Since When Did Harry Ignore Sally?
By Valentina Roca
I was raised on rom-coms and, as a result, a particular fantasy: say the right thing, wear the right turtleneck, and someone will fall in love with you in a bookstore. I believed in meet-cutes, grand gestures, and love as something that found you. That’s hard to have faith in when you’re 21, meeting people on Hinge, and rewording a text for the third time just to seem “chill.”
So when I find myself double-texting someone “lmk :)” after they’ve ignored my last message for 15 hours, I feel like I’ve broken some unspoken rom-com rule. I’m not breezy or playing it cool. I’m spiraling in lowercase with a perfectly placed emoji to make it seem like I don’t care.
Maybe it’s time to unlearn the myth that chill is the only way to be chosen.
Still from When Harry Met Sally… (1989)
Being “chill” is an Oscar-worthy performance. It’s not about feeling relaxed at all. It’s actually extremely exhausting: you’re supposed to text back fast, but not too fast; be funny, but don’t reveal your emotions; seem interested, but also completely unbothered if they disappear for a week. Dating in the city has taught me how to perfect my cool girl persona through lowercase affection and strategic delay.
I blame dating apps for the internalized idea I’ve seen appear among many of my friends: if you want something too much (don’t even think about showing it), you lose. Being “chill” is emotional restraint disguised as desirable energy. Because if you’re too sincere, too available, too eager, you’re suddenly labeled as embarrassing, cringe, or desperate. I’m sure many of us are familiar with the “Cool Girl Monologue” from “Gone Girl.” I laughed when I first watched it, but it’s scarily feeling more and more like reality. And honestly…I’m tired of it.
I’m a huge fan of double texting, even though my roommates constantly advise me otherwise.
What’s the worst that could happen?
Still from When Harry Met Sally… (1989)
It feels like one of the last acceptable forms of emotional exposure in a world in which emotion is so feared. The second text almost feels like a confession. It says: I noticed the silence, and I care enough to break it. It also feels like a failure, like I showed my hand too early. But sometimes I like to believe it’s brave to risk coming off as “too much” in a world that constantly tells you to be less.
In all the rom-coms I grew up on, vulnerability looks like grand gestures. Running through airports, writing countless letters, even time-traveling to get the girl you want. But in real life, it looks like re-opening the chat and saying “hey, just checking in.” It might not be cinematic, but it still costs something. Rom-coms had me believing romance would arrive when I least expected it. The guy would call. He’d chase. He’d show up with flowers. You just had to be patient and have shiny hair. But now, people ghost you after asking you out. They leave you on read mid-convo. There’s no resolution, and you’re just left thinking, “I probably shouldn’t have said that.”
So when I find myself debating whether to text someone back or whether reaching out makes me look “too eager,” I realize I’m still trying to play by the rom-com rules. Rules that claim that patience is romantic and desire is silent. But modern dating doesn’t operate on charm or fate. It runs on algorithms and unspoken power dynamics. There’s no climactic kiss in the rain; there’s just the slow death of the text thread. In this world, vulnerability is risky.
Still from When Harry Met Sally… (1989)
So, after being extremely vulnerable in this post, I’m here to say I still double-text. I still care too much. I’m not the girl who waits forever to respond or crafts the perfect reply. I’m the one who wants to know, who asks, and who is shamelessly upfront. And I’m done pretending that’s something to be ashamed of. I’m not trying to be effortless anymore. I’m trying to be chosen, and not for playing it right, but for showing up as the real me.
