If emotions came with a price tag, would they still touch the heart?

In an era dominated by Quick Commerce and instant gratification, we are led to believe–at least momentarily–that emotions can be commodified, much like any other random product in a pick-add to cart-receive cycle. The pervasive nature of consumer culture, with its relentless push for immediacy and instancy, may sell bouquets as a symbol of one’s feelings in the form of love and affection, yet it cannot package, sell, and deliver emotions as ready-to-serve commodities. While this commodity culture may function like a genie in the bottle–granting wishes; creating fleeting moments of happiness, triggering adrenaline rushes, and causing dopamine and oxytocin spikes, but it simply cannot run down deeper for an everlasting and genuine emotional impact.

True emotions are deeply personal, inherently subjective, and remarkably resistant, often overriding the transient state of “commodification”. The supposed commodification of ‘feelings’ renders them taken for granted, reducing them to superficial transactions, and stripping them of their authenticity.. This process mirrors fast fashion driven by impulse buying and immediacy but achieved at the expense of sustainability. Quick Commerce, like many other hallmarks of late capitalism, offers convenience—but feelings are not something that can simply be “placed”. This brings us to a central question: What, after all, is this thing called feeling?

1. E. Cummings, an American poet argues that “a lot of people think or believe or know they feel — but that’s thinking or believing or knowing; not feeling. ” Thinking, believing. and knowing is primarily an encapsulation of the external world and social ecosystem. However, it is a feeling that emerges from an engagement with the self and the realm within. As we start to indulge in thinking and knowing, our perceptual senses begin to engage; however, it is only when we engage with our feelings that we delve into the realm of our internal, intuitional world–the space from which the selfhood emerges and flourishes, but only if we stay unafraid to feel. As Antonio Damasio, the Portuguese neuroscientist, brilliantly puts it, it is feelings–a phenomenon governed by our nervous system–that give birth to consciousness and, in turn, generously bestow it upon the rest of the mind. This suggests that ‘feeling’ is what liberates us, transcending mere corporeal existence. But how do we recognize when we have feelings for someone?

Fyodor Dostoevsky, the renowned Russian writer, in his magnum opus, Crime and Punishment, describes the phenomenon of immediate and inexplicable human connections. He observes that “we sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us at first sight, somehow suddenly, all at once, before a word has been spoken”. The unanticipated appearance of Zulaikha does not simply appeal to my senses—she overtakes them, awakening my passions. The moment our eyes meet, I cease to be an autonomous observer; I am undone, caught in an inescapable force that is neither entirely external nor fully internal. Her gaze does not invite contemplation; it compels surrender. It does not persuade but rather consumes, drawing me into a space where my agency dissolves into the intensity of passion. At this instant, love is neither a choice nor a measured emotion; it is an overwhelming phenomenon that seizes me, rendering me vulnerable, unmoored, and irreversibly altered.

Her presence suspends time, transforming the world into something more vibrant, as if existence itself pauses in admiration. The surroundings transform, becoming more beautiful, infused with an electrifying excitement—like an explosion that scatters vibrant colors, radiating pure happiness. Yet, as she slowly walks away and disappears, the world unravels; the colors fade, the vibrancy vanishes, and everything implodes into a grim, lifeless void, where grief takes over. Love, then, is not built on reasoned admiration or shared experiences. It is passion, as an encounter with the absolute, where the self loses its boundaries and is cast into an ocean of feeling that unsettles and redefines one’s very being.

However, in an age where everything, including emotions, is commodified with a brand tag— the very essence of love is at risk. The human heart, symbolically reduced to a transaction, becomes vulnerable to optimization, branding, and commercial curation. I am afraid of “falling in love with someone wearing Crocs”-- not because of the Crocs itself, but because they symbolize a world where market logic dictates and decides. Zulaikha’s eyes never gave me the chance to check if she wore them, yet I know she orders everything she needs instantly.

In this transactional reality, my love for Zulaikha risks becoming just another curated experience—packaged, optimized, and stripped of its raw, unfiltered essence. To love is to embrace unpredictability, to encounter the texture of another’s existence beyond a neatly processed exchange. But how does one sustain love when even desire is shaped and bargained by economic forces? The loss is not merely romantic—it is existential. Commodity Culture, symbolised by quick commerce, is unravelling human connections. In collectivistic societies, the loss of family interactions deepens loneliness, while in individualistic ones, friendships and confidants fade into commodified exchanges. As convenience replaces presence, we are becoming adrift—undone by the very essence of being human– wandering in search of a space where we can truly long, ache, and yearn.

Mohammad Asif is Ph.D. scholar at the Department of History and Culture, Jamia Millia Islamia-New Delhi.