I’m starting to think that all ‘good’ men are flawed. Seriously. The fictional ones and the real ones. The whole, it’s not you, it’s me, yeah, starting to think that might be crap. Perhaps it is you. And when I say you, I mean men. We put you up on the pedestals to be our everything, but maybe you’re not all that perfect. From JFK and his now infamous womanizing ways to Christian Grey, hot, sexy, holy crap yes I want him to take me more than anything, but hello, issues. And then take your pick of men on screen. Big or small. Screen that is. Is it them? Is it us? No, us women aren’t perfect either, but is a man only desirable if he’s seriously f-d up? Or is it just if he’s f-d up and can be saved? And that’s where we come in. We’ll be the ones who save them. We’ll be the ones who see behind their pain, their pasts, their… everything. And they’ll cherish us for it.
So perhaps it’s both of us. It is us and them. Maybe that’s what creates the true love. Or true fictional love.
We want the nice guy, so long as he’s buried beneath layers of turmoil. As a society, I think we’re hard wired to put someone up on a pedestal, watch them fall, and then cheer as they build themselves back up.
We cheer on the tragic hero as much or more than just the plain old hero. I’ve been wrestling with the whole notion of second chances. Everyone seems to believe that we all deserve a second chance, and I challenge that. The child with leukemia, absolutely, he deserves a second, third, fourth, and as many chances as we can give him. The child molester, nah. He doesn’t deserve anything. He had a first chance. Most of us, thankfully, our realities aren’t nearly as dramatic. And perhaps that’s why we’re so programmed to fall for the troubled soul with a heart of gold, albeit one that’s buried far down. We want to believe that we can get to that soul and make him a better person. Only us. We’ll save him.
And hey, I’m as guilty of it as the next person. Maybe more. The characters I create are definitely flawed… so maybe it is me. Then again…