I think we can blame the same collective failure of romantic imagination for this:
I was a jaded and cynical 27-year-old who came of age in the swinging ’90s of dot-com-boom Manhattan.
So the real question is, who do we hate the most here (besides your ex-wife, obvs)? You know, for the Autumn-in-New-York/Vows-Column/French-ladies-carrying-baguettes-on-bicycles worldview (Why bread, btw? Why not these, or these?). The people who write this stuff should know better, shouldn’t they? I mean, most of them have actually visited or lived in dazzling world capitals, right? So why do they talk about opera and baguettes? Is it the fault of the entitled authors with their long-nurtured-but-vague dreams of “doing some kind of writing,” or do the gatekeepers bear most of the responsibilty for shaping the content — because, you know, people like that sort of thing?