‘Materialists’ Makes You Choose Between a Soulmate and a Sugar Daddy

In partnership with A24.

There’s a special kind of chaos that only comes from watching a movie with your best friends, feeling personally attacked, spiritually seen, and suddenly rethinking your entire five-year plan. That’s Materialists. Celine Song (yes, Past Lives Celine Song) is back, and this time she’s not just making you cry about soulmates across timelines. She’s here to mess with your head and your dating app settings. Whether you’re dating straight, queer, or somewhere in between, Materialists nails the hot mess of trying to balance heart, wallet, and sanity.

At first glance, Materialists looks like a classic love triangle. Dakota Johnson plays Lucy, a high end matchmaker in NYC, who’s stuck choosing between Harry (Pedro Pascal), a wealthy private equity guy, and John (Chris Evans), her struggling actor ex. But instead of asking “which guy will she choose,” it stretches the triangle into a tug-of-war between love and financial security. This isn’t your usual “hopeless romantic tries to choose between two men” storyline. In fact, our girl Lucy isn’t hopeless or romantic. She’s realistic. Ruthless. Hot. And if you’ve ever dumped someone because their apartment had a mini fridge, you’ll feel deeply, almost uncomfortably, seen.

Because let’s be honest: most women aren’t out here doodling hearts in the margins of their notebooks. We’re weighing emotional fulfillment against rent prices. (Cause girl, the tariffs!) We’re Florence Pugh in Little Women saying, “Marriage is an economic proposition,” except now the currency is emotional labor and a shared lease. And Lucy gets that. She says it herself within the first 30 minutes of the film: “Marriage is a business deal.”

And this isn’t just theoretical, Lucy lives that tension. One minute she’s wrapped in silk sheets in a $12 million Manhattan apartment. The next, she’s ignoring her ex blowing up her phone outside some Brooklyn dive bar (spoiler: it’s definitely Birdy’s in Bushwick, because where else?). That stark contrast perfectly captures the push and pull between luxury and loneliness. It says everything about modern love: the polished, put-together version we show the world versus the messy, confusing reality nobody talks about.

But Materialists doesn’t just nod at the mess of modern dating, it calls it what it is. We’ve fully commodified ourselves. Dating apps? Capitalism in a cute font. Sure, we joke they’re like clearance rack shopping – but that actually makes us the clearance items. Filtered, captioned, and algorithm-approved. So what’s the actual cost of getting cuffed? Your independence? Your dignity when you have to pretend you like their weird roommate? Or worse, sharing your streaming passwords?

And is money the only “material” we’re shopping for? Or is it totally fair to want a guy who’s 6’1 instead of 5’10? Like, what are those extra inches really worth? Because if we’re talking girl math, we usually mean things like “this was basically free because I used a gift card from 2019” or “if I pay in cash it doesn’t count.” But Materialists taps into the real girl math: the opportunity cost of marrying for net worth vs. self-worth. The Murray Hill finance bros could never crack the emotional ROI of choosing love over lifestyle.

Now, I won’t spoil who (if anyone) Lucy ends up with – this is a spoiler-free zone and also, your group chat deserves to spiral organically. Because Materialists isn’t just a movie. It’s an existential question. It’s a post-show dinner filled with overpriced cocktails and semi-hostile debates about whether a shared bank account is more intimate than sex.

One friend will say, “Marry for love.” Another will counter, “Love won’t pay the AmEx.” Someone else will declare, “None of it matters if the sex isn’t good.” Then, just as the check drops: “He’s moving to Paris.”

Go see Materialists, nationwide on June 13. Go with the girls, go with your ex, go alone and pretend it’s for character research. But go ready to answer one question: are you marrying for love or money?

Kat Pickhardt