Romance. The very word conjures up images of flowers, chocolate boxes, candlelit dinners and grand proposals. But have you ever paused to wonder whether this picture of love is really about feelings, or if it has been carefully packaged and sold to us? In today’s world, the modern idea of romance is inseparable from capitalism. Through films, advertisements, social media and societal expectations, we are taught that true love must cost money. Without capitalism’s machinery of consumerism, we might never have imagined romance the way it exists now.
Centuries ago, people fell in love just as deeply, yet differently. They expressed affection with simple letters, shared songs or quiet walks in nature. Marriage often involved family arrangements, but when love did blossom, it was born of emotion rather than expenses. There was no sprawling “wedding industry” demanding hundreds of guests, no Valentine’s Day card companies persuading you to buy. A handwritten poem could mean more than any diamond ring. In those times, romance lived in moments, not markets.
When capitalism noticed how deeply we feel about love, it saw an opportunity. Industries sprang up to turn that emotion into profit. Greeting-card manufacturers, jewelers, chocolatiers and florists began to tell us that spending was the language of love. Advertising agencies sold the idea that giving a diamond proves devotion. Flower shops convinced us that a dozen roses speak volumes. Filmmakers showed lavish dates and grand gestures as the only true symbols of passion. Slowly, a simple feeling became a costly performance.
Movies and TV shows became the greatest teachers of this capitalist romance. From Bollywood blockbusters with exotic proposals against sunset backdrops to Hollywood rom-coms featuring stunning surprise weddings, films show us that love equals luxury. The heroine swoons over a bespoke necklace, the hero whisks her away on a helicopter ride to a private island. Real life rarely matches these fantasies, yet we compare our ordinary relationships to the silver-screen spectacle. When the boy next door can’t afford a private jet, we regard his proposal as inadequate. Gradually, the idea takes hold: genuine love must involve grand spending.
This trend creates a silent competition between couples. Social media feeds overflow with perfectly staged romantic moments—sunrise boat rides, designer gift unboxings, ring-cam videos with cinematic filters. Each post declares, “My partner loves me enough to spend thousands.” If your partner can’t match that, you feel less loved, even if their heart is in the right place. Love becomes a ledger: more rupees, more romance. But money cannot measure devotion, and reducing affection to a transaction steals its humanity.
Capitalist romance also places heavy burdens on both partners. Men often feel they must prove their worth by showering their partners with expensive gifts, arranging trick-filmed proposals and organizing picture-perfect dates. Women face pressure to look a certain way, to expect luxury, and to believe that any relationship lacking extravagance is unworthy. These expectations breed anxiety, debt and disappointment. Instead of enjoying each other’s company, couples worry whether they can afford the latest trend or compete with the next influencer’s stunt.
At its core, true romance is born of connection, not consumption. It thrives in shared laughter over coffee, in a listening ear during hard times, in a gentle touch when words fail. These moments cost nothing yet mean everything. They are private, unshared and unfiltered—far from the glare of public approval. Yet capitalism tells us those moments are boring, unseen and unworthy. It trains us to perform love for an audience rather than to live it for ourselves.
Reclaiming romance means breaking free from these capitalist demands. It starts with rejecting the idea that love is a contest. Stop scrolling through feeds to measure your relationship against curated perfection. Celebrate small, heartfelt gestures: an unexpectedly cooked meal, a note tucked into a book, a song shared on a long drive. Teach children that love cannot be bought, that genuine affection shines brightest in simplicity. Demand stories in media and film that honor everyday love rather than only extravagant spectacles.
In the end, the version of romance we see today is the product of capitalism’s endless quest for profit. Big brands selling jewellery, florists, chocolatiers, event planners, film studios and social-media platforms all gain when we equate spending with loving. But love existed long before these industries, and it will endure long after they are gone. Real romance cannot be packaged, priced or performed for likes. It lives in moments of true connection, in emotions that transcend any price tag. Perhaps it’s time we rediscovered that romance is a feeling, not a market—and that the heart’s richest treasures are freely given, not bought.
