The word “love” is used in a number of distinct senses. Some aren’t a matter of volition - I love a nice glass of Merlot or a mug of ale with dinner, and I can choose day-to-day whether or not to indulge that taste - but I didn’t choose the preference itself. It just is.

In another sense, love is measured in the time and effort you spend on someone’s happiness. If I say I love my kids but I don’t ever make time to bond with them and demonstrate what it means to be the parent they want and need - then yes we should question if that’s really love.

Lots and lots of people, actually. Many identify with the tough-talkin’ images being projected, believing it’s just what the world needs and that the magic sorting hat will assign them to the privileged class when the dust settles.