What if butterflies are not proof of destiny, but proof of projection? A crush can feel magical, but it may also reveal more about us than about the person we desire.

There’s a quote often attributed to philosopher Alain de Botton that says, “A crush is simply a lack of information.” It sounds clever, maybe even a little cynical. The idea suggests that what we call butterflies, sparks, and instant chemistry is really just our imagination filling in the blanks. But is that true? Is a crush nothing more than a story we tell ourselves in the absence of facts?

Let’s start with what a crush actually feels like.

A crush is electric. It’s the way your mood lifts when their name lights up your phone or is casually mentioned. It’s replaying a five-minute conversation you had with them in your head like it was a full-length film. It’s noticing the way they laugh, the way they hold eye contact, the way they enter and exit a room. A crush feels expansive and hopeful. 

Most crushes are built on fragments of information 

You might know how they take their coffee, what music they like, or how they speak about their dreams. But you probably don’t know how they handle disappointment. You don’t know how they argue. You don’t know how they behave when they’re tired, stressed, insecure, or bored. You don’t know their contradictions yet. You don’t know how they love when things are no longer light and easy.

And that gap between what you know and what you don’t know is where our imagination rushes in.

When we have limited information about someone, our brains naturally fill in the blanks. Psychologists call this “idealisation.” We project our desires, values, and fantasies onto the other person. If they’re kind once, we assume they’re always kind. If they’re thoughtful in one moment, we imagine a lifetime of thoughtfulness. We do not fall for who they are; we fall for who we hope they might become in our lives.

 In that sense, yes, a crush can be a lack of information.

But it is also something more.

A crush is a mirror. It reflects something deeply human: our longing. It reveals what we are drawn to: safety, excitement, ambition, tenderness, mystery. Sometimes, what captivates us says less about compatibility and more about craving. We don’t just see the person in front of us; we see what they could be for us. We imagine inside jokes, late-night conversations, and hands brushing “accidentally”. We imagine a future that hasn’t asked for permission yet.

A crush lives in the space between reality and fantasy.

The real test comes when information arrives.

Time is the great clarifier. The more you know someone, the more the fantasy either deepens into something real or gently dissolves. Maybe you learn they’re not emotionally available. Maybe your values don’t align. Maybe the spark fades when real-life rhythms replace mystery. 

Or maybe the opposite happens: you discover depth, resilience, humour, vulnerability. The butterflies mature into steadiness. The crush transforms into affection, respect, and something quieter but stronger.

This is where many of us get uncomfortable. The mystery that once fueled our excitement starts to fade. Certainty replaces possibility. And sometimes, we mistake that loss of fantasy for the loss of feeling.

But love — the grounded, enduring kind — isn’t built on lack of information. It’s built on knowledge. It’s choosing someone not because they are perfect in your imagination, but because you’ve seen their imperfections and feel safe anyway. 

That doesn’t mean crushes are trivial or foolish. In fact, they serve a purpose. They wake us up. They remind us that we’re capable of desire, curiosity, and vulnerability. They add colour to ordinary days. Even unrequited crushes can teach us something about what we’re drawn to and what we need.