People often misunderstand what it means to be paid for companionship. They think it replaces romance with performance, or emotion with efficiency. But the truth is far more nuanced—and far more beautiful.
Romance isn’t canceled out by compensation. If anything, it’s amplified. Because when you strip away the awkwardness, the posturing, the hidden agendas of traditional dating, you’re left with something purer: intention. I’m here because I choose to be. And so is he.
In this world, the lines between fantasy and feeling aren’t walls—they’re invitations. Yes, there’s an agreement in place. But it’s not unlike the rituals we all recognize: flowers on a first date, the text that says “I’m thinking of you,” the slow unzipping of a dress. The only difference is clarity. We both know the story we’re writing—and we make it one worth remembering.
I’ve had clients light candles before I arrive, just because they know it makes me feel seen. I’ve had men send poetry in the middle of the night, or call me just to say they miss the way I laugh. These aren’t gestures born from obligation. They’re acts of care. Of connection. Of romance.
Romance, to me, is about presence. It’s about carving out time, space, and attention in a world that’s constantly asking us to rush. It’s about the long dinners, the whispered compliments, the gentle brushing of hair from a shoulder. Whether it lasts an hour or a weekend, romance turns time into something sacred.
And yes, I’ve fallen in love. Not always with the person—but with the moment. With the energy between us, the way our bodies and words align, the suspended reality we create together. It’s not fake. It’s not transactional. It’s intentional—and that makes it all the more powerful.
The stigma around paid affection is rooted in fear. People fear that what can be bought can’t be real. But I’ve found the opposite to be true. When both people enter a space with openness, respect, and a desire to give as much as they take—that’s the definition of romance.
I’ll never forget the man who planned a surprise stargazing trip, or the one who booked a dinner reservation at a place I’d casually mentioned weeks earlier. Those moments weren’t scripted. They were sincere. And they mattered.
So yes, romance still matters—even here, even now. It’s in the way we touch, the way we talk, the way we both understand the value of time well spent. Because in the end, whether it’s wrapped in roses or red satin sheets, romance is about making someone feel extraordinary.
And that’s something money can’t fake.