’s beauty in the ordinary, too.
There’s something powerful about the way a love story begins, though. It sets the tone for everything that follows. And when that story starts with an algorithm, a swipe or a chat that could easily be forgotten… it just doesn’t feel like the beginning of something unforgettable.
When I think about online dating, I think about what we lose. We lose the excitement of the unknown, the thrill of discovering someone organically. We lose the nervous energy of wondering if this person might be the one. We lose the feeling that love is something beyond our control, something that happens when we least expect it. We lose the belief in “soulmates” because the moment something goes wrong, we can block someone, browse through the apps and connect with someone else in a matter of minutes.
I understand that online dating works for some people. For many, it’s a lifeline in a busy world where meeting someone by chance feels nearly impossible. And I don’t fault anyone for using it, but I can’t help but feel we’re losing something precious: the mystery, the magic, the story. Love isn’t meant to be efficient. It’s meant to be messy and unpredictable.
Maybe I’m a hopeless romantic. Maybe in a world of instant gratification, I’m asking for too much. But I’m holding out for a love that surprises me, that feels like fate, that gives me a story I can’t wait to tell. I want it to be about how we met, not because an app told us we were compatible, but because life brought us together in a way we couldn’t have planned. I want the kind of love that makes you believe in fate and luck.
Because if love is anything, it’s magic. And that’s something you just can’t swipe for.