What makes a city romantic?

Why is Paris the City of Love? What’s Paris got that, say, Oklahoma City lacks? No offense to OKC.

Of course Paris has a particular history, but something about its vibe is romantic in ways that go beyond knowledge of the city’s past. I think we can define at least part of that je ne sais quoi in urbanist terms, as features of the environment that make a person feel amore. Here’s what I’ve got:

The first ingredients: Proximity plus attentiveness

First and most obviously, a romantic city naturally puts partners in position to pay attention to each other, listen and look at each other, and touch each other casually.

Eating face to face at a cafe, strolling while holding hands, leaning in to whisper as you people-watch… cities that cultivate those types of interactions are beginning to cultivate romance. Even shopping can do it, where a light touch on the shoulder might get your partner to look at something, or you might brush against them passing in an aisle.

On the other hand, what doesn’t do it? Sitting side by side, staring forward in silence. Movie theaters make terrible first dates. Proximity alone isn’t romantic.

But proximity plus attentiveness together set the tone. They’re the prerequisites to urban romance, the most obvious elements necessary. To go to the next level, understand why classical music is more romantic than hard rock.

Stimulate the senses, but only a little

If attentiveness is romantic (and it is), a romantic city is one that stimulates all our senses just enough to make us yearn to pay more attention. And of course, the stimulant has to be positive.

A romantic city feeds your eyes with small pretty details that make you want to look closer. It feeds your nose the gentle smell of flowers, or baking bread, or salt water, or autumn leaves rotting. It whistles with the tender hum of birds chirping, water trickling, a busker in the distance.

It’s a city with clean, slightly rough things to touch that tickle your fingertips or toes, like running your hand across a stone wall as you pass by, flipping through the rough pages of ancient books, or shifting your feet through fresh grass.

And it’s one where you can snack on sweet, light, tarty treats on every corner. The kinds that make you smile guiltily, as if you’re getting away with something.

A romantic city makes you want more of it.

It’s not a place that overloads your senses to the point of stress. The rumble of asphalt under a speeding truck isn’t romantic. Nor is music that’s so harsh or loud that you can’t think about anything else (even if you love being immersed in it for its own pleasures). And sorry, fans of brutalism, bare grey concrete isn’t making most of us want to look closer. We might appreciate brutalism’s shapes, but romance begs for more.

Feel at ease

The final ingredient: We’ve got to feel safe enough to let our guard down. Romance begs for excitement, yes, but specifically for vulnerability to experience excitement on our own terms. That requires privacy plus safety.

In physical terms that means the classic idea of Prospect and Refuge, simultaneously seeing the adventurous possibilities of the wide world, and knowing a safe haven from it is at your disposal.

Certain painters have achieved mass market fame milking Prospect & Refuge for all it’s worth.

But that’s not the only physical manifestation of feeling at ease:

We want other people present enough to call for help, but distant enough that they won’t interrupt. We want soft edges that won’t hurt to bump into. We want luxuries that free our minds from worrying about basic needs.

We want to walk with a partner through that Versailles garden with its wide open vistas and nooks to hide away in, with no danger in sight, with flowery smells, and flowing water, and intricate lovely details visible wherever you care to look closely. All of it purely unnecessary, and purely delightful.

Happy Valentine’s Day!