After Michelangelo: *The Creation of Adam* (Reimagined)

Over the past few years, Romantasy has become one of the loudest, brightest, and most unavoidable forces in publishing. It is everywhere: in subscription boxes, on TikTok, on Bookstagram feeds, in “books-you-must-read-or-you’re-out-of-the-loop” lists. And as someone who reads Fantasy in all its forms, I’ve found myself watching this trend with curiosity, confusion, fascination, and yes, sometimes even frustration. This is not a universal explanation, and I’m not pretending to have the Answer.

Instead, this is my perspective, the questions I keep asking myself, the patterns I notice, and the things I observe as both a reader and someone involved in online book culture. Think of this as a long, philosophical walk through the forest of our current reading landscape, where Romantasy stands like a giant castle casting shadows over everything else.

I. Why Romantasy Has Become the Genre of the Moment

Whenever I scroll through BookTok, I’m struck by how Romance has become the gravitational center of the entire fantasy discourse. There are days when it seems like every fantasy book is judged not by its worldbuilding, its political intrigue, or its magic system, but by whether the main characters have enough “tension,” “chemistry,” or “spice.” Part of this seems connected to how platforms like TikTok work. Algorithms reward emotionally charged content, which means books that generate intense feelings like longing, excitement, obsession, and heartbreak naturally rise to the top. TikTok’s For You Page thrives on highly shareable emotional moments, and Romantasy happens to be the perfect fuel. There’s research suggesting that short-form algorithmic platforms disproportionately amplify emotionally arousing material.

If a book carries a clear trope, e.g., enemies to lovers, forced proximity, the morally gray male who melts only for her, it can be distilled into a 10-second video that instantly clicks with viewers. No lengthy explanation of geopolitical structures required. No context needed. Just a quick shot of a handsome fictional man glowering across the battlefield and sighing, “You’re mine.” From an algorithmic standpoint, this kind of content is gold. From a literary standpoint, it raises questions. And it makes me realize: this trend is not just about books. It’s about how we consume emotions in the digital age.

II. Romance as the Modern Female Power Fantasy

Another thing I keep thinking about is the cultural shift around the “female gaze.” Media studies scholars have been discussing this concept for years, especially as more women become creators rather than passive consumers (Laura Mulvey’s foundational work on the gaze is a useful starting point). There is, undeniably, a hunger for stories that center female emotion, desire, intimacy, and vulnerability in ways that mainstream media historically hasn’t allowed.

Many readers describe Romantasy as the first space where they feel fully “seen” as emotional beings — where softness is valued, where desire isn’t shamed, where the male love interest is designed not around dominance, but around devotion. To some extent, Romantasy acts almost as a corrective to decades of male-centered fantasy, where romance was often a side quest, or worse, an afterthought. Now we have books that unapologetically place women’s desires at the center — emotional, romantic, sexual, psychological. So part of me understands the appeal. Part of me respects it. And part of me still feels overwhelmed when every fantasy book is forced into this mold, even those that clearly never intended to be romance-centric in the first place.

After John William Waterhouse — *The Crystal Ball*

III. When Expectations Turn Against the Book: Genre Drift and the Romance Trap

One pattern I keep noticing, again and again, is that many books aren’t actually judged on what they are, but on what readers expected them to be (and sometimes I am guilty of this myself). And right now, at least in online spaces, the default expectation for fantasy seems to look something like this:

Romance first.
Plot second (if at all).
Everything else… negotiable.

This expectation doesn’t always come from the book itself. Often, it’s shaped long before anyone opens the first page by TikTok trends, aesthetic edits, buzzwords, and the way certain genres blur together online. Fantasy, romantasy, dark fantasy, epic fantasy — everything starts to collapse into one vaguely defined category where romance is treated not as an option, but as a requirement. That’s where things start to get tricky.

A good example is Alchemised by SenLinYu. This book has been criticized in some corners for a “lack of romance” or for failing to deliver the spicy beats readers were hoping for. But here’s the thing: Alchemised was never marketed as a romantasy. Romance is not the engine of the story; instead, the atmosphere, inner conflict, and moral ambiguity are. The disappointment doesn’t come from broken promises. It comes from misaligned expectations. The audience had already decided what it should be.

Something similar happened with Katabasis by R.F. Kuang. While the criticism wasn’t quite as loud, there was still a noticeable undercurrent of readers asking: Where is the romance? Where are the romantic payoffs? And again, that expectation wasn’t created by the book. Katabasis was never positioned as a romance-driven story. It’s cerebral, political, and deliberately uncomfortable in places. Romance simply isn’t the (whole) point.

In both cases, the books were judged against a standard they never agreed to meet.

The Problem Isn’t the Book, It’s the Lens

This phenomenon isn’t new, and it’s not accidental. In literary theory, it’s described through the concept of the “horizon of expectations,” a term coined by Hans Robert Jauss. He argues that readers never encounter a text neutrally, but always through a framework shaped by genre conventions, cultural discourse, and prior reading experiences. When a book doesn’t align with those assumptions, frustration follows, not necessarily because the book fails, but because it refuses to conform.

Wolfgang Iser expands on this idea by emphasizing that meaning is not fixed within the text itself, but produced through the reader’s active engagement with it. Reading, in this sense, is a process: one that requires openness to ambiguity, gaps, and unresolved tension. When expectations harden into demands, this interaction breaks down, and the book is judged not for what it is, but for what it refuses to become.

What has changed, though, is the speed and scale at which expectations are now formed. Platforms like TikTok don’t just recommend books; they redefine genres in real time. A few viral clips can shift the collective understanding of what “fantasy” is supposed to deliver. Tropes become shortcuts. Aesthetic vibes become promises. And suddenly, romance isn’t a feature anymore; it’s assumed. That assumption is powerful, but it’s also dangerous. Because when romance becomes the default measuring stick, books that prioritize different strengths — worldbuilding, philosophical themes, slow character studies, moral complexity — risk being labeled as lacking. Not because they are, but because they’re playing a different game.

When Genre Labels Start to Blur

Part of the issue is what I think of as genre drift. Fantasy hasn’t changed its core DNA, but the interpretive framework we apply to it has. Online, “fantasy” increasingly functions as shorthand for romantasy, even when that label doesn’t fit. This creates a subtle but significant shift in reader behavior. A book doesn’t just need to be well-written anymore; it needs to perform certain beats. Emotional intensity gets conflated with romance. Character depth gets reduced to shipping potential. And stories that resist those patterns are perceived as emotionally distant, even when they’re doing something far more intricate.

The irony is that many of these books are actually more demanding; they ask readers to sit with discomfort, ambiguity, and unresolved tension. That’s not a failure. That’s a stylistic choice. But stylistic choices don’t thrive when the audience is expecting something else entirely.

Why This Matters (Especially Now)

What worries me isn’t that people enjoy romance-heavy fantasy. I do too, in the right moment. What worries me is the narrowing of the lens — the idea that fantasy should revolve around romance, and that anything else is somehow incomplete. Because when expectations harden into rules, we lose nuance. And when nuance disappears, so does space for experimentation.

Books like Alchemised or Katabasis aren’t weaker because they don’t foreground romance. They’re simply asking different questions. And if we approach them with the wrong expectations, we’re almost guaranteed to miss what they’re actually doing well. Sometimes, disappointment says more about the reader’s expectations than about the book itself.

After Evelyn De Morgan: *The Love Potion*

IV. The Wolf King Conundrum - Why Some “Basic” Romantasy Books Go Viral

Now we come to a personal example, and one that perfectly illustrates the disconnect I sometimes feel with the Romantasy hype: The Wolf King.

Everyone online seems to love it. People rave, swoon, and obsess. And yet… I DNFed it at almost 80%. I kept waiting for something — anything — to surprise me. But I found it predictable, trope-heavy, shallow in its character dynamics, and lacking the emotional or structural depth that makes a romance plot truly satisfying. And the female main character?

Zesty, snappish, unlikable in a way that isn’t even interesting, while the male lead embodies the now-classic mold: terrifying warrior, but soft for her, endlessly patient, endlessly protective. I’ve seen this combo so many times that I sometimes wonder if the characters are generated by a Romance Trope AI that hasn’t been updated since 2018.

But what fascinates me isn’t that I disliked it. It’s that so many others loved it! Why?

One reason may be cognitive fluency. Our brains are wired to prefer stories that move along familiar tracks like recognizable tropes, predictable emotional beats, and relationships that unfold exactly the way we expect them to. These patterns are easy to process, and that ease creates a subtle sense of pleasure. What feels smooth often feels satisfying, even when it isn’t particularly deep or innovative. And this is where things get interesting: fluency doesn’t measure quality, but it measures ease. A story can feel good without doing anything new, challenging, or emotionally complex.

Another factor is the mindset with which we approach a book. Readers who come to Romantasy looking for comfort rather than friction, emotional safety rather than surprise, are primed to experience these familiar structures as a feature, not a flaw. In that reading mode, predictability isn’t boring but more like it’s reassuring. It delivers dopamine, stability, and the promise that nothing truly unsettling will disrupt the fantasy.

And honestly… that’s valid. Even if it’s not for me.

V. Am I Too Harsh? Or Is the Genre Sometimes Too Soft?

This is the question that circles my mind whenever I compare my reading habits to the massive waves of Romantasy hype. On one hand, I love books with emotional intimacy, character tension, and romance, but only when they’re done with care, originality, and nuance. The Temptation of Magic is a perfect example: it uses familiar tropes, but the writing elevates them. The relationship feels grounded, the pacing deliberate, the emotional stakes meaningful. So clearly, the problem for me isn’t “Romance in Fantasy.” The problem is when romance becomes a shortcut instead of a story.

But another part of me also tries to stay humble. The way I critique a book is shaped by the fact that I read very widely. I compare Romantasy not only to other Romantasy titles but to epic fantasy, sci-fi, gothic fantasy, and literary fiction. Someone who reads primarily romance-oriented fantasy has a completely different reference frame. Maybe my standards are high because my reading diet is broad. Maybe their standards are different because their reading diet is focused. Neither is wrong. But we’re using different rulers to measure the same object. And tension arises where measurement tools collide.

VI. The Deeper Cultural Question: Why Romance, Why Spice, Why Now?

This is the part of the trend that feels profoundly philosophical to me. It makes me wonder: what is Romantasy giving readers today that they aren’t getting elsewhere? When I talk to people online or read essays about reading habits, I notice themes that feel almost universal among young women, especially post-pandemic:

emotional exhaustion
loneliness or disconnection
lack of meaningful intimacy
disappointment with modern dating
desire for escapism
desire for emotional safety
desire for sexual agency without vulnerability

Romantasy responds to these conditions in a very specific way, not just narratively, but psychologically.

It offers:

complete emotional devotion
erotic fulfillment without risk
a partner who always chooses the heroine
a world where intimacy is destiny, not negotiation
relationships where communication and desire align perfectly
fantasy masculinity shaped by female longing, not patriarchy

From this angle, Romantasy is not simply a genre trend. It functions as a controlled emotional space—one that allows readers to engage in intimacy in a way that feels predictable, legible, and safe. This dynamic closely mirrors what media psychology describes as parasocial relationships. Most people are already familiar with these, even if they don’t use the term: the sense of closeness that can develop when following the same influencer, content creator, or public figure over time. We learn their routines, recognize their emotional rhythms, and feel connected to them — despite the relationship being entirely one-sided.

Romantasy operates in a similar emotional register, except here the parasocial bond is embedded directly into the narrative itself. The romantic figure cannot withdraw, lose interest, or disrupt the connection unexpectedly. Emotional availability is guaranteed. Desire is stable. Conflict exists, but it is narratively meaningful rather than threatening.

Research on parasocial relationships suggests that these one-sided emotional bonds can become more salient during periods of social isolation, emotional strain, or reduced real-world intimacy. In such contexts, parasocial connections may offer comfort, emotional regulation, and a sense of perceived closeness when everyday relationships feel exhausting, inaccessible, or disappointing. Rather than replacing real relationships, these mediated bonds often function as a compensatory space — a way to experience connection without the demands, risks, or negotiations that real-world intimacy requires. This helps explain why fictional or mediated relationships can feel especially appealing during moments of broader social or relational uncertainty. Seen through this lens, Romantasy is not shallow escapism. It is a response — a way of engaging with intimacy that feels emotionally coherent at a time when real-world relationships often feel fragmented, ambiguous, or emotionally costly.

It’s not just about the books. It’s about what the books allow. And that makes the current wave of Romantasy not only understandable, but culturally revealing.

VII. So Where Does That Leave Us?

Romantasy is booming because it answers something real — a longing for connection, intensity, and emotional affirmation. It offers stories where desire is visible, central, and rewarded. Where women are chosen, wanted, prioritized. And it’s easy to understand why that resonates so strongly right now. At the same time, its dominance inevitably shapes expectations. For authors. For readers. For books that were never meant to place romance at their core. Online spaces amplify those expectations until they begin to blur the line between preference and requirement — and not every story fits comfortably inside that frame.

My own reading experience lives somewhere in the middle. I admire Romantasy when it’s thoughtful, intentional, and emotionally grounded. I struggle with it when familiarity replaces depth, or when desire becomes formula. What keeps me engaged isn’t rejection, but curiosity — about what we seek in stories, and why. Because in the end, every reading desire is valid. But it’s still worth asking what our collective enthusiasm reveals — about our emotional landscape, our digital culture, and the kinds of narratives we currently crave.

Not as a judgment. Just as a question worth sitting with.

✨ Keep chasing stars & stories,

– Viktoria, Your Cosmic Book Guide

Why Is Romantasy Everywhere? A Personal, Philosophical & Slightly Scientific Reflection on Desire, Trends, and Why Some Books Get Undeserved Hate