Love, Logic, and the Lies We Tell to Stay Wanted

Just watched Materialists and damn; it really held up a mirror to what we now call “modern dating.” Especially in India, where the concept of love has been morphed into something unrecognizable more calculation than connection. It’s not about falling anymore. It’s about fitting in. About someone filling in the emptiness you don’t know how to fill yourself.

In the film, Lucy’s this razor-sharp matchmaker who studies love like a business deal. She literally screens men by their credit scores, height, apartments. The scene where a man confesses to lengthening his leg just to be "dateable": it’s hilarious at first, but then it hits hard. That’s the reality: we’re all tweaking ourselves to fit a desirable mold, hoping to be picked.

And here in India? We’re no different. Whether it’s the Tinder bio that reads like a CV or the soft flexes on Bumble:“I invest in startups,” “runner,” “crypto enthusiast” everyone’s putting out a value proposition. You’re not just a person; you’re a pitch deck. Dating isn’t romantic, it’s strategic. Everything is math. From the 3-second delay in replying (so we don’t look desperate) to calculating how many stories to post to stay visible in their feed without being “too much.”

Let’s not lie. We’ve all done it. We've played the “wait to reply” game. We've dropped a thirst trap post-breakup. We’ve shared a quote that wasn't really for the world, but for one person only. But here's where the Materialists commentary hits home: it’s no longer miscommunication when you intentionally withhold what you know the other person wants. It's manipulation. Dressed up in soft power and pretty captions.

In one scene from the film, Lucy says: “He makes me feel valuable.” That line isn’t romantic. It’s the most transactional declaration of modern love. And we feel it. Because most of us aren’t looking for people anymore. We’re looking for people who can fix something inside us. And that’s a dangerous way to build intimacy.

Honestly, I’ve done this too, curated versions of myself based on what I could sense the other person was seeking. It doesn’t even feel fake because it flows so naturally: you hear what kind of woman they find fascinating, and you quietly lean into it. A bit more mystery here, a sharper opinion there. And to be fair, most of the men I’ve involved myself with have added something to me. Some made me sharper, more articulate, more emotionally self-aware. That’s the currency I look for. I’ve never been able to stay attracted to someone who didn’t offer something I didn’t already have. I don’t fall for comfort. I fall for uniqueness. And I’ve come to realize: I don’t date to be completed, I date to evolve.

Casual dating? That’s another illusion. We say “no strings” but get angry when they forget to text. We say “it’s chill” but check their Insta activity like detectives. Because even in the most casual interactions, our brain forms patterns. As I mentioned before, oxytocin, dopamine, vasopressin these chemicals don’t understand chill. They understand repetition. They understand care, or its absence. So when that post-hookup silence hits, your body feels the rejection, even if your mouth says “it's fine.”

There’s another layer too emotional outsourcing. A lot of people don’t want to love, they want to feel loved. There’s a difference. And we’re outsourcing that emotional labor onto others, often without taking responsibility for our part in the dynamic. You want validation, they want convenience. And somewhere in the middle, both people feel used.

In the Indian context, it gets messier. We're raised in homes that either over-sheltered us emotionally or ignored feelings altogether. So when we step into dating, we have no real language for boundaries or clarity. Everything is either too intense or too indifferent. There's no middle. And in that middle, in the ambiguity, is where most of us get hurt.

Materialists doesn’t just critique romance. It critiques the performance of it. In the end, Lucy leaves the carefully crafted, high-net-worth men and returns to John: her messy, complicated ex. Why? Because he sees her. Not as a resume. Not as a profile. But as a person. It's a reminder that sometimes, what we really crave is recognition, not reward.

So, what now?

Do we stop dating? Do we unlearn the math?

Not entirely. But maybe we pause long enough to ask: “Am I approaching this person as a connection, or as a solution? ”Maybe we stop calling ourselves “emotionally unavailable” like it’s cool, when in reality, it’s just fear with a rebrand. Maybe we try to be decent again.

Not perfect, not dramatic; just decent. Reply when you feel it. Ghost less. Ask people how they are, even after the sex. Let your words match your energy.

Because even in a world full of options, a little intentionality goes a long way.

And who knows; maybe that tiny shift is what makes love feel less like math… and more like magic again.