When weighing success at Yale, we use numbers to demonstrate ability. Naturally, the same goes for sex. Many of my male friends keep a running tally of how many women they have slept with, referred to for comparing and flaunting. Women do it, too. I, for example, assign codenames to all of my suitemate’s romantic interests—hurricane style. Distance down the alphabet is more important than the actual identity of these people. We all have various quantitative methods to showcase our sexual desirability and success.

There is an amusingly large number of justifications for instant gratification these days, the most common being “beer goggles.” This is Yale, dammit, and we are supposed to maximize everything: efficiency, profits, and gains. So why not extend this rule-of-thumb to pleasure as well? But many of us have overestimated the opportunity cost of a longer affair, allowing our “conquests” to become quantitative numbers as opposed to qualitative experiences.

This reasoning is very simple. Yalies think that the time invested into getting to know someone is not worth the ultimate pay-off in pleasure. We are far too invested in our extracurricular activities and classwork to care about such lowbrow concerns.

But why is it that we, who find so much satisfaction in being rewarded for our efforts, academic or otherwise, refuse to allot the same effort into achieving true romance? Of course it is easy to be unduly flattered by another’s attraction and even easier to allow ourselves to take the easy route of relationships when perhaps, the truth is that we’ve forgotten the basic elements of romance.

We compromise meaningful pleasure when we reduce love’s options to “he loves me, he loves me not,” for this poses an ultimate dichotomy: You either love him enough to invest the time into a relationship, or you don’t. This is evidenced by our need to define relationships whenever any time is invested (and why we hit the road when our hookup buddy demands to be legitimized).

French children learn a very different version of that love jingle: “Il m’aime un peu (he loves me a little), Il m’aime beaucoup (he loves me a lot), Il m’aime passionnément (he loves me passionately), Il m’aime a la folie (he loves me madly), Il ne m’aime pas du tout (he loves me not at all).”

Love is not made up of the black-and-white shades to which we reduce it, and the most wonderful relationships of all kinds come with passion and folly, both marvelous shades of gray. Unfortunately, men and women all have preconceived notions of their “perfect hookup,” and of their perfect “soul mate,” but you can avoid falling short of either by pursuing the possibilities in between.

No wonder the French are known for being great lovers and tellers of love stories, if even their youth understand that love and romantic happiness come in very different forms, and that sometimes the most wonderful experiences break the rules and dwell in states of ambiguity.

But ambiguous romantic investments are not enough: For an investment to be worthwhile, the expected return must be greater than the cost. For instant gratification, you get what you paid for. We put in just enough to secure what we desire, taking into account the cost of the alcohol, the time, the hangover, any regrets, and any comparisons to previous experiences.

But men and women are not consumer goods, and can only be wooed with time and a healthy mixture of witty repartee, indulgent flirtation, and most importantly, constant romantic tension.

This should be especially true at Yale, where our qualitative value is prized above anything quantifiable. And yet, we still want to dwell in this world of numbers: Are we so accustomed to the culture of mass consumption and disposable pleasure, so settled for buying bulk at Costco, that we even apply this unfulfilling standard to the greatest pleasures in life?

Besides, the cost of capital is much less than you think it is. It’s difficult to imagine a romance being ruined by seeing too much of the lover rather than too little. I am merely suggesting that quality is more important than quantity.

Instant gratification is an investment of minimal cost with a negligible return and produces a disposable pleasure. On the other hand, a passionate romance requires a little more cost, secures a priceless return, and rewards us, if we’re lucky, with love. If we are to optimize return, then we should conduct our affairs in pursuit of maximal happiness and not settle for less. Or perhaps, I am just a fool, longing for the romance of the past when love was a reward for valor and ingenuity, and not a consolation prize.

La Wang is a sophomore in Pierson College.