subject line: not your manic pixie dream girl

 

USA

This morning, like I always do, I went on buzzfeed to check the articles to see if there was any random celebrity gossip or world news that I had missed in the last eight hours. I kept scrolling and found this quiz, “Which Manic Pixie Dream Girl Are You?” and thought about you.

When you asked me to be your girlfriend, I didn’t hear you because we were in a restaurant and you were mumbling. I couldn’t read your lips either because I had my glasses on instead of my contacts and you were too far away. When we talked about it later, you said that it would be a good story to tell, like how you were already picturing some sort of inevitable future where you tell the story of the hard-of-hearing, near-sighted girl that oh so charmingly didn’t hear you when you asked her if you “wanted to be a thing.”

I was very confused when I heard that you liked me. You dated my former best friend for several months, dumped her, got drunk at her birthday party a week later, and proceeded to tell my friends that you were interested in me. He said that I was different from her. He told me that he liked how I always was dressed for an occasion and how I didn’t wear makeup most of the time and didn’t care about what anyone else thought. He told me I was smart and smiled expectantly, like somehow his validation of my straight A’s would change my life or my perspective. He sees me as a trope, as an innocent, put-together person who has her life together and is waiting for someone like him to fall in for the final piece. I am not half of a person without a boyfriend. I am not his or anyone else’s manic pixie dream girl who is there to complete his life and to make him feel less guilty for fucking a girl on his living room couch by making it up with me, the virgin.

I don’t really know why I said yes. I don’t have any burning 16 year old love for this boy. But he’s nice. And if anything, I want to prove to him that he’s wrong. He doesn’t need anyone else to complete him, and neither do I.