‘I dated an Edward Cullen and it sucked the life out of me.’

One of my most distinctive memories of disappointment growing up was when I did a BuzzFeed quiz on ‘Which Fictional Film Couple Would You Be?’ and got Hermione and Ron from Harry Potter. (I did not have a challenging upbringing.) Reading the description of my results made me recoil.

“Congratulations! You have Hermione and Ron! You will be friends with someone first before falling in love with them.”

If I were an erect penis, I would have shrivelled. I didn’t want to be friends with someone before getting into a relationship with them. That was far too boring for my passionate personality. I’M A SCORPIO FOR GOD’S SAKE. I wanted Bella and Edward from Twilight, Anna and Christian from 50 Shades of Grey, Allie and Noah from The Notebook. Hermione and Ron. WHAT? It took them six books and seven films of being passive-aggressive with each other before looking at one another and thinking, “I could go for that.” It was such a slow burn. And not in a sexy ‘will they-wont they’ way. When they finally got to the point of liking each other, there was no massively intense passion bar a wet kiss after killing a giant snake. Where was the smouldering buildup? Where was the sexual energy so tense you could cut it with a knife? Where was the immediacy of just knowing that person was ‘the one’ and you’d rather die alone than bother with anyone else? Those were the feelings I wanted. Not Hermione and Ron’s flaccid friendship fling.

It was only after 18 years of unhealthy relationships that I realised BuzzFeed was trying to tell me something important. Maybe relationships that grow from friendship are more likely to be built on stronger foundations of trust and understanding than the ‘love at first sight’ ones.

My hyper-obsession with Hollywood movies and the way they portrayed love was, ironically, one of the things that prevented me from finding it for years. I experienced numerous ‘Mr. Perfects’ in Hollywood’s eyes. I had a Christian Grey guy who was great in the bedroom and took me on lovely, romantic weekends away, but would also be on dating apps behind my back. I had an Edward Cullen who was pale and didn’t like the sun. He was incredibly intense and would frequently tell me no one would ever love me as much as he loved me and that if we ever broke up, he’d never love anyone ever again. After we inevitably did break up (I love the sun), the rose-tinted glasses were removed from these messages, which I once thought were peak romance, and I saw them for what they were: Unhealthy and manipulative. I’ve also been with the lovable rogue the likes of Eggsy from Kingsman. He had a cheeky confidence and savvy street smarts but frequently sent inappropriate messages to other girls, including friends of mine, behind my back. These characters are a lot less disappointing in the fantasy world than in reality.

The most damaging aspect of obsessing over these countless romance stories was the effect they had on me when I met my current boyfriend—the first genuinely kind, respectful, and supportive partner I’ve had. The type of guy depicted in films that the main female protagonist leaves to be with the main man she’s ‘destined to be with’. There’s a prime example in The Notebook. The Holy Grail of romantic films. A scene takes place between Rachel McAdams and Ryan Gosling in which he asks her:

‘How does he (the nice guy) make you feel?‘

And she says;

‘Safe’.

SAFE. And THAT is the reason she leaves. Safe is a red flag. Safe equals boring. Safe equals 3-and-a-half-minute shagging with socks on in the missionary position forever. SAFE equals spending every Sunday afternoon watching repeats of The Chase at your in-laws with their diabetic dog Derick. Safe is the reason for him to NOT be ‘the one’. Ryan, in his rain-soaked white tee, goes on:

‘But does he make you feel alive? Does he make you feel like when you’re with me?’

Which, in reality, means feeling annoyed because all they do is fight. Hollywood depicts this difficult, up-down, intense relationship as the romantic love goal and makes the safe relationship out to be as unfulfilling as a McDonald’s cheeseburger. After two years’ worth of relationship therapy, the main thing I learned was to embrace any relationship that makes you feel safe. So, fuck off, Ryan, with your wet shirt and your mood swings. (I loved you in Crazy, Stupid, Love, by the way. Please pass my regards and number onto Emma Stone.)

These types of leading male characters that so frequently top film charts aren’t healthy role models for women or men. They’re always made up of the same ingredients. To be a sexy leading man, you must be:

• Ruggedly handsome
• Trust fund rich, or, poor but grungily street-smart
• Fashionable
• Brooding or prone to dramatic mood swings where one minute they want you, the next they don’t, usually due to a troubled family life
• Successful
• Into literature: babes love guys that can read
• Love going out in the rain in nothing but a white T-shirt.

These sexy, main man rules are woven into the DNA of the likes of Christian Grey (50 Shades), Edward Cullen (Twilight), Jacob (the werewolf, Twilight), Mr. Darcy (Pride & Prejudice), Mark Darcy (Bridget Jones), Jacob (Crazy, Stupid, Love), Johnny Castle (Dirty Dancing), Hardin Scott (After). Like their rock-hard abs, the template for these characters has been chiselled since the early ages of Hollywood when men were made up of hard liquor and an inability to express their emotions because of societal pressures to ‘be a real man’. Think James Dean in Rebel Without a Cause and Marlon Brando in A Streetcar Named Desire. All of them look like SUCH an effort to be with, and yet they’ve been and still are shoved down our throats as people to either aspire towards being or being with. And we seem to love it. I know I certainly did. These characters are box office hits, so what is it that makes that type of leading man such a success, and how does that construe our view of relationships off-screen?

In a world where perfectionism and grass-is-greener thinking in dating are becoming more prominent, is it wise to push the message that you’re ‘settling’ if you go for a guy who doesn’t tick every single box of dashingly handsome, incredibly successful, passionate in the bedroom, financially comfortable, fashionable, broodingly confident, and has a massive… intellect? All this overlooking the fact that none of these things mean he will be a good partner in terms of how he treats you, which is the actual priority.

Living off these types of films led me into relationships and situationships built on adrenaline. I never had peace; all I did was chase and try to be perfect for my partner, perfect like a film character. Because female film characters have their own tropes too. The perfect level of awkwardness (the nerdy but cute pixie girl), the perfect level of sweet submissiveness (the girl next door), the perfect level of fieriness (the confident, sexy girl who’s a bit of a bitch but has a heart of gold underneath her harsh exterior), and the perfect level of wanting nothing but him (without dipping into Fatal Attraction territory). All while trying to imitate the body of Megan Fox in Transformers with a cow-licked fringe. I eventually found out that the adrenaline rush of urgent love I felt for all my previous partners was actually coming from anxiety from never feeling safe; never feeling enough to not have a slight worry that I would be left for someone better. I became addicted to this anxiety and was drawn to guys who made me feel insecure—guys who weren’t fully emotionally available. Our relationships were passionate and intense. When we were together, I’d try to be perfect; when we were apart, I’d worry about when or if they would message. Every time, the inevitable would happen. Either we hit a point of mediocre stability where the anxiety ran out and was replaced by boredom, so I left, or they left me, and I’d cry to my friends about why this keeps happening.

But in reality, I was the one seeking out the types of guys I knew weren’t attainable. Guys with girlfriends, guys who were players, guys who were narcissists, guys who were sometimes all three. The very few times I met someone who was genuinely nice and interested in me, I claimed there was no ‘spark’ because I didn’t get that rush of ‘gut feeling’ that I associated with being true love, which, in reality, was anxiety. It caused tremendous difficulties in the first year of my current relationship. When I quickly realised I didn’t have to stress about him messaging me back, trust came almost immediately, and with that trust came a feeling of relaxation and safety, which I had been conditioned to associate with being boring. The nice guy. A loyal guy who is respectful, kind, supportive, a listener with a quiet sense of humour, and who wants the best for his partner. But this is the guy who, in films, loses the girl in the end to the rugged chap with rollercoaster emotions and brooding intensity. The anguish it caused led me to therapy. I was convinced something was missing when, in fact, I just wasn’t used to the lack of uncomfortable adrenaline that came with being with someone who made me feel good about myself.

I think we need to start highlighting how sexy the good guy is.

The film Moxie sums it up perfectly in a scene. It follows teenager Vivian, who starts a feminist movement in her school inspired by her mom’s activist days in the 1970s. She leaves anonymous messages telling those who support the movement to draw stars on their hands. Seth, the hot, popular, but nice skateboarder dude walks into class in slow motion, and Vivian and her friends see the stars on his hand. Viv’s friend says, ‘That’s hot.’ And she wasn’t wrong. Guys who openly support women and women’s rights are sexy. Sexier than the guy who owns his own helicopter or the guy that seems interesting just because he rejects mainstream media and listens to Clair de Lune instead. Yawn. Give us more unproblematic, pro-women, male leads. Ones who are easy to be with, who aren’t judgemental, or unkind, or untrustworthy, or have a load of baggage they need us to help them fix. Ones that don’t need us to earn their love, ones that proudly raise us up rather than make us reach. Give us more Seths (Moxie), Peetas (The Hunger Games), Jacks (Titanic), and Nicks (Crazy Rich Asians).

Hollywood isn’t entirely to blame. Most people, I’m sure, will be able to enjoy these films without developing a complex resulting in therapy. I have to take responsibility for the emphasis I put on films which went beyond 2 hours of surface-level indulgence. I needed to learn that feeling safe is good, being with someone who makes me feel great about myself is the real romantic love goal, and that real nice guys ‘finish last’ in the bedroom (wink) and first in relationships.

Despite all this enlightenment, I’m still not thrilled with my Ron and Hermione BuzzFeed result. Ron has mood swings just like those Hollywood ‘main men’… but I guess he’s a teenager, so it’s slightly more acceptable. I probably shouldn’t be dating someone in high school anyway, even if they are a wizard.