I have lost count of the number of flowers I have sent and received; the love letters that have been handwritten and tied with a ribbon; the photo albums with notes lovingly scribbled on the side of each photo. Not given to me by a man, obviously, but by my friends.
A new study has claimed that men are the most romantic of the genders. The survey found that they are more likely to say “I love you” first, more likely to be heartbroken for longer, and the least likely to end a relationship (65 per cent of “relationship dissolutions” are instigated by women.)
I scoffed. None of these behavioural patterns has anything to do with romance. Is it romantic to never end a dying relationship? Is it romantic not to have the tools to heal after being dumped? Men might be more slapdash with those three big words but that’s nothing to be celebrated. It’s how heterosexual couples have been socialised.
Women have long been terrorised away from any kind of perceived “neediness”. Always the Cool Girl. Never clingy. Even in the big old year of 2025, women are still very afraid of being labelled “too much” by men, and so, often, we wait. We wait for the other person to do the gushing. We wait for the other person to take the emotional lead.
But as relationships progress, men all too often give up taking the lead. They stop managing the relationship’s direction or emotional upkeep. They stop reflecting on what’s going well or what’s going wrong. The resulting fallout and heartbreak of the broken relationship that ensues probably does last longer for men: they are statistically less likely to reach out for help. None of that seems very romantic to me.
But if women have become the least romantic, I think I know why. They are too busy being emotionally involved with their mates to gush over a love interest. Can you be bothered to make a man a handcrafted gift for Valentine’s Day when you already did it for your best friend’s 30th? New job? The girls are getting flowers. New House? Flowers. New coat? Flowers! Valentine’s Day roses have frequently adorned my home in the wake of not one, but two, break-ups. And, for every birthday since we hit 22, one of my friends has hand-painted all of my birthday cards. A man could never.
Then there are the acts of romance that have edged into frenzy. Two of my mates once showed up at my house with my name tattooed on their legs. They would never do that for their boyfriend, but your mates? Deeply touching.
These acts of romance seem to be so hardwired in my brain that you barely have to mutter the words “special occasion” before I appear with memory boxes and personalised scrapbooks. Words of affirmation come easily and simply amongst female friends; even the drunk woman in the bathroom has showered me with more compliments than some of my boyfriends. On wedding days we have pored over the bride with shared letters of love, describing soulmates and childhood memories that have “shaped us to our very core”. It’s over the top and cliché. But that’s romance, baby!
And that’s because it is much safer to be “too much” among your mates. These relationships have already lasted years, often decades. They have sustained you for so long that the romantic pattern has become deeply ingrained. By the time men come along, there’s barely any romantic juice left to spare.
This isn’t to say that romantic men do not exist. They do, and good for them. But I have never seen a man in love behave nearly as ludicrously as a woman in love with her best friends. My boyfriend is brilliant and thoughtful, but it is the women in my life who have taught me what true romance can look like: caring, dependable, “too much”.
Women are by far the most romantic of the genders. I’m sorry men, it’s just not with you.
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