Modern Romance

What does it mean to fall in love in the age of smartphones? In Modern Romance, comedian and writer Aziz Ansari—teaming up with sociologist Eric Klinenberg—sets out to answer one of the most urgent questions of our time: how technology has transformed the way we search for, experience, and sustain love. The book isn’t just a humorous take on dating; it’s a cross-cultural, data-driven exploration of how modern tools, cultural change, and personal psychology combine to shape our pursuit of romance.

Ansari argues that while apps and online platforms have made it easier than ever to meet potential partners, they’ve also made choosing—and committing—far more complicated. We now live in a world of near-infinite options, and that abundance of choice comes with a paradox: more freedom, but less satisfaction. He blends hilarious anecdotes from his own life with research from sociologists, psychologists, and real interviews conducted in cities from New York to Tokyo, painting a vivid picture of our collective frustration and hope in the quest for connection.

From Good-Enough to Soul Mates

A century ago, romance was simple—if not necessarily fulfilling. People usually married young, often choosing partners who lived within a few blocks. Marriage was a practical partnership: an economic and social arrangement rather than a profound emotional bond. Over time, with women entering the workforce and gaining independence, love itself changed meaning. Modern couples now look for their soul mates—partners who complement their identities, share their passions, and fulfill emotional, sexual, and intellectual needs. This new model, while promising deeper intimacy, demands immense emotional labor and disqualifies anyone who doesn’t feel “perfect.”

Technology: The Infinite Hallway of Options

Today’s singles can swipe through hundreds of profiles in an afternoon, scroll through match suggestions, and text multiple potential partners simultaneously—all from the palm of their hand. Ansari compares this to standing in an endless hallway of doors, each concealing another possible partner. The problem isn’t finding someone—it’s deciding which door to open, and whether to stay once you do. As he learns from psychologist Barry Schwartz’s theory in The Paradox of Choice, too many options not only paralyze decision-making but also make people less satisfied with their eventual choice. The result? A generation of “maximizers” endlessly searching for the best possible partner instead of appreciating the one they have.

The Anxiety of Digital Communication

Before texts and social media, asking someone out required courage: a phone call, perhaps a conversation face-to-face. Now, with endless messaging channels, it’s easier—and more confusing—than ever. Through comedy and cultural analysis, Ansari captures the agony of the “read receipt,” the cryptic delay in reply, and the absurd strategies singles invent to maintain an “upper hand” (“Wait twice as long before replying”). Messages have become not just communication but performance. As MIT’s Sherry Turkle warns, these asynchronous interactions erode spontaneity and lead people to curate their personalities rather than connect authentically.

A Global Romance Experiment

One of the book’s most fascinating elements is its global scope. Ansari’s fieldwork takes him from Tokyo—where young Japanese adults are so shy and withdrawn that birth rates are plummeting—to Buenos Aires, where men’s aggressive flirtation borders on harassment, and to Paris, where casual affairs coexist with committed love. By comparing these dating ecosystems, Ansari underscores that technology is just one variable in a complex cultural equation. Modern romance, whether in an American city or an Argentinian café, is about managing desire, freedom, and fear of missing out.

From Frustration to Faith in Humanity

Despite his humorous cynicism, Ansari ultimately lands on a note of optimism. He insists that technology hasn’t ruined love—it has merely complicated it. The essence of romance remains the same: people still crave connection, laughter, and trust. What the modern world demands is more intentionality—using technology as a bridge, not a barrier, and remembering that behind every “bubble” on your phone is a real, vulnerable person. The challenge is no longer to find love, but to cultivate it amid distraction, abundance, and expectation.

“Finding someone today is more complicated and stressful than ever—but you’re also more likely to end up with someone you’re truly excited about.”

This sweeping exploration of modern love encourages you to stop blaming technology and start reflecting on how you use it. It’s a reminder that, though the tools have changed, the human heart hasn’t.

When Ansari compared his parents’ arranged marriage to his own chaotic dating life, he realized that romantic expectations had changed more radically in the last fifty years than in the previous five hundred. In earlier generations, people married neighbors and coworkers—often selected or approved by families. Marriage was a practical decision that promised stability, not passion. As the historian Stephanie Coontz explains (in Marriage, A History), companionship and economic cooperation once mattered more than soul-level fulfillment.

From Arranged to Autonomous

In his interviews with seniors at a New York retirement community, Ansari found that many had met their spouses within a few blocks of home. One woman married a man who lived on the floor above hers; another married the boy across the street. This pattern echoed sociologist James Bossard’s classic study showing that most early-twentieth-century couples lived within five blocks of each other before marriage. These marriages were rooted in proximity and parental influence—not personal adventure.

By contrast, today’s singles live in what sociologists call “emerging adulthood”—a period between adolescence and marriage when people focus on education, self-discovery, and career building. During this stage, you sample options, both professionally and romantically, and move across cities and cultures. Marriage, once a prerequisite to adulthood, is now a capstone achievement that comes after you’ve “figured yourself out.”

The Birth of the Soul Mate Ideal

In the mid-twentieth century, the “companionate marriage” model dominated: men provided, women nurtured, and success was measured by duty rather than emotional intensity. The feminist movement disrupted that pattern, giving women more autonomy and shifting the goal of marriage from survival to self-actualization. Now people seek soul mates—partners who complete them in every way. As sociologist Andrew Cherlin notes, this makes relationships more rewarding when they work—but far more fragile when they don’t.

The Modern Contradiction

The soul mate era has brought incredible opportunities: you’re freer to marry for love, delay commitment, or choose not to marry at all. But Ansari warns that it’s also created unprecedented pressure. You’re no longer looking for someone “good enough”—you’re hunting for the person who fits your values, humor, tastes, and life goals while also being sexy, emotionally intelligent, and ambitious. This romantic perfectionism turns every date into an audition for a lifelong role. Ansari cleverly sums it up: “In the past, you needed some water. Now you won’t settle until it’s boiling.”

Modern relationships promise deeper joy—but at the cost of higher expectations and constant second-guessing.

By tracing this shift, Ansari encourages readers to recognize that love isn’t harder because we’ve lost something—it’s harder because we’re demanding more from it than ever before.

One of the funniest yet most revealing sections of Modern Romance examines how technology has reprogrammed the “initial ask.” Once upon a time, calling someone on the phone was terrifying but direct; you either heard their voice or you didn’t. Now, with texts and dating apps, the approach is asynchronous and ambiguous. Ansari dissects hundreds of text conversations to show how digital communication—meant to make things easier—actually amplifies anxiety and confusion.

Texting: The New Romantic Battlefield

Data from Match.com show that over 60% of people under thirty prefer to ask someone out via text. But this shift from voice to screen has altered emotional stakes. Texting gives you control—time to craft a reply—but it also creates distance. As Ansari jokes, “When someone doesn’t text back, your mind races faster than a 4G connection.” He recalls his own spiral of panic when a woman named Tanya left his message on “Read,” showing how the absence of communication is now more emotionally charged than rejection itself.

The Psychology of Waiting

We play games not just because we want power, but because psychology rewards uncertainty. Ansari cites experiments showing that variable rewards trigger dopamine spikes—the same principle behind slot machines. That’s why waiting for a reply is oddly addictive. But these manipulations—delaying responses, “doubling reply time,” pretending indifference—often create paranoia on both sides. MIT anthropologist Natasha Schüll compares texting to gambling: you send a message like pulling a lever and wait for the hit of validation when the reply comes.

The Importance of Authenticity

Ansari argues that your “phone self” can differ dramatically from your real one. Behind a screen, even good people can morph into “douche monsters”—sending awkward jokes, lazy texts (“Hey”), or even inappropriate messages they’d never dare say aloud. Women told him their inboxes were littered with “hey”s and ill-spelled pick-up attempts. What distinguished successful men wasn’t looks but effort. The best messages were specific, personal, and confident (“Hey Katie, I had fun talking about that chef—want to check out that restaurant next week?”).

Beyond the Ping

Ultimately, Ansari argues that the healthiest approach is to use digital tools as a door, not a destination. Texts should set up plans, not replace them. Endless back-and-forth (“What’s up?” “Not much.”) drains connection instead of building it. The solution? Be specific, be human, and then get off the phone. As he puts it, “Don’t waste your best jokes on iMessage—save them for ramen in real life.”

When Ansari dives into the world of online dating, he discovers both its promise and its pitfalls. His research, supported by data from OkCupid founder Christian Rudder and sociologist Michael Rosenfeld, reveals that a third of modern marriages begin online. Digital platforms are no longer fringe—they’re the primary matchmaking method of our time. Yet ironically, the same systems designed to increase connection can also cause burnout, superficiality, and choice overload.

Democratizing Romance

Before the Internet, social life limited who you could meet—usually coworkers, classmates, or neighbors. Now, distance and circumstance mean little. Previously “thin markets” (gay singles, older adults) suddenly expanded into vast digital communities. Sites like Match.com and later OkCupid turned human courtship into searchable data sets. As Ansari quips, “It’s never been easier to find another person who also loves tacos and hates cilantro.”

The Problem of Endless Filtering

Yet with endless choice comes exhaustion. Users like “Arpan” in Los Angeles—initially thrilled to browse—soon turned cynical. After hundreds of messages and repetitive dates, Arpan described dating as “a second job.” He even began sending mass copy-paste messages because “no one cared anyway.” Interestingly, Rudder’s data confirmed that such low-effort messages often performed almost as well as personalized ones, showing that scale tends to outweigh sincerity online. People juggle so many options that genuine connection becomes another algorithmic calculation.

Profiles and Photos: The Virtual Mask

Photos now make or break first impressions. Rudder’s OkCupid analysis found that women with “flirty” selfies performed best, while men did better when not smiling and looking away. But paradoxically, photos showing people engaged in hobbies or adventures led to deeper conversations. Ansari concludes that online dating turns everyone into mini-marketers—crafting brand identities rather than expressing relationships. The most successful daters, like Derek from New York who abandoned over-filtering, treated the app not as a shopping mall but as an introduction service, quickly transitioning to face-to-face interaction.

“Online dating isn’t dating—it’s an introduction service. Its purpose is to get you off the screen and into the world.”

The Offline Antidote

Ansari’s takeaway is refreshingly practical. Instead of browsing like you’re shopping for an appliance, treat online platforms as tools for discovery. Limit message exchanges to six or fewer before meeting in person (a principle echoed by expert Laurie Davis). The goal isn’t to find the perfect match on paper but to test for chemistry in real life. Technology can open the door—but only vulnerability and time can let you walk through it.

Why do more options make us miserable? In one of the book’s most insightful chapters, Ansari explores choice overload—the tendency for abundant options to reduce satisfaction. Borrowing from psychologist Barry Schwartz’s The Paradox of Choice and Herbert Simon’s satisficer vs. maximizer theory, he shows how our quest for “the best” partner creates anxiety, regret, and endless comparison.

Maximizers vs. Satisficers

Satisficers choose something “good enough” and move on. Maximizers exhaust every option, hunting for perfection. In today’s dating apps, maximizers thrive—scrolling endlessly, convinced that the next swipe hides someone better. Research shows that maximizers usually end up with objectively better outcomes (better jobs, higher salaries), yet feel less satisfied. Ansari applies this to romance: many singles get stuck building a “fantasy partner” combining the best traits of everyone they meet, leaving real people pale by comparison.

Too Much Jam

To illustrate this, Ansari recounts the famous jam experiment by psychologist Sheena Iyengar: shoppers confronted with 24 jam flavors were less likely to buy any than those offered 6. Similarly, daters offered endless matches end up paralyzed. “There’s too much jam out there,” Ansari jokes. When you’re swiping during a lunch break, you’re not choosing a partner—you’re tasting jams, never committing long enough to savor one.

The Geography of Options

To test his theory, Ansari visited places with fewer romantic options—small towns like Monroe, New York, and Wichita, Kansas. In these communities, singles knew everyone by reputation, and new faces rarely appeared. Ironically, most complained about the lack of choice, but those who did date often valued relationships more deeply. “There’s still gold here,” one local told him, emphasizing patience and investment. The lesson: while abundant choice offers freedom, scarcity encourages commitment.

Modern life surrounds us with infinite jams and soul mates; happiness comes from learning when to stop tasting and start savoring.

Ansari’s humor aside, this insight lands with depth: you need to balance exploration with commitment. Stop optimizing for perfection and start nurturing connection.

Love may be universal, but its expression is profoundly local. In a gripping cross-cultural tour, Ansari shows how social norms and technology collide differently across the world. His travels to Tokyo, Buenos Aires, Paris, and Doha reveal both comedic and poignant truths about modern intimacy.

Tokyo: The Crisis of Desire

In Japan, young adults avoid dating altogether—some even identify as “herbivore men.” Many are content with porn, virtual relationships, or “Soapland” parlors, where affection can be purchased without intimacy. With economic stagnation and gender pressures looming, millions have retreated into solitude. Government programs now subsidize dating events to boost birthrates. Ansari notes wryly that in Japan, love has literally become a public policy issue.

Buenos Aires: Passion and Chaos

If Japan represents apathy, Argentina is sensory overload. Buenos Aires simmers with flirtation, public affection, and “machismo.” Men catcall, pursue relentlessly, and blur the line between attention and aggression. Women counter with strategic resistance—playing “histérica,” the culturally sanctioned dance of rejection and attraction. Relationships are passionate but volatile, often punctuated by affairs and quick reconciliations. Love here is alive, messy, and deeply performative.

Paris and Doha: Different Rules, Same Longing

In France, Ansari encounters an open acceptance of extramarital affairs as part of human fallibility—an attitude that Americans might find shocking yet refreshingly honest. In conservative Qatar, by contrast, romance itself is policed. Families arrange marriages, and social media becomes a secret lifeline for love. Young women use Snapchat to flirt discreetly beneath burkas, making the app both a rebellion and refuge. In both places, technology acts as an escape hatch from societal constraints.

Across cultures, the need to connect endures—even when the rules, risks, and rituals differ wildly.

By zooming out globally, Ansari reminds readers that no app or algorithm can replace cultural context. Love everywhere remains a negotiation between freedom, fear, and desire.

Once we do find love, why is it so hard to stay satisfied? In his later chapters, Ansari confronts modern commitment anxiety: the fear of “settling” when a hypothetical upgrade might be one swipe away. This mindset blurs the line between choice and compulsion, making monogamy feel both comforting and restrictive.

When Passion Fades

Ansari breaks down love into two neurological stages, drawing on anthropologist Helen Fisher. Early love floods the brain with dopamine and adrenaline—the intoxicating “cocaine high” of romance. But this fiery phase fades within twelve to eighteen months. Successful couples transition into companionate love, marked by calm, trust, and deep emotional bonding. Many mistake this comfort for lost passion, ditching good relationships for the thrill of new ones—without realizing the cycle is chemical, not cosmic.

The Upgrade Problem

We’re wired to wonder: could there be someone better? In a culture that idolizes optimization, even love feels like an app that constantly updates. Ansari coins this “the upgrade problem.” Scrolling through Instagram or Tinder feeds our imagination with endless “what ifs.” Old relationships start to feel like outdated software. But as psychologist Jonathan Haidt explains, true happiness isn’t maximizing passion—it’s crafting a meaningful narrative. Love, like any story, evolves through phases of passion, partnership, and growth.

Monogamy, Monogamish, and the Myth of Perfection

Ansari explores evolving ideas of commitment, from open relationships to “monogamish” models described by sex columnist Dan Savage. Some couples make honest agreements to allow outside experiences; others fail disastrously trying. The key, Ansari finds, isn’t ideology—it’s honesty. Whether faithful or flexible, the healthiest couples openly acknowledge desire, boundaries, and imperfection. As Savage says, “A relationship is more than never touching anyone else—it’s about kindness.”

In a world of upgrades, stability is the new rebellion. Choosing one person—on purpose, day after day—is the boldest act of love we have left.

Ansari ends on a hopeful note: love now is harder, but also richer. The tools for distraction are infinite, but so are the possibilities for understanding, growth, and connection—if you choose to stay.