I’ve said it before, but I often struggle with the fact that I’m a huge contradiction. I spent my teenage years rebelling against the hideous stereotype of pink-wearing, kitten-loving, boyband-listening girls that I knew, in favour of listening to metal, being a (quite shit) goth and apparently only liking boys with mental problems.
Obviously this was the daft naivety of a teenage idiot, willfully defying one social group to pigeonhole myself in another. I’m a lot happier now I’m grown up (ha!) but I still really struggle with admitting my girlyness. I’m secretly ashamed when I get giddy over buying a new handbag and I can only tell my very bestest friends that I actually watch Don’t Tell the Bride, let alone tell them that I cry watching it (Oh. Fuck). For a long-time I consoled myself that my new-found love of 50s style dresses was offset by the fact that they look considerably less feminine when you accessorise it with a pint and some piercings. Cue borderline alcohol problem.
This is why I’m slightly perturbed by my growing fascination for men in period costume. I’ve steadily noticed my interest climbing in this very predictable and time-honoured female tradition, but didn’t pay it too much attention, for fear of truly becoming a stereotypical woman. However, it came around and smacked me straight across the face when watching the new adaptation of Jane Eyre last month. I’d completely stopped paying attention to the film and clearly my brain was only interested in this:
Michael Fassbender has been in a crapton of cinema releases this year but I’ve never batted an eyelid at him until he was trussed up as Mr. Rochester and storming round Thornfield in his breeches. (It’s telling that I typed “under him” instead of “until he” in that sentence. OBSESSED)
Obviously, my still defiant brain screams “NO! Don’t be one of the hysterical chatting mass of women cooing over Mr. Darcy… No! You’re better than that” but yet, I’m finding it increasingly difficult to not give into indulging myself.
So difficult in fact that I spent all of Saturday watching the BBC Pride and Prejudice series, partly because I’d promised to watch it with a friend who’d never seen it, but mainly because I wanted to do some good old-fashioned ogling. And ogle I did. In fact, I think I might have scarred my friend for life with my overenthusiastic sound effects.