I know the title of this post must come as a shock given my recent obsession with Twilight and, most notably, Edward Cullen. However, upon reflection, I’ve realized that all the same reasons I salivate every time his beautiful, pale mug comes on screen are the same reasons that I continue to be disappointed by guys.(I am sure the villagers have become restless and are likely lighting the torches as I type this, but let me explain…)
Edward is beautiful. He is brooding, self-loathing and morose. He is well-read, well-spoken, well-dressed and well-mannered. His hair is perfection. And he plays the piano and sings in a manner that melts my innards. What’s not to like, right? OK…the whole vampire thing. Which, honestly, I’m not even going to hold against him because–let’s face it–vampires are hot and sexy. They always have been. (You saw Interview with a Vampire and we’ve all watched at least one episode of Buffy, intentionally or not.) So let me put my concerns with Edward in more general, relatable terms: he is the unattainable, emotionally-unavailable creature with which the masochistic girl within is irrevocably (nudge, nudge) bewitched.
Now, this would be a good time to mention that I have not finished the books and likely don’t know/understand a lot of the backstory when it comes to Mr. Cullen. So my analysis is based solely on the film and my interpretation of it. So there.
That having been said, I was one of those girls in high school who became hopelessly infatuated with any lost soul with great hair and an inkling of artistic ability. I would, willingly and repeatedly, blow off any sweet, well-adjusted, “normal” guy who was stupid enough to pay me any attention because he wasn’t interesting enough to me. As an adult I have turned down quite a few awesome, handsome guys because they “didn’t have a passion for anything” or they “didn’t seem to have a personality,” both statements that really boiled down to a lack of mystery because the poor fools were stupid enough to be open with their feelings for me. As much as I hate to say it, there really is something to the chase that builds the attraction. Not knowing where you stand, stealing glances at said guy and feeling the rush of catching his eye, imagining what the conversation will go like when you finally find yourselves face-to-face…that’s the stuff of fantasy and passion. Enter Edward.
He is my fantasy. There. I said it. When my mom watched the film with me last weekend, the very first words out of her mouth upon seeing Edward were, “Now I see why you keep watching this movie.” He’s my ultimate. (Don’t call the attendants just yet…I do realize he’s a fictional character.) But he, and all his baggage, represent exactly why I can’t seem to settle into a marriage, or even a healthy relationship for that matter. I don’t want Mike Newton. I don’t want the amiable, sweet-natured guy who plans innovative, romantic dates. I want the dude who I’ve somehow managed to dazzle into liking me, even for a fleeting second. And when you do finally land a guy like that, you want to shout it from the roof tops. But don’t even think about it…unless you are prepared for the barrage of naysayers and discouragers waiting to give you (what is really very sound) advice against being with him.
I guess this whole derranged stream of thought was sparked by the scene in which [SPOILER ALERT!] Edward and Bella pass by their high school peers leaving the diner, happy and carefree, as Bella flees for her life, having just about wrecked her father, because of her involvement with Edward. The impetus for this blog is pretty obvious in light of that scene, but I guess I just worry about the younger girls who watch Twilight and don’t understand what you’re getting into when you fall for a “real” Edward…not that I think guys like that really exist outside of our crafty little heads. I remember feeling the same way when I saw Baz Lurmann’s Romeo + Juliet and thinking, ‘I want a beautiful languisher like Romeo who is just all sorts of wrong for me.’ And though my desires haven’t changed (but rather shifted to a new, paler version of this beauty), I at least have the maturity (ahem) to know full-well what I am getting into when I start daydreaming about some new, beautiful disaster.
We females really are loony. Sorry.
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