When I watch a romantic comedy, I feel like they're selling

In the words of Rainbow Rowell, a voice sharpened by wit yet softened by insight, we hear a piercing truth about illusion and reality: “When I watch a romantic comedy, I feel like they’re selling something that doesn’t exist. Two beautiful, but extremely unpleasant, people are terrible to each other for an hour, accidentally kiss, then decide to like each other during an extremely vague montage. That isn’t how people fall in love.” Here she unmasks the glittering facade, showing us that what is so often portrayed on the screen is but a shadow of the deeper, slower, more arduous path of true affection.

The ancients, too, warned of illusions dressed as truth. Plato spoke of the cave, where shadows danced upon the walls and men mistook them for reality. So too do many mistake the romantic comedy for an echo of life, believing that love arises from chance encounters, witty insults, and neatly tied endings. Yet Rowell declares, with the clarity of a seer, that these are shadows only, not the fire itself. The reality of love is far more demanding, far more beautiful, and far more enduring than the montage could ever capture.

True love, as Rowell suggests, does not begin with disdain and end with coincidence. It begins with recognition—two souls perceiving in one another something worth treasuring. It grows with patience, tested through time, through hardship, through countless conversations and countless silences. It is not forged in a momentary kiss, but in the long weaving of trust. The romantic comedy offers the illusion of quick transformation; reality requires the labor of devotion.

History offers its testimony. Think of the union between Elizabeth Barrett Browning and Robert Browning. Their love was not the stuff of accidental glances and vague montages, but of letters—hundreds of letters exchanged, in which they bared their souls, wrestled with doubts, and built the bridge of trust that would lead them to marriage. Their story did not unfold in an hour, nor with scripted banter, but through the steady rhythm of honesty and shared vision. Their passion was not sold; it was lived.

Rowell’s words carry also a warning: that when illusions dominate, disappointment follows. Many who consume the polished fantasies of film may find themselves disheartened when their own love does not mirror the script. They may scorn the ordinary, the imperfect, the slow burn of intimacy. Yet it is in that imperfection, in that long and sometimes weary journey, that true beauty lies. To demand the swift magic of the montage is to miss the quiet miracles of real love.

The lesson is clear: guard your heart against illusions. Enjoy the laughter of the romantic comedy, but do not mistake it for a map of reality. Instead, honor the real path of love—the patience, the work, the kindness, the forgiveness. Cherish the small gestures, the long talks, the steadfast presence. These may not sparkle on the screen, but they are the true foundation of a love that endures.

Therefore, O listener, take heed. Do not be deceived by stories that sell what does not exist. Seek instead what is real: the kind of love that grows in humility, in honesty, in time. For though the montage may fade, true love remains, and in its endurance lies the deepest joy humanity can know.