Romance is dead. But that's not news. People have been making that argument for years now. In fact, as a statement, "Romance is dead" has really lost its bite. So let me rephrase: Romance isn't dead. It simply has undergone an extensive evolutionary transformation.
I had a boyfriend once who used to tell me that all of his romantic ideas had already been carried out in the movies. And he was probably right. The media has capitalized on the bleeding-hearted teenage girls (OK, and adults) who swoon at the sight of a beautiful man showering heart-felt emotional symbols over a beautiful woman.
Unfortunately, after so many dozens of brightly colored roses sent to the office and after so many "Nobody puts Baby in the corner" moments of heroism, typical acts of romance become, well, typical. Sure, flowers will probably always be at least somewhat romantic, but how boring can you get?
In high school, romance was black and blue and bleeding. I still have lyrics scribbled in black pen on my green Converse sneakers (that I spent days searching for on the Internet) that read, "My smile's an open wound without you." These seven epic words sung by the ever-eloquent Fall Out Boy really summed up all of my feelings about my boyfriend at the time.
I can't tell you exactly when love became so tragic that festering wounds and loving came to be comparable sensations, but let me tell you, no truer words were sung back in 2005.
Not only did our generation have to suffer through the influx of emo culture and all its unbearably devastating emotion (and utter loneliness), but we also all saw the death of the dating culture.
I don't think I have ever been courted by means of a typical date. My first-ever boyfriend took me on one date: We went to the parking lot of the town movie theater and ate pizza Lunchables while sitting on a blanket crusted with God-knows-what that he pulled out from the back of his car. I would be lying if I told you this wasn't one of the most fun dates I have ever been on. Sure, it was 2 p.m. and we were surrounded by 13-year-old skater punks who mocked us with "oooo's" and kissy noises, but it also alleviated all the pressure of a typical date.
It wouldn't be for another year or two before a boyfriend took me on a real date. I wore a dress, did my hair and donned high-heels. I got all the way to our table before tripping loudly and grandly in front of the entire restaurant. Years of inexperience in dating will do that to you.
Otherwise, dates are no longer trips to the movies with the yawn/reach-over-the-shoulder technique you see in the movies. I might argue that dates involve far more bumping and grinding on the dance floor, and while men still offer to buy women drinks, the drink is more likely to be a shot of tequila than a glass of the house red.
I wouldn't go so far as to suggest the death of dating is one of the causes, or effects, of the end of romance; in fact, I don't think romance necessitates the ideal date you see in movies where two people on a giant (sinking) ship meet fatefully, split a bottle of wine and the man ends up sketching the woman in the nude.
One of the positive results of the evolution of romance is that once the old romance became trite, the new romance needed to get more personal. Now instead of the single rose apology, boys can be more creative. I once got a drink from Starbucks as an apology, and even though he chose hot chocolate instead of my favored chai tea latte, I was sincerely touched. Romance certainly isn't dead. It's just wearing a different dress.
In his acceptance speech, Barack Obama thanked Michelle, praising her as "my best friend, the rock of our family and the love of my life." I guess he couldn't very well have told her that she had him at hello. That's already been done. His speech was nevertheless one of the most romantic praises I have ever heard.
Romance has transgressed from roses and hand-holding, to painfully emotional, to simply what it is today: something far more personal, maybe slightly more awkward, but certainly just as potent as ever.
