The words are a man knocked flat by a woman's body on a dance floor, and that body is the whole of her. He inventories her, part by part, calls it love at first sight, and announces he wants all of it. There is a person somewhere in this, but the lyrics never meet her. What he found, in his own telling, is a great-looking stranger he has already decided to keep.

Hear this and attraction gets taught as a checklist of parts, the rush of wanting before any knowing. It flatters the giddy certainty that a look across a room is the same as love. For a listener it makes the body-first reaction feel like romance, the familiar trick of a first night out. It goes warm for anyone in the grip of a crush and tells them nothing about the morning after the wanting.

Run this through millions and infatuation gets rewired into appraisal. The program teaches that love announces itself as a physical jolt across a room, that the right response to a body is to want all of it and call the wanting love. It hands a population a shortcut between a glance and a claim, with no person required in between. Desire becomes the proof of love, and the look becomes the whole courtship.

What rots is patience with the actual work of knowing someone. People get practiced at the instant verdict and rusty at the slow read, since the slow read is the part the program skips. Bodies get scored before names get learned, and the scoring starts to feel like sincerity. A culture fluent in this confuses being struck with being connected, and keeps mistaking the size of the jolt for the depth of the bond.