It’s no longer enough for actors to fall in love on screen; now, we want to believe it’s happening after the credits stop scrolling.
More than ever, audiences and media are watching the actors long after the director calls “cut”. From their chemistry during interviews to their red-carpet choreography — every one of these moments carry weight. The movie remains the headline, of course, but the curated, chaotic, and viral press tour builds the illusion that the story might be real.
Maybe we’re just romantics. Or maybe we’re wired for it. Our brains are built to crave continuity so that when the credits roll, we don’t want the story to end. We want it to spill over into real life, to blur the line between fiction and reality, and to continue the emotional connection to characters we've only ever encountered through a screen. It's a phenomenon amplified by social media, which creates the illusion of genuine connections. In a peak parasocial society, we begin to rely on these one-sided bonds as emotional supplements, sources of comfort in moments of disconnection. Neuroscience helps explain why: mirror neurons in our brain fire not only when we experience emotion, but also when we watch someone else go through (or act out) joy, pain, or desire. So, when we see two actors fall in love on-screen, then catch them glancing at each other during a press tour with that same familiar warmth, our brains don’t know the difference. The wires cross and we start to believe. Not because we’re delusional ( at least not all of us), but because we’re human. And inherently, we just want the story to keep going.
Take Pedro Pascal and Vanessa Kirby, whose chemistry on the Fantastic Four: First Steps press tour was palpable. With a yearning glance mid-interview, a casual touch on the red carpet — their off-hand moments went viral far quicker than the film’s official trailer. As someone who followed the film closely and even attended the Sydney premiere, I’ve seen more conversation about their body language than the movie’s actual plot.
Glen Powell and Sydney Sweeney embraced this dynamic more than most. The Anyone But You promotional tour became something of its own rom-com, even inspiring Sweeney's grand monologue as host on Saturday Night Live. They gave the audience just enough ambiguity to create speculation around their relationship status. So much so, that it reportedly even led to the break up of Powell and his then-girlfriend, Gigi Paris, who told Emma Klipstein even she couldn't separate performance from real life, and finally decided, “No, I’m actually not okay with this, and I’m walking away”.
The Romantic Industrial Complex is one of Hollywood's finest business models. In the space between two actors who know how to keep the illusion alive, studios find gold. The goal isn’t to confirm or deny the romance, but to sustain the tension. As any fellow Wattpad or smut reader would agree, that's the best part of any story.
Of course, this isn’t new. Hollywood has always known how to sell romance. The studio era of the 1950s staged relationships purely buzz. It used to be all about mystery, but today, with privacy dead and transparency everywhere, social media thrives on speculation. Platforms like TikTok, Reddit, and Instagram are capable of crafting entire emotional timelines from a single interview quote. Nobody waits for an exclusive anymore.
Publicists are no longer in the business of shutting down dating rumours, but instead adding a little bit of fuel to the fire. When rumours emerged that Naked Gun co-stars Pamela Anderson and Liam Neeson might be dating, they leant into the narrative, even staging a kiss on Good Morning America, and leaving us all to wonder: is it real, or just really good PR?
And the performance doesn’t always end with pretending to be in love on the red carpet. For some, it morphs into something harder to get away from. It’s part of the job, sure. But it must feel strange to exist in a world where everything can be screen-grabbed, remixed, and dissected. The line between what’s real and what’s strategy has never been blurrier. And once the internet locks onto a narrative, it rarely lets go. Perception has never operated at the speed it does today, with virality so easily achievable. And as a result, distinguishing between authenticity and performance has become irrelevant. As for the actors themselves, deviating from the role risks disrupting the narrative the audience has already chosen to believe. And when attention is currency, the narrative is rarely abandoned — instead, it’s often monetised, and ultimately assimilated into the performer’s identity.
Whether it’s all just good PR or something messier underneath, the audience is going to keep watching and overanalysing like it’s part of the plot. Call it marketing, call it method—either way, it’s all in the name of showbiz.
