Romantic comedies make women and men believe they are absolute fools, and encourage unbalanced relations.
Two of my favorite movies are When Harry Met Sally, and Definitely, Maybe. I love stories about relationships set over long periods of time. The character development makes it more relatable, more real. However, a current position I'm in has got me rethinking my stance on the films. Both have this smart, quirky, surfacely overly-confident, secretly insecure woman tentatively flirting with their best friend, and always unknowing of the lovably goofy, impossibly attractive man (you shake your head at the thought of Billy Crystal, but hey, in his time he was fine).
I could always relate to her. Always the best friend, whose beauty was discovered late in the game, but no less passionately. And if you were ever able to follow the on-screen relationships after the movie's end, mine would as theirs would have: in a familiar setting we'd always loved, slow and bittersweet, knowing it was "for the best" and "at least we're able to stay friends." Which isn't a half-bad record, in my opinion. I'm certainly not complaining. They were just...typical. It became routine. Almost an equation, really:
(Guy Friend + Listening Ear)/(Patience - Dependence) x Avoidance of Fluorescent Lighting = Boyfriend
It became my fail-safe plan, without a doubt. Then I started getting into situations (college) where I simply just made a lot of guy friends. Legitimate friends with which I had/have no agenda. Alas, the Plan took on a life of its own, and I ended up in relationships I didn't even see coming. I became the Quirky Girl, without even wanting to.
It's a difficult thing, shedding the Quirky Girl skin. Once people peg you for it, they'll never let you live it down. Not such a bad thing, really. They're always rooting for you. Always laughing with you. They like you because you're comfortable being just a little bit odder than they already are, and will always accept whatever flaws they decide to share with you.
But the summer has presented three completely new situations to which I am not the Quirky Girl, but rather, the Mysterious Sexpot. How the frick this was accomplished, I'm still trying to figure out, but it has. New skin for me, for sure. My friend B's normally this character. She's always, without fail, the adventurous, flirty, mystery-girl that every guy works for, and I've always enjoyed the sarcastic side-kick role (quite thoroughly, actually). A was the Wise Artist, and Abs was the Girl Next Door. It was a system that worked.
But when you look at film, those girls never win. Either they are the prize of some dumpy, awkward white guy, or the one Quirky Girl is up against. But why should we be made to feel this way? Is being a mysterious woman wrong?
And what of the bumbling slob that always seems to get lucky? Why make them bumbling? Why make them slobs? Or the dashing lead that seems blind to his best friend throwing herself at him? How does any of it make sense enough for us to fall for it, and then model our own relationships after it?
Oy vey, I say. We're smarter than this. Women, we are mysterious, beautiful, deserving of adoration as well as challenge. Men, you're all strong and fully capable of providing for a woman should you simply take the initiative. Guys, we're all everything anyone could want. Attempting to pigeonhole our personalities into a defined character puts limits on our lives. Why do that to ourselves?
So I'm going out today, as the Quirky Mysterious Wise Girl That Reminds You of an Old Friend...and whatever other adjectives I can pick up along the way. Because there's only One that can define you, and they're certainly not here.
Two of my favorite movies are When Harry Met Sally, and Definitely, Maybe. I love stories about relationships set over long periods of time. The character development makes it more relatable, more real. However, a current position I'm in has got me rethinking my stance on the films. Both have this smart, quirky, surfacely overly-confident, secretly insecure woman tentatively flirting with their best friend, and always unknowing of the lovably goofy, impossibly attractive man (you shake your head at the thought of Billy Crystal, but hey, in his time he was fine).
I could always relate to her. Always the best friend, whose beauty was discovered late in the game, but no less passionately. And if you were ever able to follow the on-screen relationships after the movie's end, mine would as theirs would have: in a familiar setting we'd always loved, slow and bittersweet, knowing it was "for the best" and "at least we're able to stay friends." Which isn't a half-bad record, in my opinion. I'm certainly not complaining. They were just...typical. It became routine. Almost an equation, really:
(Guy Friend + Listening Ear)/(Patience - Dependence) x Avoidance of Fluorescent Lighting = Boyfriend
It became my fail-safe plan, without a doubt. Then I started getting into situations (college) where I simply just made a lot of guy friends. Legitimate friends with which I had/have no agenda. Alas, the Plan took on a life of its own, and I ended up in relationships I didn't even see coming. I became the Quirky Girl, without even wanting to.
It's a difficult thing, shedding the Quirky Girl skin. Once people peg you for it, they'll never let you live it down. Not such a bad thing, really. They're always rooting for you. Always laughing with you. They like you because you're comfortable being just a little bit odder than they already are, and will always accept whatever flaws they decide to share with you.
But the summer has presented three completely new situations to which I am not the Quirky Girl, but rather, the Mysterious Sexpot. How the frick this was accomplished, I'm still trying to figure out, but it has. New skin for me, for sure. My friend B's normally this character. She's always, without fail, the adventurous, flirty, mystery-girl that every guy works for, and I've always enjoyed the sarcastic side-kick role (quite thoroughly, actually). A was the Wise Artist, and Abs was the Girl Next Door. It was a system that worked.
But when you look at film, those girls never win. Either they are the prize of some dumpy, awkward white guy, or the one Quirky Girl is up against. But why should we be made to feel this way? Is being a mysterious woman wrong?
And what of the bumbling slob that always seems to get lucky? Why make them bumbling? Why make them slobs? Or the dashing lead that seems blind to his best friend throwing herself at him? How does any of it make sense enough for us to fall for it, and then model our own relationships after it?
Oy vey, I say. We're smarter than this. Women, we are mysterious, beautiful, deserving of adoration as well as challenge. Men, you're all strong and fully capable of providing for a woman should you simply take the initiative. Guys, we're all everything anyone could want. Attempting to pigeonhole our personalities into a defined character puts limits on our lives. Why do that to ourselves?
So I'm going out today, as the Quirky Mysterious Wise Girl That Reminds You of an Old Friend...and whatever other adjectives I can pick up along the way. Because there's only One that can define you, and they're certainly not here.
