It’s an epidemic. It’s crippling beyond compare. And it’s preying on unsuspecting girls. The horror, the horror!
Yes, I know, I’m far too prone to dramatics, but I speak of the resurgence of mindless romance, of unchecked idealism, and of excessive “girly giggles.” I call it the “Princess Complex.”
Now, allow me to qualify this discussion. I obviously don’t want to be the pot calling the kettle black so I will be the first to admit that I suffer from a “Newsie Complex,” the condition of audacious little guys who want to change the world. I know several guys with a “Peter Pan Complex” or a “Charlie Brown Complex,” so no one is without fault here. But I digress.
So, what is the “Princess Complex?” As far as I can tell it operates on a foundation of boy-crazy giddiness that isn’t cute in bubbly preteens and is even less so in full-grown females. Those who suffer from this disorder see the world as a constant parade of distractions and obstacles blocking their view of whatever cute guys may be in the vicinity. The thing that gets them out of bed in the morning is the remote, magical possibility that “Someday My Prince Will Come” might be today. On special days they get to wear pretty dresses and entertain themselves dancing alone in front of the mirror. Aside from the pursuit of eye candy, their days are consumed by jewelry store windows, “Twilight” novels, salads with mandarin oranges and rose petals in them, and shows like “Gillmore Girls” and “Charmed.” They read Jane Austen, oblivious to the fact that she was making fun of them, and wait patiently for Mr. Darcy to come along and engage her in witty banter. Indeed, the life of the would-be princess is a simple one, a disconcerting cocktail of romance, idealism, and entitlement, wrapped up in a safely sanitized pretty pink bow.
Not that there is anything wrong with pretty dresses or Jane Austen (though I stick by my “Twilight” claim), but this unhealthy fixation must stop. “Enchanted” was fiction. Princess Aurora is not an acceptable role model. And princes don’t grown on trees. I suppose we can’t blame them. After all, they were raised to believe that someone would always come to their rescue, that happily ever after was a given, and that fairy godmothers, not hard work and inspiration, accomplished the impossible. We’re products of our generation, I’m afraid, and mine has produced more than its fair share of the aforementioned offending “girly giggles.” They ring in my ears, heralding the triumph of fluff in eclipsing good judgment, independence, and individual thought. Heaven help us all.
2 comments:
To the men.
It’s an epidemic. It’s crippling beyond compare. And it’s preying on unsuspecting guys. The horror, the horror!
Yes, I know, I’m far too prone to dramatics, but I speak of the resurgence of mindless being, of unchecked laziness, and of excessive lack of motivation. I call it the “Guy Complex.”
Now, allow me to qualify this discussion. I obviously don’t want to be the pot calling the kettle black so I will be the first to admit that I suffer from a “Wind Worthy Complex,” the condition of girls who know what they want, but are willing to give and take to make a relationship work. I know several girls with a “Prince Charming Complex” or a “Damsel in Distress Complex,” so no one is without fault here. But I digress.
So, what is the “Guy Complex?” As far as I can tell it operates on a foundation of inevitable droning about the flaws of the opposite sex, that isn’t cute in brooding preteens and is even less so in full-grown males. Those who suffer from this disorder see the world as a constant reminder of why dating is not fair. They talk a lot, but never back it up: this therefore obstructing their path to whatever hot mindless chick with an ego the size of Manhattan walks into the vicinity next. The thing that gets them out of bed in the morning is the remote, magical possibility that maybe today the girl in their Psych class will actually talk to him when he does 'the head nod'. On special days they get to wear handsome suits or new jeans and convince themselves that 'girls are missing out' and entertain themselves flexing their muscles in front of the mirror to see if you can see them through their shirt or not. Aside from the pursuit of eye candy, their days are consumed by Basketball games, ESPN magazines, chips that are months old, and shows like “Jimmy Kimmel Live” and “SNL.” They read the days sports stats, oblivious to the fact that it really doesn't matter the score of a game when real life is happening right now, and let's face it, they'll never be Michael Jordan. Indeed, the life of the guy is a simple one, a disconcerting cocktail of sports, gym shorts, and fast food, wrapped up in a smelly old gym sock.
Not that there is anything wrong with basketball games or Sports Illustrated, but this unhealthy rotation must stop. Droning on about sports is not entertaining. You will never date a Laker Girl. Girls won't walk up to your door and ask YOU out. Dates don't grow on trees. I suppose we can’t blame them. After all, they were raised to believe that someone would always be around to 'rescue', that dating would be easy and was a given part of life. We’re products of our generation, I’m afraid, and mine has produced more than its fair share of the aforementioned offending lazy men. They sit on their couches, complaining that they don't understand girls, whining about dateless Friday's and meaningless Saturday's and not doing anything about it. Wondering if a NCMO fix is the answer. These thoughts ring in my ears, heralding the triumph of fluff in the overall bad judgment fully without confidence or logical thinking. Heaven help us all.
Brilliant. I feel your pain.
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