By Haoran Xia
Published on: NOWNESS China
February 10, 2021
People often say that those who are loved are complete - that because everyone walks alone through the world, we need a “better half” to make ourselves whole. And more often than not, this process of completion is understood as being loved.
In the past, whether it was the Eastern belief that “a woman’s greatest fear is marrying the wrong man,” or the Western fairy-tale imagination of princes and princesses, women were positioned as the weaker party in economic terms. They longed for a white knight to rewrite their lives. Economic vulnerability rendered them passive in love, and that passivity in turn gave rise to a longing to be loved. This desire may have contained emotional attachment, but at its core it expressed something far more primal: the wish to be protected, or even rescued. Women hoped that love might erase their disadvantages - economic, social, even class-based - and in doing so, make them more complete.
As society moved into the modern age, women gained greater economic autonomy, which offered firmer ground in gender relations. Yet this foundation did more than bringing financial independence; it awakened a shift in consciousness. Women began to understand that the power of being loved was no longer as absolute as it once appeared. The candy-colored bubble surrounding being loved quietly burst, revealing the truth of intimacy beneath it.
At this moment, being loved became transparent. It was no longer sacred, nor flawless. It drifted alone through the emotional world, searching for a living counterpart. When being loved could no longer transform a woman’s fate, it gradually evolved into a form of spiritual communication. It shifted from being protected to being understood, or simply being heard. Its meaning was no longer about completing a life, but enriching one, or perhaps only making a person’s world feel slightly less monotonous.
In Before Sunset, Céline says to Jesse in the back of a taxi, “What’s the point of being loved? If I’m sitting on the couch with my boyfriend watching television but I still feel lonely, then why be together at all? That loneliness is worse than the loneliness I feel when I’m alone.”
Perhaps this is true. When the loneliness of two outweighs the loneliness of one, being loved loses its allure. From economics to spirit, from transformation to enrichment, the definition of being loved continues to shift. Its dimensions expand, its meanings multiply, yet its true value seems already exhausted because its power was, indeed, once overestimated.
But within intimate relationships, is it only women who seek to be loved? Not quite. Men, too, have always pursued being loved. Though for them, it often takes the form of being affirmed. Affirmation as attractive, as successful, as possessing a stable family or a meaningful career. Across cultures and centuries, men have occupied the center of social structures. As perceived masters of fate, they believed deeply in their own strength, and beneath that belief lay the support of being loved by another.
Yet this form of love resembles a hormone: intense in the short term, powerless against time. It cannot endure. If being loved has been overvalued, then what kind of love do we truly need?
“I could destroy you, but I didn’t.” In the miniseries I May Destroy You, the protagonist Arabella, after surviving sexual assault, searches desperately for another emotional exit. Moving between rainy England and blazing Italy, the story ends with her standing on a London street, lifting her head toward a sky that is dark yet boundless. She tells herself: “I could destroy you. But I didn’t. I didn’t choose forgiveness, and I didn’t choose forgetting. I chose to keep writing my life.” The self-love and self-affirmation rising from within allow her to step forward again, and make her the hero of her own fate.
Most of us may never experience such devastation, yet after a failed relationship, self-doubt often follows. Am I not good enough? Am I unworthy of love? Some even arrive at the self-destructive conclusion that they are fundamentally unlovable. What we forget is that intimacy is always built upon ‘two’ - two independent individuals interacting with one another. Only when both recognize and affirm themselves can a relationship truly find harmony.
Albert Camus once wrote that a person’s life is inevitably lonely, and only in the company of lovers and friends does that loneliness temporarily fade. In today’s relentlessly accelerating world, loneliness has become a compulsory experience. Yet on another level, loneliness is also the space the world grants us - a space for dialogue with the self. It is within fragments of solitude that we begin to understand our existence, discover our inner strength, and realize that even without companionship, we can be well, and we can be happy.
An intimate relationship, then, is simply the meeting of two solitary beings. After experiencing loneliness and understanding the self, two people bring with them a deeply inclusive form of self-love, communicating physically and spiritually, turning invisible affection into tangible exchange. To love oneself, and then love another - this is what intimacy truly asks of us. In a world that worships being loved and being cared for, the energy born from within is often the very force capable of breaking all restraints.
In Sex and the City, Samantha once says, “I love you - but I love myself more.” This philosophy is often dismissed as selfish individualism, since love is traditionally associated with sacrifice and devotion. Yet within the emotional negotiations of intimacy, self-love is not cruelty but protection. It is only by preserving oneself that one can truly fulfill another.
Today, ideas such as the “inevitability of coincidence in love” and “being-loved supremacy” are wrapped in countless labels - the post-terror era, the streaming era, the information age, the post-pandemic world, the post-consumerist era. Within these overlapping contexts, love and being loved grow increasingly ambiguous. What is love? What does it mean to be loved? Under contemporary logic, being loved appears especially appealing to the young generation. Loving feels exhausting, they say; being loved feels like happiness.
But what defines that happiness? Is it admiration? Security? The convenience of emotional effortlessness - a life where needs are anticipated and burdens removed?
Marshall McLuhan once argued that in postmodern society, the medium itself becomes the message, that media extends our senses and lays human emotion fully bare. Love, too, has been placed on display, curated inside the public museum of mass media.
In the age of streaming, social platforms open endless windows into virtual life. Daily routines, workplace frustrations, leisure moments, all become exhibits to be viewed. Love does not escape this process. Public displays of affection flourish, transforming intimacy into proof: proof of privilege, proof of happiness, proof of being chosen. Romantic closeness becomes a luxury unique to the streaming era. Those without it are pushed outside the frame, watching from afar, longing for the brilliance of being loved, craving the right to exist beneath algorithmic light.
Quietly, an ivory tower of love emerges. Being loved sits at its peak: visible yet unreachable. Because we believe what we see. Screen after screen offers images of being loved, and soon we begin to ask ourselves: is being loved truly that wonderful? Under this overwhelming visual persuasion, more young people choose to be chosen, to receive rather than give, to shine beneath the spotlight rather than light it.
The streaming era does not merely construct this ivory tower; it also gives rise to influencer culture, reshaping values along the way. “Minimum effort, maximum return” becomes a creed, and soon this logic infiltrates intimacy itself. Information overload turns language redundant, news into fast food, and love into something increasingly cheap. Dating apps accelerate desire, transforming love into advertising - endlessly pasted across platforms, waiting to be subscribed to. The renewal cycle shortens, the cost collapses. Love begins to resemble a consumer good, as accessible as a bottle of soda. Instant romance becomes habit, and instead of striving for connection, we indulge in the fleeting thrill of being desired.
Alongside this fast-food version of love, film and television quietly reinforce the fantasy of being-loved supremacy. From Cinderella to Fifty Shades of Grey, from early Taiwanese idol dramas to global blockbusters, love is portrayed as accidental, while being loved appears abundant and complete. These stories construct an illusion of perfection, promoting the ideas of romantic inevitability and emotional passivity.
Perhaps being loved is the finest view atop the ivory tower. Perhaps it is unconditional return. Perhaps it is seductive advertising. Yet being loved is ultimately still a response to giving - an echo formed through resonance between two bodies and two spirits.
Love, in the end, is an experiment. Like all experiments, each of us enters it with a theory, testing belief against reality. And like all experiments, results rarely align perfectly with expectation.
Psychologist Erik Erikson once proposed that the roots of human behavior are formed in early childhood. Applied to love, this suggests that we learn how to love because we were once loved by our parents, and by witnessing love itself. In this logic, being loved becomes input, and loving becomes output. Only when enough input accumulates can output occur. Over time, this reasoning solidifies into habit, leading many to wait passively for love to arrive, hoping that being loved will teach them how to love.
Yet love is not only a bridge between bodies and minds. It is also a primal expression, a fundamental human desire. Social psychology tells us that as social beings, humans constantly seek belonging and familiarity. Care and affection slowly become habit, habit becomes necessity, and necessity evolves into the sense of home we endlessly pursue.
Being loved can rapidly generate warmth and intimacy. It makes hearts race, draws people into devotion, persuades them to give everything. It becomes both biological and psychological need, a mirror through which we understand human nature, and ourselves.
In Happy Together, Lai Yiu-fai and Ho Po-wing travel to Buenos Aires, only to fracture again and again. After their separation, Lai wanders alone, grieving, releasing, healing. He walks the roads they once walked, visits the waterfall they once dreamed of seeing, and finally returns to Hong Kong alone, ready to begin again.
The world is vast. Tides rise and fall. Perhaps being loved is protection. Perhaps it is devotion. Perhaps it is contentment. But after the noise settles, desire fades, the experiment concludes, only self-love remains conserved. Before the next love arrives: love yourself, love others, then kiss and run.
作者：夏浩然
发表于：NOWNESS现在
二零二一 二月十日
人们常说，被爱的人是饱满的，是完整的，因为人人独来独往，总需要“更好的一半”来完善自己，而完善的方式被人们往往看作为被爱。 在过去，无论是东方宣扬的“女怕嫁错郎”的社会观念，还是西方描绘的王子公主式的童话世界，经济层面上，女性都是弱者，始终渴望着白马王子来重塑她们的人生。经济上的薄弱使她们在爱情上被动，被动的内心激发出被爱的欲望，这里的被爱或许含有情感寄托，但更多还是表达着“被保护”或者“被拯救”的原始诉求，因为她们希望这份被爱能够去掉她们本身在经济上，社会上，甚至是阶级上的瑕疵，以此让她们更完美。 进入当代，女性拥有了更多的经济自主权，使得她们在性别博弈时有了更稳固的根基，而这一根基不仅仅带来了物质和经济上的独立，更唤起了精神和意识上的复苏，让女性明白了被爱的力量不再像过去那样强大。包围被爱的糖果色泡沫被点破，两性关系中真实的被爱展露在女性眼前。
在此时，“被爱”这件事变得透明起来：它并不伟大，也并不完美，它孤伶伶地在情感世界中游荡，寻找着一个生命体。当被爱无法像过去那样改变女性人生时，它慢慢转变为一种精神层次的沟通。这时的被爱，从“被保护”变为“被理解”或者“被聆听”，它所体现的精神不再是过往的“完整人生”，而是“丰富人生”，或者“让一个人的世界少点单调”。 在《爱在黄昏日落时》里，独立而富有人文精神的女主角塞琳在出租车上对男主角杰西说：“被爱有什么意义呢？如果我和我男朋友一起坐在沙发上看电视，但我却感到很孤独，那为什么要和他一起呢？这种孤独比我自己一个人呆着的那种孤独更难受。” 也许事实如此，当两个人的孤独大于一个人的孤独，被爱也失去了那份有趣。从经济到精神，从改变到丰富，被爱的脚本和定义时刻都在改变，它的维度不断变宽，它的意义也不再薄弱，单一，不过被爱的真正价值似乎已被女性挖掘殆尽，因为它的力量的确被高估了。
但在两性关系中，只有女性追求被爱吗？其实不然，男性也一直追求着“被爱”。从男性角度而言，被爱实则是“被肯定” —— 被肯定魅力四射，被肯定家庭幸福，甚至是被肯定事业有成。
无论东西，无论古今，近几百年里，男性始终是社会各个圈层的主体。他们作为命运主导者，始终坚信自己独有的力量和能量，而这信念背后的支柱则是另一方的被爱。但这种被爱仿佛一种激素，在短时间内能展现足够的功效，它无法通过时间的考验。如果被爱被高估了，那么，我们需要什么样的爱？ “我可以毁掉你，但我没有。”在去年的迷你剧《我可以毁掉你》里，女主角安娜贝拉在经历了性侵后，努力寻找着另一个情感出口。穿梭于阴雨绵绵的英国和炽热火辣的意大利之间，剧集结束时，安娜贝拉站在伦敦大街上，抬着头，看着黑暗无边却又自由辽阔的天空，对自己说“我可以毁掉你，但我没有，我既没有选择原谅，也没有选择遗忘，我选择继续书写我的人生”。迸发于内心深处的自爱和自我肯定让安娜贝拉再次勇敢地踏上生命之路，也让她自己成为了宿命的英雄。
或许我们没有经历过如此悲惨的情感灾难，但在一段失败的感情结束后，我们通常会进行自我怀疑——“我是不是不够好？”，或者“我是不是不值得被爱？”，甚至定下“我就是不值得被爱”这样的自我毁灭式结论。我们也时常忘了，两性关系始终基于“两”这个定量，而“两”则代表了两个独立个体的相互作用，只有当两个个体认同自己，肯定自己时，两性关系中的这两个载体才能更融洽地契合。 法国作家加缪曾说“人一辈子都是孤独的，只有当和爱人和朋友在一起时，才不会感到孤独。”诚然，在当今这个疯狂运转的世界大熔炉里，孤独已成为每个人的必修体验。在另一个维度上，孤独实际是世界留给自己的空间，让自己与自己在精神上对话，也是在连续不断的孤独碎片中，我们逐渐找到自我存在的意义，领悟了自我的力量，体会到原来不需要他人陪伴，我们也能安好，也能快乐。 而亲密无间的两性关系实则是两个孤独个体的组合。在体验了孤独，明白了个体后，两个人带着这份极具包容性的自爱，在肉体和精神上与对方沟通，将隐形的爱化为有形的交流。“爱己爱人”，正是如此，在崇尚被爱，被照顾的情感世界里，这份来自内心的能量其实能打破所有枷锁。 《欲望都市》里的萨曼莎说，“我爱你，但我更爱我自己”，也许这种恋爱理念会被翻译为自私的个人主义，因为爱情讲究牺牲，讲究成全，但在爱情博弈中，自爱是包容的个人保护精神，在成全自己的前提下，成全另一半。
“爱的必然偶然性”和“被爱至上”，在当今时代被赋予了太多标签：后恐怖主义时代，流媒体时代，信息时代，后疫情时代，后消费主义时代等等。爱与被爱这段多元关系也变得模凌两可，什么是爱？什么是被爱？在时代标签的定义下，被爱似乎成为了年轻人的宠儿，因为“爱人太累，太辛苦了，被爱多幸福”，那么，又是什么定义了被爱的“幸福”？是被人追捧的感觉？是高枕无忧的享受？还是“衣来伸手，饭来张口”的情感便捷？
美国社会学家Marshall McLuhan在出版于上世纪70年代的《媒介即信息》里提出了“后现代社会，媒介内容即一切”这一理念。他认为，“媒体是我们五官的延伸，人类的情感，感官甚至是知觉都将展现在媒体上，一览无遗”。无形的爱似乎也被作为展览品，陈列进媒体这个大众博物馆。
进入流媒体时代，各大社交媒体为所有人打开了通往虚拟世界的窗口，生活日常，工作琐碎，闲暇娱乐纷纷成为了人们的“艺术品”，它们被展览，被观赏。爱，也没有逃脱其中。一时之间，“秀恩爱”逐渐兴起，人们利用爱在社交媒体上展示被爱的优越和被爱的幸福。情侣之间的亲密无间成为了流媒体时代独有的奢侈品。而没有这类奢侈品的年轻人则被划分至另一个阶层，他们张望着被爱的人，渴望社交媒体上的光鲜，渴求流量中被爱的权力。
冥冥中，“爱与被爱”这座象牙塔在流媒体发展的副作用下形成，它将被爱放置于塔尖，让所有人年轻人可望不可及。“媒介内容即一切”，或许真是如此，因为我们相信“眼见为实”，那些接二连三的被爱画面在大小屏幕上得以展现，我们看到了我们希望的生活，我们便开始默默思考：被爱真的有那么好？在排山倒海式的被爱宣传下，越来越多的年轻人选择倾向被爱，选择取得，选择流量镁光灯下的光彩耀人。 流媒体时代不仅仅造就了“爱与被爱”这座象牙塔，它所滋生的“网红”现象同样在一定程度上改变了当代年轻人的社会观。“不用付出太多便可收获”成为了新一代机会主义者的座右铭， “不付出，得回报”这一观念被推广到了私人领域。
海量信息的聚集使文字变得冗杂，新闻变成快餐，爱也变得廉价。信息技术促进了约会软件的发展，爱逐渐变成了广告，被铺天盖地地粘贴在各大社交媒体和约会软件上，待人订阅和使用。爱的订阅期限变得随意，订阅费无限制暴跌，爱似乎变成了如同可乐一样的消费品，随手即来的爱情成为一种习惯，我们不需要再努力付出追求爱的舒适，只需享受分秒之间被爱的快感。 而铺天盖地的不仅仅是广告般的“快餐式”爱情，影视剧也成为信息时代的另一载体，隐形构建着“被爱至上”这一刻板印象。如迪士尼的《灰姑娘》，前几年火遍全球的《五十度灰》，甚至是十几年前的台湾偶像剧《转角遇到爱》，爱被刻画得偶然，而被爱被描绘得饱满，营造出完美爱恋的假象，传递着“爱的必然偶然性”和“被爱至上”。
也许被爱是象牙塔塔尖的绝佳风景，也许被爱是无条件的回报，也许被爱是诱人的广告，也许“被爱至上”，但被爱始终也是来自于付出的回报，是取自于他又还之于他的义务，是双方在肉体和精神上共鸣所产生的回音。
爱情是场实验。如同所有实验，每个人对爱情都有自己的理论，需要通过实验来进行检验，最后对比实验结果和理论的相关性。也正如其他实验，往往理论和实验结果存在相差性。
英国心理学家Eric Erickson在提出的“七阶段”性格理论中认为，人的一切行为学习的根源都起源于婴幼儿时期，也就是出生至三岁。进一步推广至爱，他认为人懂得如何去爱，是因为从小被父母之间的爱和父母给予的爱所感化，这样，我们才习得“爱”这个品德。 换而言之，我们因为被爱所以学会了如何爱。这种观念也逐渐变为了经验，影响着越来越多人。毕竟在爱与被爱这场实验里，被爱是输入，而爱是输出，只有当输入积累至一定数量时，我们才能进行输出。这样的正统经验慢慢变为了习惯，使得许多人宁愿在被爱中找到爱的方法论，等待着被爱的出现。
爱与被爱作为肉体和精神的桥梁之外，它本身也是情感的一种表达，是人类作为动物的一种原始欲望。社会心理学中社会认知概念和自我认知概念曾多次被用来研究爱情这个课题。人类作为社交群体，始终寻找着一种抽象的归属感和亲切感。这种归属感和亲切感往往来源于他人的关爱和照顾，久而久之，这种关爱转变为一种习惯，它渐渐潜入你的生活里，转变为生活必不可少的一部分，从而进化为我们寻觅已久的归属感。 被爱往往能迅速为人营造一种不可或缺的亲密和温暖，因为它让我们怦然心动，让我们心跳加速，让我们坠入爱河，也让我们为之付出一切。所以，作为群体中的一员，每个人都寻找着那份独有的被爱，它成为了生理和心理上的需求，它犹如一面镜子，让我们明白人性，也让我们了解自己。
在电影《春光乍泄》里，梁耀辉与男友何宝荣一同来到布宜诺斯艾利斯，但中途纠纷不断，最后两人的关系以分手结尾。分手后的梁耀辉哀伤、失落、沮丧但最终释怀。他走过他们以前走过的路，看了他们曾想去看的大瀑布，最后一人回到香港，开始自己的生活。 天涯海角，潮起潮落。也许被爱是义无反顾的保护，也许被爱是守护，是心满意足，但信息流量之后，实验需求退去，精神心灵之上，唯有自爱才能守恒。在遇见下一份爱前，爱己爱人，然后喜欢，轻吻，快跑。