I grew up believing that Myrtle Beach wasn’t so much a place as it was a personality. A loud, sunburned, neon-flashing personality that you couldn’t ignore even if you tried. It’s not hard to imagine—this was a town where the smell of saltwater taffy and fried funnel cakes collided with the briny ocean breeze, where the tourism commercials were campy but endearing, and where the boardwalk jukebox played everything from Lynyrd Skynyrd to Katy Perry on repeat. But you don’t have to be from Myrtle Beach to know any of this; you just have to drive down Ocean Boulevard during peak summer season and try to find parking. Good luck.

For a long time, I thought my beloved hometown was like one of those friends who’s entertaining to be around but might not be relationship material—a little too much energy for your everyday life. But as I got older, I realized that Myrtle Beach wasn’t just where I hung out; it’s where I became me. Every quirky little feature of this city subtly influenced the way I approach love, connection, and all the beautiful messiness of relationships. So, pull up a rocking chair, pour yourself some sweet tea, and let me tell you about the place that made me—and, by extension, the way I love.

Love Lessons from the Boardwalk Romance Capital

A tourist town like Myrtle Beach does weird things to love and relationships. For starters, it’s hard not to grow up perpetually starry-eyed when you’re surrounded by couples holding hands on the sand while the setting sun works overtime to look like a Nicholas Sparks book cover. It’s ridiculously romantic. But here’s the thing: romance here doesn’t just happen in grand gestures—it found me in the small stuff, too. And surprisingly, a lot of my Myrtle Beach dating education came from unexpectedly relatable sources.

  • First crushes are like summer thunderstorms—brief but intense. When I was 14, I decided I was in eternal, undying love with a lifeguard I’d seen at the beach precisely once. I still remember his name (Brandon) and that he wore a red whistle on a rope necklace like something straight out of "Baywatch." Of course, Brandon didn’t even know I existed, but in the span of one week, I wrote three diary entries about him and listened to Avril Lavigne’s “I’m With You” on loop. Did it end in heartbreak? No, because it never really go started. But that short-lived crush taught me to embrace the spark of attraction even if it’s fleeting. Those brief moments of excitement—whether over a lifeguard or a great first date—are part of the journey.

  • Roller coasters of love are best handled with humor. Myrtle Beach is famous for its amusement parks, and growing up, my friends and I would dare each other to ride the Swamp Fox—a white-knuckled wooden roller coaster that made your stomach drop exactly three seconds after you wanted to scream. That coaster became my metaphor for dating in my twenties, where exhilaration was often followed by terrifying dips (complete with clunking sound effects). It taught me that no relationship is perfect, whether you're going full throttle or coasting through the breezy parts. It helps if you can laugh at the twists and turns—bonus points if your partner screams louder than you do.

The Beachfront Café Approach to Love

Growing up, my parents weren’t sitting me down for any deep “birds and bees” chats or lecturing me about the intricacies of long-term commitment, but they were teaching me about love in quieter ways. Running our small café with them during the summers was like a crash course in relationships—without the soft background music or candlelight.

  • Patience is served with a side of fries. If you’ve ever worked in customer service, you know there’s no greater test of patience than a lunchtime crowd of hungry tourists who can’t decide what they want. My parents handled it with grace, especially my dad, who had an uncanny ability to sense that the woman asking for extra pickles was just having a bad day. We’d joke afterward that sometimes, people don’t need a sandwich—they need kindness. Now, whenever relationships test my patience (and trust me, they have), I channel that same energy. Patience isn’t just about waiting; it’s about understanding.

  • Don’t underestimate the power of small gestures. My favorite café memory doesn’t involve food at all. It’s the sight of my dad slipping a flower behind my mom’s ear as they worked side by side, her hair sticky with heat and flour after baking. I doubt anyone else ever noticed those moments—but I did. Now, whenever I think love feels too complicated, I remind myself that the small stuff—a single flower, a shared joke, even bringing someone coffee without being asked—carries as much weight as any grand declaration.

Stormy Seas? Walk It Out

The thing they don’t tell you about coastal living is how unpredictable it can be. Tropical storms roll in fast, blowing the sunshine out of the picture without much warning. Relationships can feel a lot like those storms—one minute you’re catching rays, the next you’re battling winds over whose turn it is to take out the trash or something equally petty. But Myrtle Beach taught me this: storms don’t last forever, and the best cure for chaos is a long walk.

During one particularly angsty teenage year, I fought with my first boyfriend—a sandy-haired kid named Robbie who thought it was funny to criticize my beach volleyball skills. We stormed off in opposite directions down the shoreline, and somewhere along my solo walk, I cooled down. By the time we met back at Pacific Avenue, we both realized the fight wasn’t worth ruining a good day. To this day, when an argument arises in my current relationship, I grab my sneakers, take a walk, and let the ocean breeze remind me there’s bigger stuff in life than who started it.

Home Is Where Your Heart Learns

Myrtle Beach didn’t just shape me; it schooled me on love. It taught me that relationships don’t have to be perfect to be worth it, that small acts of care can matter even more than big ones, and that laughter is usually the best way to handle a bad date—or a creaky roller coaster. Sure, every couple that ever strolled by holding hands beneath the fireworks on the Fourth of July looked like they had it all figured out, but I know now that love is always a little complicated, a little messy. Kind of like the way sand keeps showing up in your shoes weeks after you’ve left the beach.

Your “place that made you” might not be a tourist hotspot with Shark Week T-shirts and fried Oreos, but what connects us all is how our hometowns shape the way we love. Whether yours pushed you toward love like an ocean current or made you cautious like a broken boardwalk plank, you carry a piece of it everywhere you go.

As for me? If you’re ever in Myrtle Beach, I’ll meet you at the old Ferris wheel. I’ll bring the saltwater taffy. And if I like you enough, I might even share.