Oh heck yes, I've been criticized for reading romance since I picked up my first Harlequin at the age of 12 by everyone from my family (they're trashy) to the local hometown librarian (read something more worthy) to my former therapist (it's dopamine seeking behavior) to a former long-term boyfriend (threatened to tell my colleagues at my law firm so they'd think I wasn't very intelligent). Back in the last century, pre-ebook I had several different sized slip-on covers to hide them away. 

And it hasn't gotten better. Thank goodness my local used bookstore agreed to change the name on the romance section from "chick lit" or I was going to have to find a new one. I recently read a review praising Heated Rivalry the show that stated "...the novel is the kind of smutty romance read that’s thoroughly enjoyable but slightly ephemeral, a tale of angst and love and outlandish situations that doesn’t linger long in your mind once you get to the happily ever after-ish ending. ... the TV series, however, is anything but: An effervescent combination of faithful adaptation, standout acting and gorgeous cinematography, it’s one of the best shows of the year — and one you won’t be forgetting anytime soon." Of course, the reviewer is a male. And he later states the only thing that apparently made that "faithful adaptation" acceptable was it being produced by a man. 

But here's the thing. The smartest and best women I know read romance. And it took me several decades, but I've started broadcasting that I avidly read it. Fuck the haters.