Love in the Time of Bank Transfers: What ‘Materialists’ Says About Romance in a Capitalist World
SPOILER ALERT!
One evening at an Instagrammable café in my city, I overheard a group of college girls chatting.
“He’s cute, but he didn’t wire me money when I said I needed new makeup,” one said. “So, I ghosted him. He doesn’t have that provider mindset, which is the current standard.”
My baby sister, also in college, was trying not to laugh. I, on the other hand, was low-key horrified. I’d seen this “provider mindset” trend online, but this was the first time I heard it said so casually in real life. Was this really how love works now?
As cheesy as it sounds, I still believe in love—messy, imperfect, hold-on-through-hard-times kind of love. But increasingly, romance feels like a business pitch. The “provider” narrative reduces affection to a transaction: money equals love.
And then I saw Materialists (2025), Celine Song’s new film starring Dakota Johnson, Pedro Pascal, and Chris Evans. Finally, a smart, sexy take on modern love that gets what I’ve been feeling.
Also read: Sometimes I Lie About My Age—It’s Easier Than Explaining Myself
Is love just a luxury now?
Materialists follows Lucy, a woman caught between two men: Harry (Pascal), who offers wealth and social security, and John (Evans), a struggling but emotionally present ex. On paper, it’s a classic love triangle. But under Song’s direction, it becomes something else: a subtle dissection of how capitalism shapes even our most intimate decisions.
Harry gives Lucy stability, while John gives her the kind of uncertain, vulnerable love that says, “I’ll be your certainty,” even when he’s anything but. There’s no villain here—just options, risks, contradictions.
What I love about Lucy’s decision is that it’s not moral, nor framed as a rejection of money. It’s murky, messy, and very human. Song doesn’t pretend love floats above capitalism. But she also refuses to let it be swallowed whole by it.
Watching the film, I kept thinking about Eva Illouz’s theory of emotional capitalism, how even our feelings are shaped by market logic. Relationships now come with ROI expectations—will this connection be worth my time, energy, and yes, money? Lucy’s dilemma isn’t about “choosing love over money”—it’s about what we’re allowed to want, and what it costs to want it.
Also read: Why Does Being Poor Feel Like a Crime in Indonesia?
The ending (and yes, I’m going there) moved me more than I expected. It quietly insists that love doesn’t have to be affordable to be real. That “we can’t afford love” is not always true—some people choose to build together, to stay, to try. Love, in that sense, isn’t a luxury item; it’s a joint investment in something intangible but deeply valuable.
It also pushes back against essentialist takes on gender. The idea that men must be materially dominant to be worthy of love? That gets side-eyed, hard. Song shows us that vulnerability and uncertainty are not weaknesses, but real elements of intimacy.
That said, Materialists does gloss over some realities. Song’s version of financial struggle is still glossy, stylized New York. John’s “rough patch” doesn’t quite hit “real precarity” levels—more hipster hardship than actual survival mode. I would’ve loved to see what this story looks like in a world where people are choosing between rent and groceries. But maybe that wasn’t the story Song wanted to tell.
Still, her message is clear, that love doesn’t survive because it fits perfectly in an economic system. It survives because it defies it.
Also read: Girl, So Confusing: The Messy Realities of Female Friendships
So yes, I’m resisting the cynicism. I’m refusing the narrative that love must follow financial logic. Like Lucy, I choose the messy, emotionally honest kind—even when it feels risky, even when it doesn’t make sense.
Because, to borrow Lucy’s words, love just walks into our lives, sometimes. And some of us still choose to stay.
Masithoh Azzahro Lutfiasari earned her BA in English Literature from Universitas Negeri Malang and an MA in Gender Studies from SOAS, University of London. She’s a member of Puan Menulis and a firm believer in spicy food and tender politics. Follow her on Instagram @mazlutfiasari..
