How We Learned to Perform What We Once Felt
Let’s begin in twelfth-century France.
The troubadours of Provence invented a language for love that still echoes in our ears. They sang of fin’amor—refined love—a passion directed at an unattainable lady, usually married, always above the lover’s station. The knight admired from afar. He composed verses. He performed grand gestures. He knew, with the certainty of a man who had seen his companions ride off to war, that his devotion might never be consummated.
The term “courtly love” is a nineteenth-century coinage, but the practice was real. Medieval poets like Chrétien de Troyes and troubadours like Bernard de Ventador shaped a tradition where love was suffering, where it entered through the eyes, where it was incompatible with marriage. The beloved was a distant star. The lover was the one who gazed upward, wrote poems, and died for the privilege of being noticed.
This is the French romantic template—the script that shaped European love for centuries. It was a script of absence. The beloved was not available. The lover was not entitled. The gesture was symbolic, not transactional. The knight performed because he could not possess. The performance was the point.
Then came the smartphone.
The Vanishing of Absence
Before the smartphone, love was structured by absence. You wrote letters. You waited by the landline. You wondered. The beloved was a presence you held in your mind, not a notification on your screen.
The smartphone changed everything. The beloved became constantly available. And with constant availability came constant pressure.
The French journalist Maïa Mazaurette, who writes the “Le sexe selon Maïa” column for Le Monde and has spoken at VivaTech on “Qui nous apprend à aimer ?” (Who Teaches Us to Love?), has traced this shift. She argues that the smartphone did not make us more connected—it made us more accountable to the performance of connection. The lover is no longer absent. They are present. And presence demands proof.
Mazaurette describes how certain TikTok trends—what she calls “blogues” and “sprints”—have become new codes of romantic interaction. “Blogues” refers to the trend of turning the relationship itself into public content: couples co-creating videos, vlogs, photo posts to publicly validate their love. “Sprints” are brief, high-intensity relationship tests—challenges, surprises, viral formats that transform intimacy into a measurable achievement.
This is the monkey-see-monkey-do logic of the platform. The algorithm provides the template. The user copies the template. The template becomes the norm. French audiences are adopting gestures imported from the English-speaking world—grand bouquets, public declarations, performative surprises—not because they are culturally native, but because they are culturally available.
The result is a hybrid: the gestures come from the English template, but the meaning is still filtered through a French cultural lens. The imitation is structural, even if the interpretation is cultural.
The Anglo-American Script: From Player to Simp
In the Anglophone world, the shift was more extreme. Before the smartphone, the script was ambiguous. The “player” was the ideal: scarce, unavailable, desirable. He texted “wyd” and she came. He demanded nothing. He received desire.
Then the smartphone arrived. Presence became constant. The player’s ambiguity became unsustainable. A new figure emerged: the simp.
“Simp” is a slang term for someone—typically a man—perceived as overly submissive or desperate for attention without receiving anything in return. The term originated in the African American community in the early 2000s and spread through social media in the 2020s. It describes someone who tries too hard, who performs grand gestures, who gives everything and receives nothing real.
The simp is the mirror image of the player. The player demanded nothing and was desired. The simp demands everything—and gives everything—and loses meaning in the process. The grand gesture becomes routine. The performance becomes hollow. The beloved receives the gesture and does not attach.
This is the structural tragedy of the Anglophone script. The 2010s taught us that caring was desperate. The 2020s taught us that caring must be performed. Neither teaches us that caring is simply being present.
The Bouquet as Terminal Symbol
The oversized bouquet of red roses is the perfect unit of the performative relationship. It is perishable. It withers as soon as it is bound. It is meant to be passed once and thrown away.
The bouquet is the unmerited gift. It is given because the beloved is present, not because the lover wants to give. It is performed because the script demands it, not because the heart compels it. It commemorates the moment—not the future.
And the photograph of the bouquet? That is the attempt to freeze the ephemeral. You do not photograph a bouquet unless you wish the moment didn’t fade. The photograph is the evidence that the gesture was not enough.
The Erosion of Hospitality
The grand gesture does not replace the real micro-performance—it erodes it. Hospitality—noticing the beloved’s needs, remembering preferences, making space for them to rest—is the real practice of love. It is private, unscripted, sustainable. It does not demand visibility.
But the script of grand gestures makes hospitality irrelevant. The beloved is no longer attended to. They are performed for. The lover no longer notices needs. They follow templates instead. The relationship becomes a series of gestures. The relationship is no longer a practice of care.
Constant availability re-wires expectations. The effort required to maintain a connection seems disproportionately high compared to the effort required to simply find a replacement. The beloved is replaceable. The gesture is disposable. The performance is endless.
The Structural Conclusion
The script is lost. The 2010s told us that caring was desperate. The 2020s tell us that caring must be performed. Neither teaches us that caring is simply being present.
The player demanded nothing and received desire. The simp demands everything and receives performance. She attaches to neither because neither is real.
The platform teaches us how to love—by showing us what love looks like on the other side of the screen. It provides the script. The algorithm rewards the performance. The user performs the script. The performance becomes the norm.
The medieval cavalier performed grand gestures because the beloved was absent. The modern user performs grand gestures because the beloved is present—and watching. The gesture is no longer a gift. It is a response. It is a performance. It is a script.
And the script is hollow.
The practice of love—small, unnoticed, sustained attention—is no longer legible. It is either avoided or performed. Never just done.
The script is gone. The performance remains.
References
- Britannica, “French literature – Medieval, Lyric, Epic.” The 12th century saw the revolution in sexual attitudes known as amour courtois (courtly love) or fin’amor, first expressed by the Occitan troubadours of the 12th and 13th centuries.
- Britannica, “Courtly love.” The tradition of courtly love was shaped by poets like Chrétien de Troyes and troubadours like Bernard de Ventador, where love was suffering and incompatible with marriage.
- Later Social Media Glossary, “What is a Simp?” The term “simp” originated in the African American community in the early 2000s, initially used to describe someone seen as foolish or silly.
- InsideHook, “Youthsplaining: What the Hell Is a Simp?” The term “simp” has evolved over decades, with usage as an abbreviation for “simpleton” since the early 20th century, and contemporary usage describing men who invest excessive time and energy into women who don’t want them.
- VivaTech Festival 2026, “Qui nous apprend à aimer ?” Maïa Mazaurette’s talk exploring how technology is profoundly redefining our ways of conceiving love.
- Maïa Mazaurette, Wikipedia. French author and columnist for Le Monde‘s “Le sexe selon Maïa,” exploring questions of sexuality, body representation, and social roles.
- In Yvex, “in what ways do dating apps influence perceptions of long term commitment?” Constant availability re-wires expectations of relationship formation, making the effort to maintain a connection seem disproportionately high compared to finding a replacement.
- VivaTech, “Qui nous apprend à aimer ?” Mazaurette explores the way technology transforms our lives and relationships.