I happen to know there is nothing sexy or romantic about love

The words of Keeley Hawes—“I happen to know there is nothing sexy or romantic about love scenes. They are just awful to do.”—unveil a truth hidden beneath the glittering veil of illusion. What the audience beholds on the screen may appear drenched in passion, cloaked in romance, and radiant with desire. Yet behind the curtain, beyond the lens, it is but a labor of artifice: lights blazing, cameras whirring, directors calling commands, and actors compelled to repeat what should be spontaneous until the soul is weary. Thus, Hawes speaks with the honesty of one who has walked through illusion and emerged with clear sight.

Her words remind us of a timeless truth: the image of beauty is not always the substance of beauty. To those who watch, the love scene may shimmer like fire on water; but to those who perform it, it is cold and mechanical, a craft stripped of its mystery. In this, the actress reveals the paradox of art—that what appears effortless to the audience is often wrought with great discomfort. The sweetness we consume has often been pressed out of long bitterness. The noble lesson here is that we must not mistake appearances for realities, nor forget that behind every crafted image lies human toil.

Consider the tale of the ancient Greek theater. In Athens, the audience would weep at the tragedies of Euripides and shudder at the doom of Sophocles’ heroes. Yet behind the masks, the actors bore heavy robes, endured the suffocating heat of the sun, and strained their voices to reach the farthest seats of the amphitheater. What seemed to the crowd like divine utterance was, in truth, the sweat of mortals. The audience saw gods; the performers felt the burdens of men. In this, the stage of old mirrors the confession of Hawes: art’s beauty is forged in hardship, and what is presented as effortless passion is often carefully constructed discomfort.

There is also wisdom here about the nature of love itself. True love is not staged, nor can it be rehearsed. What we see on the screen is not the essence of romance, but its shadow. Real affection is not found in rehearsed gestures under a director’s eye, but in the quiet tenderness of two souls choosing one another when no one else is watching. Hawes’ statement reminds us that what culture often portrays as “sexy” is a distortion, a performance divorced from the living heart. To chase such illusions is to wander forever, thirsting in a desert of appearances.

Yet her honesty should not be seen as despair, but as a gift. For when the illusion is stripped away, the seeker is guided toward what is real. Just as the actor reveals the awkward truth of the scene, so too must each of us learn to strip away the false glamour of life’s staged ideals. The world will show us images—of perfect romance, perfect bodies, perfect lives—but wisdom teaches that behind each image lies struggle, imperfection, and humanity. To know this is not to diminish the beauty of art, but to place it rightly, as an inspiration rather than a standard.

The lesson for us, then, is clear: do not confuse the performance of love with its reality. Do not hunger for the romance that is sold in images, for it will always taste of emptiness. Instead, seek the unadorned, the authentic, the moments of imperfection that carry truth. True intimacy may not look like the silver screen, but it will feel far more enduring and profound. Just as the actor endures discomfort to create an illusion of passion, so too do many endure discomfort chasing false ideals—yet the wise turn away from illusion and choose what is real.

Practically, let each person examine the images of love they have inherited. Ask yourself: Do I measure my relationships against the staged illusions of story and screen? Do I seek to perform romance, or to live it? Then, act with honesty—cherish the small, unglamorous moments: a hand held in silence, laughter at a private jest, patience in hardship. These are the true scenes of love, unfilmed, unseen, yet eternal.

Thus, the confession of Keeley Hawes, though spoken of cinema, is in truth a wisdom for all ages. Let us pass it down: that beauty lies not in rehearsed appearances, but in lived reality. That the stage is but a shadow, and the essence of life is found in the unpolished truth. Seek not the romance of the camera, but the romance of the heart, for there alone does love cease to be “awful” and become instead the most wondrous gift of all.