By Robertha Green Gonzalez
I was feeling rather nostalgic and decided to revisit the classic romcoms I grew up loving: Two Weeks Notice, Miss Congeniality, Jerry Maguire, Pretty Woman, Notting Hill, and 10 Things I Hate About You. The films that convinced an entire generation that love was funny, complicated and, above all, inevitable. Before I continue, I should make one thing clear: I’m no cynic. Quite the opposite. But as the credits rolled on each of these films, all I could think was…
Where did it all go wrong?
And not to sound like Carrie Bradshaw at the start of every Sex and the City episode, but how on earth did we let these films shape our idea of the perfect relationship? How did manipulation become persistence, jealousy become passion and grand gestures become the ultimate proof of love? More importantly, when did romcoms convince us that poor communication was chemistry and emotional chaos was destiny? That if someone hurts you, lies to you or disappears, they’ll eventually realise what they’ve lost, turn up at your door in the pouring rain and deliver a speech so moving that everything that came before simply doesn’t matter. Perhaps that’s the biggest fantasy of all. Not that love conquers everything, but that love excuses everything. Watching these films back, I realised that almost every one of these iconic love stories would raise more than a few eyebrows in 2026, and yet we still use them as examples in casual conversation of what we want in our own relationships.
Take Two Weeks Notice. For years, we were encouraged to cheer when George races after Lucy, finally realising he can’t live without her. It’s framed as the ultimate romantic revelation. Yet watching it now, it’s hard not to notice that he only seems to recognise her value once she’s prepared to leave. We’re taught this is love. In reality, it often looks more like someone taking a person for granted until they establish boundaries.
Then there’s Miss Congeniality. Eric spends much of the film teasing, challenging and undermining Gracie, and somehow we’re meant to interpret this as chemistry. The message is clear: if a man irritates you enough, it’s probably because he secretly likes you. That lesson has been thoroughly tried and tested, and I think we can all agree it’s aged really, really poorly.
Another one: Jerry Maguire may be responsible for one of the most famous romantic lines in cinema history: “You complete me.” At the time, it felt profound. Now it feels like an awful lot of pressure to place on another human being. The idea that one person should complete us suggests we’re somehow unfinished on our own, waiting for someone else to provide the missing pieces. And the worst part? My heart absolutely breaks for Dorothy, who has clearly been pining after Jerry the entire film. “You had me at hello”? More like, “I had my standards on the floor. You took me for granted, and now you’ve decided to give me the credit I deserved all along, which somehow excuses all of your previous behaviour.”
Pretty Woman? Edward climbing the fire escape to rescue Vivian is iconic. We all wanted the fairy tale. We all wanted the grand gesture. Yet beneath the fantasy sits an idea that appears again and again throughout romantic cinema: that happiness arrives when somebody comes to save you.
Even Notting Hill, and this one I hate to critique. I really do, especially because it’s one of my favourite films of all time. I firmly believe Anna Scott’s line that love is “a violin-playing goat” is exactly right. But even Notting Hill isn’t immune. Anna’s declaration “I’m just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her” is beautiful. It remains beautiful. But vulnerability alone doesn’t automatically make a relationship healthy. Throughout the film, Anna drifts in and out of William’s life whenever circumstances allow, she even cheats on her existing partner with him and yet we’re encouraged to overlook the instability and the relentless red flags because the speech is just so good and Julia Roberts… well Julia Roberts is Julia Roberts and how could you not forgive her.
Then there’s 10 Things I Hate About You, are we forgetting the central romance begins with outright deception. Patrick is literally paid to date Kat. Of course, he eventually develops genuine feelings, but the foundation of their relationship is built on a lie. Somehow, because Heath Ledger sings on the bleachers, we collectively agreed to ignore that part.
The more I watched, the more I realised they all sell a similar fantasy. Not that love should be kind, communicative or dependable, but that love should be dramatic. That the right person can behave terribly for most of the story, provided they deliver a sufficiently moving speech before the credits roll. What’s worse is that none of this occurred to me the first time around. I believed every airport dash, every last-minute confession and every grand declaration that somehow made years of emotional chaos worth it. And that’s because romcoms sold us a very particular version of love. Love doesn’t require accountability because, if two people are meant to be together, they’ll forgive each other anyway.
I found myself needing to be reminded that healthy relationships don’t make particularly good cinema, and the problem is that we started believing those obstacles belonged in real life too.
Featured Image: Disney