The Vanishing Gentleman

Can a Return to Romanticism Save Us From Ourselves?

By Dana Raye Barnaby

There’s a silence creeping in.

Not the peaceful kind - but the sort that comes when connection disappears. It used to be that falling in love was a rite of passage. A pull. A pursuit. Something real enough to change your mind, reroute your life, and teach you who you were in the presence of someone else.

Sadly, that pursuit seems to be vanishing - as is the gentlemen’s role in this sacred initiation rite.

A recent article I read outlined how Gen Z is having dramatically less sex, less romance, and fewer relationships than generations before them. The statistics were stark. And yet, it didn’t feel shocking. It felt like confirmation of something I’ve sensed for a while now: that intimacy, in all its messy, magical complexity, has been quietly edited out of modern life.

Gen Z is not having sex because they grow up in a world of stigmas, social media and instant internet gratification. Guys get porn and don’t feel the desire to pursue a girlfriend. Girls have physical insecurities from Instagram filters and feel they are not attractive. Not to mention, the testosterone levels of Gen Z are half of what they were for Gen X.

 Posts from the genz

Talk to young men and they’ll tell you they’re fine. They have porn. They have video games. They have group chats and curated digital avatars of themselves. They don’t have to risk rejection, or conversation, or vulnerability. They don’t have to explain why they lack ambition, or why they haven’t gotten their license, or why they still live at home - because there’s no one real in front of them to ask.

Young women see it clearly. They don’t want to raise their boyfriends. They don’t want to teach someone how to show up. And they certainly don’t want to act out some pornified fantasy designed by a search engine. Many of them aren’t even angry anymore. They’ve just opted out. Their silence is louder than any protest.

This growing disconnect was plain to see just yesterday…  A young, handsome, long-flowing, black haired male stepped on to the train only a few feet from me.  So close, in fact, that I could plainly see the video game screaming back at him on his smart phone.

Just three feet in the opposite direction, I noticed a lovely young girl, hip, ready for whatever this route downtown would offer up - also face down - likely reading some random, uninteresting social post from her bestie.

Only four feet apart — a budding romance, a happenstance meeting, a simple smile — missed entirely as these two never even looked up once from their self imposed phone addiction.

So, this scenario begs the question: What came first — the lack of desire to meet someone, so the phone works as the perfect distractor — or the phone has become the perfect distraction?

I kept thinking about all of this — and then, strangely enough, later that evening, I found myself watching Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner.

It's a revolutionary film that once sparked outrage for showing a white woman in love with a Black man - and no, it wasn’t made last year. This 1967 film featured a poignant scene with Beah Richards and Spencer Tracy, when she tells him that, Men of a certain age, who are no longer intimate with their wives, often forget what it’s like to be young and overwhelmed by love. Forget why anyone would choose love over the inevitable risks that will endure.

That line landed hard.

If forgetting is dangerous - how much worse will it be when Gen Z never learns about romance in the first place?

Romantic pursuit once anchored us to each other. It made us bold. It gave us reason to overcome difference, fear, loneliness. But if young people no longer chase love—what will they chase? And what will happen to a world built on algorithms, suspicion, and emotional detachment?

We already see the warning signs. Incel communities. The 80/20 rule. The quiet epidemic of boys who never leave their rooms. And the girls who’ve stopped waiting for them to.

Some say this is just evolution. I think it’s a breakdown.

And I believe the cure might be a return to romance.

Late-night conversations that spill into sunrise. Vinyl records spinning while someone cooks dinner. A live performance that makes you cry because someone else understands your ache. Books you can hold in your hands. Letters written in pen. Art that hangs on gallery walls for thousands to witness. Eyes that see you across a crowded café and don’t immediately look away.

This is how we save ourselves. With presence, intention and real love (not just a heart emoji), that isn’t filtered, monetized, or ranked.

We are not going to algorithm our way out of this.

We need a return to romanticism. Because without it, what’s left? Likes? Followers? Fear?

"Tis better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all". Thank you Alfred, Lord Tennyson for this reminder.

For love itself is a miracle. And despite it's hardships and heartbreak - it’s worth every moment of pain-filled loss.

Thank you for taking the time to join me on this journey of reflection and storytelling. If these words have resonated, you might enjoy my second series of essays called, The Art of Living. 

Subscribe today to continue our conversation. Together, we can explore the timeless art of living thoughtfully and graciously. Your support means the world to me.

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