If I can be my crazy, wild self in front of a person, and he

The words of Preity Zinta—“If I can be my crazy, wild self in front of a person, and he still likes me, that's romantic”—speak to the very heart of human longing: the desire to be fully known, and yet fully loved. Here, romance is not dressed in flowers, candlelight, or grand gestures, but in the rare courage of authenticity. To reveal one’s true self, with all its flaws, unpredictability, and untamed energy, and to be embraced rather than rejected—that is the deepest form of acceptance, and thus the truest form of love.

The origin of this truth lies in the timeless tension between appearance and essence. For ages, people have hidden behind masks—be they literal, as in the masquerades of Venice, or figurative, as in the polite restraint of society. Yet beneath the mask, the heart yearns to be seen without disguise. The romantic spirit dares to cast aside these masks and say: “Here I am, imperfect and unpolished, but true. Will you still remain by my side?” It is in that moment of vulnerability that love becomes sacred.

History gives us examples of this kind of acceptance. Consider the marriage of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert. Though Victoria was sovereign, fierce in will, and often difficult in temperament, Albert cherished her as she was, never seeking to silence her fiery spirit. In her journals, she confesses that he bore her storms with patience and steadfast devotion. Their bond was romantic not merely because of titles or duties, but because Albert loved Victoria as her whole self, sovereign and stubborn, flawed and magnificent. Such is the power of love that does not demand perfection but embraces reality.

To call this acceptance “romantic” is to understand that love is not about soft illusions, but about endurance through storms. Anyone can admire the graceful, the polished, the serene. But to love the wild self—the laughter too loud, the tears too quick, the temper too fierce—is to love in truth. This is not the love of fantasy, but the love of reality, and in its roughness it is more beautiful than any staged perfection.

The lesson we must draw is this: seek relationships where you can be wholly yourself. Do not build love upon pretense, for pretense cannot endure. If you must constantly restrain your joy, dim your fire, or quiet your passion to be accepted, then what you have found is not love but performance. Romance, in its truest form, is the freedom to be known in both strength and weakness, and still be cherished.

Practically, this means daring to be authentic in your bonds. Speak truthfully. Laugh without restraint. Allow your quirks and your passions to be seen. And when you encounter the flaws of others, meet them not with judgment but with patience, remembering that love is not blind—it sees, and yet it chooses. In this way, love ceases to be illusion and becomes strength.

Thus, Zinta’s words are not merely playful, but profoundly wise. Romance is not the absence of madness—it is the embrace of it. To love another in their wildness, and to be loved in your own, is the greatest gift two souls can offer each other.

And so let this truth be passed to future generations: true romance is not found in perfection, but in acceptance. Be bold enough to reveal your true self, and wise enough to embrace another’s. For in that meeting of honest souls lies the kind of love that neither time nor trial can destroy.