My mom was born in Pensacola, Florida, but by the time she was ten, her parents packed up their family and moved to Guatemala as missionaries. They spent the next decade there, somewhat removed from the constant stream of new American movies and TV shows. Instead, they fell in love with what they did have access to: the golden era of Hollywood.
They would run around their home singing songs from old musicals like Singin’ in the Rain and Meet Me in St. Louis, not realizing at the time how much media shapes relationship expectations, even from a young age. Those stories weren’t just entertainment, they were a shared language, a kind of magic that shaped how they saw joy, love, and storytelling.
Fast forward a few years to my siblings and me. We were back in the States, but somehow still growing up with Gene Kelly and Judy Garland. We had access to everything, every new movie, every trending show, but my mom made sure we never missed out on the classics that meant so much to her.
As I watched these cinematic spectacles, where a man and a woman could fall in love mid-song and suddenly break into a perfectly choreographed dance, something in me lit up. It felt magical. It felt right. It planted this quiet hope that one day, I would experience something just as beautiful.
Looking back, I think that might be where my romantic side comes from, and it’s a reminder of how deeply media shapes relationship expectations, even before we fully understand what love actually is. These stories created a feeling that’s hard to describe, something warm and exciting and almost too perfect to put into words. But there were layers to that feeling that I didn’t fully understand at the time, layers that would make that fantasy a lot more complicated.
When the Story Doesn’t Fit You
Fast forward again, this time to me sitting on a park bench in London during a semester abroad. I had finally come to terms with something I had been avoiding for years: I didn’t like girls, I liked guys. And for the first time, I said that out loud to someone else.
Because I didn’t fully acknowledge this part of myself until I was eighteen, I felt behind. Like everyone else had already read the script, and I was just now realizing I didn’t even have the right one.
As I started to enter the dating world, I began to see firsthand how much media shapes relationship expectations, especially when the stories you grew up with don’t reflect your reality. I knew the movies I grew up watching were unrealistic, but even the parts that were supposed to reflect real life didn’t apply to me anymore.
All I had ever seen was “guy meets girl.” That was the blueprint. That was the expectation. And suddenly, that framework didn’t make sense for my life.
The few times queer relationships showed up on screen, they were treated as something wrong or inappropriate in my household. The TV would be turned off, or a comment would be made. And without even realizing it, I started doing the same thing internally. I turned that part of myself off too.
Heteronormativity, which is really just a complicated way of saying “straight relationships are treated as the default,” was all I had ever known through media. And when that’s the only story you see, it becomes really hard to imagine your own.
The Subtle Power of Media
Over time, I’ve learned as much as anyone can about love as a young adult, which is to say… not everything, but enough to start asking better questions. One thing that has become very clear is how powerful media really is in shaping our understanding of relationships.
And this doesn’t just apply to sexuality. Even if someone grows up seeing themselves reflected in every story, the patterns and tropes we absorb still shape expectations in ways we don’t always notice.
Media doesn’t just entertain us, it teaches us. It shows us what love is supposed to look like, how fast it’s supposed to happen, what problems are worth staying for, and what a “happy ending” is supposed to be.
The Stories We Grow Up With
Take Disney princess movies, for example. They’re iconic, nostalgic, and honestly, still some of the most recognizable love stories out there. And while they’ve evolved over time, the originals still carry a lot of weight in how we learn about relationships.
Snow White tells the story of a woman who cooks and cleans for strangers, falls victim to jealousy, and is ultimately “saved” by a prince through a kiss she never consented to.
Ariel sees a man once, falls in love instantly, and is willing to give up her voice, her identity, and her entire world just to be with him.
Cinderella endures an abusive home life and is only rescued once she becomes visible, desirable, and chosen by a prince.
Of course, I’m simplifying these stories. They have beauty, charm, and cultural significance for a reason. But they also introduce ideas at a young age that can quietly stick with us.
Love happens instantly.
Sacrifice proves devotion.
Someone else will come and fix your life.
Even if we don’t consciously believe these things as adults, they can still shape how we approach relationships, what we tolerate, and what we expect.
Expanding the Narrative
The good news is that storytelling is changing. We’re starting to see more diverse, realistic, and layered relationships on screen. There’s more room for different identities, different timelines, and different versions of what love can look like.
But change doesn’t erase what came before. Those early stories still live somewhere in the back of our minds. They influence how we see ourselves and others, even if we don’t realize it.
For me, it meant unlearning the idea that there was only one kind of love story worth telling. It meant realizing that just because I didn’t see myself growing up didn’t mean my story didn’t exist.
And maybe that’s the most important shift media can make, not just showing more stories, but showing that there isn’t just one version of how things are supposed to go.
So What Do We Do With That?
We don’t have to stop loving the movies and shows we grew up with. There’s still so much joy, nostalgia, and meaning in them. But we can watch them a little more critically.
Because once you realize how much media shapes relationship expectations, you can start deciding for yourself what parts to keep and what to leave behind.
We can recognize the tropes without letting them define us.
We can question the expectations they set.
And we can make space for stories, both on screen and in our own lives, that feel more honest.
Because at the end of the day, love isn’t a perfectly timed musical number or a fairytale ending tied up in two hours. It’s messier, slower, and a lot more personal than that.
And maybe that doesn’t make it less magical.
Maybe it just makes it real.
