Romance requires friction. It requires the terror of saying "I like you" without a nude attached. It requires plot armor—not the kind that saves you from danger, but the kind that saves you from boredom.

"I tried dating someone I met on a hookup app," says 24-year-old graphic designer, Sam. "We had insane physical chemistry, but when I tried to talk about my father’s cancer diagnosis, he sent me a meme. That was the 'coom' moment. I realized I was just a fleshlight with a push notification."

Consider the difference in media consumption. The "coomer" watches the tab A into slot B clip and closes the tab. The romantic watches Normal People and weeps when Connell asks Marianne if she’ll stay.