As opposed to trying to make a kiss look romantic or sweet or

The words of Gillian Jacobs—“As opposed to trying to make a kiss look romantic or sweet or passionate, it’s kind of fun to just have the freedom to make it look weird, goofy and awkward”—may appear playful at first glance, yet within them lies a profound teaching about life, love, and authenticity. For in a world that often demands polish, perfection, and the endless performance of beauty, she dares to remind us of the sacred value of imperfection. The kiss, that ancient symbol of union, need not always be staged in grandeur; it may also stumble, laugh, and falter—and still carry truth.

The origin of this wisdom is as old as human connection itself. Long before poets clothed love in lofty metaphors, before dramatists crowned it with swelling speeches, men and women have known that affection often emerges clumsily, with nervous laughter and awkwardness. Jacobs’s reflection exposes the irony of our age: in seeking to make every gesture appear romantic, we risk losing the very authenticity that makes love worth having. A kiss that is strange, crooked, or ill-timed may be more true than one rehearsed for the stage, for it reveals the vulnerable humanness of those who share it.

History too bears witness to this truth. Consider the tale of the young Queen Victoria and Prince Albert. Their marriage is remembered as one of great affection, yet their first encounters were anything but majestic. In her diary, Victoria confesses to being flustered, shy, and awkward around him, even stumbling over her own words. And yet, this very awkwardness was a mark of sincerity, for it revealed the trembling reality of two hearts opening to one another. Their bond, built not on flawless gestures but on truth, would endure and shape the destiny of a nation.

Jacobs’s delight in freedom—“the freedom to make it look weird, goofy and awkward”—is a reminder that true connection is not found in the performance of perfection but in the courage to be oneself. Love is not theater, though it often feels dramatic; it is life lived together in all its stumbling, laughing, unscripted forms. To reject the demand for flawless passion is to embrace the deeper joy of authenticity. The ancients knew this well, for even in Greek comedies, love was often depicted in foolish, humorous exchanges, teaching that laughter and awkwardness are no enemies of the heart.

The lesson, then, is clear: embrace the beauty of imperfection. A kiss need not be polished to be sacred. A gesture of affection, however clumsy, becomes holy when it is sincere. Life itself is not a staged play, but a weaving of mistakes, laughter, and sudden moments of grace. When we free ourselves from the tyranny of appearances, we find joy in what is real, not in what merely looks ideal.

Practically, this means allowing yourself to be vulnerable without shame. Do not fear if your affection seems awkward; speak your heart even if your voice shakes; laugh with your beloved when the moment does not unfold as perfectly as you imagined. In these small acts of authenticity, trust is forged, and love grows stronger.

Thus, Jacobs’s words are not frivolous but liberating. They remind us that romance is not diminished by awkwardness—it is deepened by it. A crooked kiss, a goofy smile, a moment of shared laughter: these may hold more truth than any carefully scripted performance.

So let this teaching be passed down: do not fear to be awkward in love, for awkwardness is a sign of honesty, and honesty is the root of intimacy. In embracing what is goofy and unpolished, we find the kind of freedom that makes love not only bearable, but beautiful.