Some readers are here for him. The hero is the reason they pick up a book, the reason they stay up too late reading, the reason they ignore texts from actual men who will never, in a million years, deliver a grovel as satisfying as the one on page 327. Maybe he’s brooding and broken, maybe he’s charming and cocky, maybe he’s the kind of man who listens—really listens. (Honestly, that last one might be the hottest of all.) Whatever his type, he’s the draw. These readers want to see him fall hard, to feel the weight of his devotion, to watch him become the kind of man who deserves the heroine. They live for the grand gestures, the reluctant confessions, the moment he realizes he’d burn the whole world down for her. The heroine can be wonderful, but if the hero doesn’t deliver? Neither does the romance.
Others are here for her. The heroine is the reason the love story sings. Maybe she’s ambitious, maybe she’s a disaster, maybe she’s spent years expertly avoiding feelings and now has to decide whether love is worth the hassle. Whatever her path, these readers want to follow it. They don’t just want a love story; they want a heroine who earns her happy ending. A woman with agency, drive, a personality that doesn’t read like she was conjured in a lab for maximum inoffensiveness. They need a heroine who wants something beyond love, who makes choices that shape the story, who feels like a full person before she ever meets the hero. A great hero is a bonus, but if the heroine is forgettable, so is the romance.
And what shapes these preferences? Do hero-centric readers love the fantasy of devotion—the thrill of watching a man wreck himself for love? (Because let’s be honest, a good grovel can fix a multitude of sins.) Do heroine-centric readers want to see women take up space, claim their own happiness, refuse to shrink? Do some readers want the glossy, larger-than-life romance of a man who never makes mistakes (except, crucially, the one that requires the aforementioned grovel), while others prefer the messy, real-world friction of two people figuring it out? Does experience—first love, long-term love, lost love—shift what readers crave in a romance?
Every great romance needs both, but to many, one matters more. Is it the hero, the one who makes the falling worth it, the devotion undeniable, the grovel unforgettable? Or is it the heroine, the one who drives the story, earns the love, makes the romance feel like it means something? If you had to pick: Who makes or breaks a love story for you? The hero or the heroine? (You’re not allowed to say the dog….)
*While this post examines only straight romances, that choice reflects the topic at hand rather than any exclusionary intent.