From fairytales that choose love over logic to stories where survival trumps romance, these films remind us that when love meets paycheck, it’s never just about who picks up the tab or whose card will be handed to the restaurant—it’s about who ends up paying the bigger price.

Words Gerie Marie Consolacion
Art by Martina Reyes
October 13, 2025

So, who’s gonna pay?

It’s the age-old dating question that keeps surfacing both offline and online: when a couple goes out, who should pick up the tab? Tradition says it’s the man’s role—proof of being a “gentleman.” Modern thinking flips the script, arguing women can pay too, in the spirit of independence.

With the recent showing of Celine Song’s Materialists, the question is surfacing once again. Because when love meets trust, that’s normal. When love meets your demands, even better. When love meets your love language, the best.

But what can happen when love meets paycheck?

When love chooses comfort over security

With Celine Song’s Materialists, Lucy Mason (Dakota Johnson) feels like one of us—living paycheck to paycheck, hustling toward her dreams, and quietly weighing the unspoken choices that come with survival. For Lucy, the math seemed simple: either stay single or marry someone wealthy enough to guarantee comfort. Enter two men from her past and present—John Finch (Chris Evans), her struggling ex, and Harry Castillo (Pedro Pascal), the wealthy financier.

The two men stand on opposite ends of the spectrum. John, the part-time waiter, loves Lucy with all he has, even if “all he has” isn’t much. Harry, on the other hand, can offer not just love but stability, comfort, and a future wrapped neatly in privilege. Both love Lucy, and she loves them back—but can love truly thrive when wealth and comfort stop being luxuries and start becoming conditions?

On paper, the answer feels obvious. Lucy should choose Harry—the man who checks every box, the one who can make her dreams less of a grind and more of a given. But this isn’t an Excel sheet, it’s a love story. And because movies love their miracles, Lucy chooses John—not for security, not for survival, but for one stubborn, unquantifiable reason: love.

When love collides not with luxury but with survival

In Third World Romance, Que (Charlie Dizon) and Arman (Carlo Aquino) find themselves stuck in a local supermarket that perfectly mirrors how capitalism treats its workers: harsh rules, unfair conditions, and disposable labor.

From the title alone, we know what kind of love story we’re entering—set in a third world country, where dates mean pares and mami on plastic tables, gulaman for a quick thirst fix, and daydreams of eating samgyupsal across the street they can’t quite afford.

Because the truth is, dates don’t exist in a vacuum. They’re tethered to next week’s rent, to endless commutes, to the families waiting at home. In first-world contexts, footing the bill is a question of gender or independence. In third-world realities, it can mean choosing between tomorrow’s meal and today’s moment of tenderness.

And so, we circle back to the question: when survival itself is on the line, who’s gonna pay?

When love ruins (you, your money, and your dreams)

When love meets paycheck, most movies tell us love conquers all. Bills? Careers? Dreams? Who cares—as long as you’ve got someone to cry with in the rain.

Hello, Love, Goodbye was different. Joy (Kathryn Bernardo), an OFW in Hong Kong, chooses her career, her freedom, and her dreams over Ethan (Alden Richards). It was refreshing, almost radical—a Filipino rom-com that let its heroine walk away from the man and claim her future. For once, the woman wasn’t punished for ambition.

But then came Hello, Love, Again—and it betrayed everything the first film stood for. Apparently, growth has an expiration date. Instead of doubling down on Joy’s progress, the sequel drags her backwards: she abandons a thriving career in the US to return to Ethan, the same man who not only left her but also cheated on her. Because apparently a woman’s hard work, independence, and self-respect can still be tossed aside if “love” demands it—sealed by one grand gesture and a man with puppy-dog eyes.

It’s a bitter pill: the sequel turns a story about empowerment into another cautionary tale where love is glorified, no matter how destructive. Because when love meets paycheck, we’re forced to ask—why must women always be the ones paying the price?

When love becomes a labor

After the excruciating pain and disappointment from Joy, another film worth revisiting is Sid and Aya: Not a Love Story (2018). Sid, played by Dingdong Dantes, is a wealthy man drowning in loneliness. Aya, played by Anne Curtis, is barely surviving paycheck to paycheck. Their worlds collide when Sid pays Aya—not for love, but for her company, her presence, her time. For Aya, it’s simple math: a quick way to support her family, plus free dinners on the side.

But when Sid falls in love and proposes, what began as a transaction twists into something more complicated. Still, no matter how much he chases her—even abroad—their bond never escapes the shadow of money. Aya ultimately chooses herself, starting fresh, alone, and unbought.

The film asks what happens when intimacy itself becomes labor—when love looks like a contract, when companionship can be rented, blurred, and maybe mistaken for the real thing. And the ending? Refreshingly honest, and yes, satisfying.

The Final Bill

From Lucy’s fairytale choice in Materialists, to Que and Arman’s survivalist love in Third World Romance, to Joy’s painful compromise in Hello, Love, Again, and finally Aya’s refusal to be bought in Sid and Aya—all these stories circle back to the same question: who’s gonna pay?

Because when love meets paycheck, the answer is never just about splitting the bill. It’s about the price we’re willing to pay—for security, for survival, for ambition, or for ourselves.

And maybe the real question isn’t who pays for dinner, but who ends up paying with their dreams.

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