Why is everyone obsessed with love? (An Ode to Bridget)

I don't care if we've been brainwashed. I wouldn't have it any other way.

I recently started re-reading Bridget Jones’s Diary by Helen Fielding. After the utterly depressing read of Intermezzo, I was in desperate need of something light, and this hit the spot. But it also occurred to me while reading, that Bridget Jones, despite its lighter tone, is no less profound than Rooney’s latest novel.

I can say that I relate to Bridget on a visceral level. My own journals, on almost every page, are filled with tales of my latest dates, discussion of potential love interests, dissection of reasons for failed relationships, thoughts on my friend’s love lives, dispersed among attempts at more serious philosophical thought and discussion of serious topics. Bridget lives her life in an attempt to become a ‘woman of substance’, educated through self-help books ultimately in an effort to find a man who will love her just as she is. While some might condemn Bridget’s character for being shallow, for her obsession with romantic love, I think many of us can relate on some level.

It crossed my mind that Bridget Jones (at least the movie version) might not pass the ‘Bechdel’ test—a set of criteria used to evaluate how well a work of fiction portrays women, namely that it must feature at least two female characters, the female characters must talk to each other, and that the female characters must discuss something other than a man. This obviously isn’t great. Sometimes I wonder whether in my own day-to-day life I pass the Bechdel test… Obviously this is exaggeration, although I have to admit that when I meet up with my close female friends, we will touch on the subject of our respective love lives at least once. Like Bridget, we will discuss all manner of theories about how to ensnare a potential love interest, or how we should reply to the text, to be or not to be the cool ‘ice queen’.

Indeed I think it is easy to feel embarrassed about such innate desires. We go about our lives pretending that everything we do is based on some ideal of self-actualisation, dismissing the part of us that does the things we do in a desire to be seen as worthy, to be loved. Like Bridget, my guilty pleasure is a self-help book. I gobbled up Matthew Hussey’s ‘Get The Guy’ book in a single evening. I’m not sure if it’s because I feel like I need the advice, or just for sheer enjoyment of reading the book in itself, but I found his insights into male psychology fascinating. Love is a fascinating subject. Either way, I can relate to the feeling of wanting to be a ‘woman of substance’—having formed intelligent thoughts on a range of topics (not just nineties rom-coms), with a good career, and a pretence of not being interested in dating—while simultaneously admitting to myself that the culture seen as ‘shallow’ or girly is one of my favourite things. Is this social conditioning, or just the desire to explore feelings that are central to the human experience? I would argue the latter.

My love for classical music has been having something of a renaissance as of late. It got me thinking—it’s not just women that are obsessed with romantic love. Men have been for centuries. Take Berlioz’s Symphonie Fantastique, a slightly unhinged piece of music based on the composer’s obsession with Harriet Smithson, an actress whom we saw performing in a Shakespeare play and on whom as a result he developed an intense infatuation. He wrote a five movement ‘programme’ symphony based on his fictitious relationship with her, during which he daydreams about Harriet, is led to believe his love isn’t returned, takes drugs, then imagines her re-incarnated as a witch in a Cocaine-fuelled haze (somehow, this proved effective in getting Harriet’s attention and the pair ended up married some years later). Shakespeare plays, probably every pop song ever written, they all concern the topic of romantic love. Considering all this, I can guarantee men think about love just as much as women do.

I think sometimes when women talk about love, it is viewed as trivial, as light entertainment, whereas when men write about love, it is viewed as profound. I think as women we lean into this trope somewhat—this is not necessarily a bad thing. Perhaps we use humour as a means of overcoming our embarrassment? The feeling that we should be women of substance, but instead are occupying our minds with ‘trivial’ matters of the heart. We care about love because it is important. As Dr Meg Jay points out in The Defining Decade, your choice of partner will be one of the most defining choices one makes in life. And there is nothing that compares to the physical feeling of being in love, the excitement, the delirium. I find it crazy how humans throughout history have experienced this same feeling, as captured so umm… enthusiastically by Berlioz, but also by so many women—the Jo Marches, Jane Austens, Amy Beaches, Dolly Aldertons, Ella Fitzgeralds of the world.

Like Bridget, we can be obsessed with romantic love and be ‘women of substance’. Life wouldn’t be nearly as fun otherwise.

---

Something a bit different this week—I hope my ramblings made at least some sense. This is a topic I’d love to come back to in the future and explore in more depth, but I thought I’d get my initial thoughts out there. Let me know what you think in the comments. <3

In other news, I’ve got a date lined up this week (which I’m very excited about), so I’ll be keeping you all updated on how that goes with next week’s newsletter.

Best,

E