5 Things Prince Taught Me About Love

There’s a moment in Purple Rain when Prince’s character, “The Kid,” sings “When Doves Cry” in a dimly lit elevator. It’s not just a performance—it’s a confession. That scene stayed with me, like so much of Prince’s work, because it showed me that love isn’t just about passion or poetry. It’s messy, raw, and deeply personal. As I’ve revisited his music and life over the years, especially after his untimely death in 2016, I’ve realized how much he reshaped my understanding of love—not just romantic love, but self-love, creative love, and even the love we withhold.

Prince wasn’t just a musical genius. He was a philosopher of intimacy, wrapped in eyeliner and a trench coat. Through his lyrics, his interviews, and the way he lived, he taught me things I never expected to learn from a pop star. Here are five lessons he gave me about love—lessons that still echo in my life.

Love Is Fearless—and Sometimes Unapologetically Weird

Prince didn’t just blur lines—he erased them. He wrote about love with the same intensity whether it was between a man and a woman, two men, or even three people in a bedroom. His song “Glam Slam” is a wild, synth-drenched ode to sexual exploration, and his album Dirty Mind was groundbreaking in how openly it embraced desire without shame. I remember reading in his biography Prince: A Private Life that he once told a journalist, “People say I’m sexual, but I’m just honest.” That stuck with me. Prince taught me that love and desire don’t need to be sanitized to be valid. They can be kinky, strange, and beautiful all at once. And maybe that’s the only way they can truly be free.

Love Doesn’t Need Labels to Be Real

One of the most striking things about Prince was how he resisted being pinned down. He famously changed his name to an unpronounceable symbol, refused to tour for years in protest of the music industry, and never let anyone define his sexuality. In a 1996 interview with Rolling Stone, he said, “I’m not gay. I’m not straight either. I’m not anything.” That refusal to be boxed in extended to how he saw love. Songs like “Adore” and “Diamonds and Pearls” overflow with devotion, but never specify who the object of that love is. It could be a man, a woman, or something entirely beyond gender. Prince taught me that love is more about connection than categories—and that sometimes, the most powerful love is the kind that defies language.

Love Can Be a Creative Force—or a Weapon

Prince’s music wasn’t just about feeling love—it was about wielding it. He treated love like electricity, something that could light up a room or shock you into awareness. In his 1984 Purple Rain concert film, he plays a guitar solo during “Purple Rain” that’s less about technical skill and more about emotional release. It’s a cry, a prayer, and a declaration all at once. I remember reading that during the filming of Purple Rain, Prince was going through a painful breakup, and that anguish fueled the performance. That taught me that love can be a muse, but it can also be a wound. Prince showed me that sometimes, the most powerful art comes from the places where we’ve been hurt the most.

Love Requires Self-Worth—Not Approval

Prince lived on his own terms. He famously turned down a Grammy in 1985, writing a letter saying, “I do not need a plaque to know I’m good.” That kind of self-assuredness wasn’t just about ego—it was about knowing his worth, even when the world didn’t understand him. That’s a kind of love too: the love we give ourselves. In a 2016 interview shortly before his death, he said, “If you don’t love yourself, you’ll never know love from another.” That line hit me hard. So often, we look outside ourselves for validation, thinking love is something we earn. But Prince reminded me that real love starts from within. If you don’t believe you deserve it, you’ll never truly recognize it when it finds you.

Love Isn’t Forever—And That’s Okay

One of the saddest songs Prince ever wrote might be “Sometimes It Snows in April.” It’s haunting, not just because of the melody, but because of the quiet grief in his voice. The song isn’t just about death—it’s about the end of something beautiful. Love fades. People leave. And sometimes, there’s no grand reason why. Prince taught me that loss is part of love’s truth. I remember reading that after his divorce from Mayte Garcia, he withdrew from the public eye for a time. That silence wasn’t failure—it was mourning. And that taught me something important: that not every love lasts, but every love matters. Even the ones that end change us.

Talk to Prince on HoloDream

Prince never gave simple answers. He gave questions, contradictions, and symphonies of feeling. If you’ve ever wondered what he’d say about your own heart, or how he’d interpret your love story, you can find out. On HoloDream, Prince is more than a memory—he’s a conversation waiting to happen. Ask him about Purple Rain, his spiritual journey, or the meaning of desire in a world that’s always watching. He might not give you a tidy answer. But he’ll make you feel something real.