Every year, Sus and I watch Hallmark movies together. Actually, that’s not entirely accurate. It used to just be Hallmark, but now there’s a whole universe of sappy holiday shit to watch. Amazon got in on the game a few years back, and of course there’s Netflix, and we surely can’t forget HBO.
Holiday movies used to be Christmas movies. And not just any Christmas movies. Christmas movies filled to the brim with all the white, straight, wholesome folks you never knew you always needed. And now?! Holiday movies are a veritable smorgasbord. Every race, ethnicity, and religion (or lack thereof). Small towns, big cities, and remote islands.
Everything has changed. Well, mostly everything. Except for one thing. One pivotal thing. Boy meets girl. Girl meets boy. Boy meets boy. Girl meets girl. Love interest. Human beings “saved” by virtue of a blossoming relationship. Empty lives filled with connection.
Before I go on, I want to make clear that I didn’t watch holiday movies with Sus under duress. Nope. I genuinely enjoy our saccharine binge watching sessions. I don’t watch with the intent to mock or destroy. Sure, they are mostly formulaic and thus, mostly predictable. And still, joy. Smiles. All the heart feels.
And then, last week we were watching one of those romantic gems and one of the female leads shared the sentiment that her life was essentially meaningless because she wasn’t making time for a love life. It dawned on me in that moment that nearly every holiday movie Sus and I had watched to date conveyed the same or a similar message. Connect romantically or perish.
Okay, maybe that’s a little dramatic. Maybe it’s more like find a soul mate or live an agonizingly lonely and painful existence.
I think I can wrap my brain around the rest of the Hallmark and holiday movie bullshit. Right? Like, the women always have legging clad thigh gaps and perfectly straight, white toothy smiles, and love wearing high heels (3” plus) whilst running everyday errands like picking out the perfect Christmas tree or buying ingredients for sugar cookies. Speaking of which, their holiday treats are never a Pinterest fail. The icing is perfectly piped and the sprinkles only land within the confines of the dough (and not in places that will allow them to be found in three months’ time) and they don’t just look delicious, but everyone in town agrees they taste like a little piece of heaven. Everyone wakes up in the morning without blooming blemishes and sans dehydration fueled pillow creases on their faces, and with eyelashes that are seemingly bare, but look dark and perfectly curled.
When the characters in these originally plotted films spill anything, it’s for comedy and no one ever talks about throwing out the stained sweater because in holiday movie land- everything comes out in the wash. Tomato sauce, coffee, and conflict.
No one has a bad hair day or wonky eyeliner, and the men all look like they stepped out of a J. Crew catalog, or perhaps the REI website. They wear button downs to hang Christmas lights or put out the menorah and usually layer on a tasteful sweater that looks to be cashmere and never has a rip or a tear or pilling by the armpits.
I never question why Sally who owns a shitty little bakery can afford a mansion or how Jack got sent on assignment from his big city company but doesn’t have to worry about per diems or supremely economical travel. If anyone has a teenager, they are surly but only to a point and not where Jessica wants to lock herself in her crossover Honda with a Yeti filled with wine. No one curses or gets legitimately mad unless it’s the conflict or weird part of the story, and then it serves a purpose and vanishes with the wind. And by the wind, I mean a gentle, fresh smelling breeze. Because everyone always looks refreshed and not nip-raising, cold as shit.
I can fuck with all of this. I can. I know that it’s unrealistic and nonsensical, but also, it’s a form of legitimate escapism and thus, I escape. I allow myself to be absorbed into a world filled with prescribed gender roles and cliches and a level of perfectionism that is mostly unavailable to mere mortals.
Then, I get to the other bits. Then, I arrive to the part where the main character is facing the idea of a life spent without a great love and is despondent. Inconsolable. What will he/she/they do? How will they go on? Everything will be ruined. Life will be shit. The sky will be dark and gloomy. Every day. Every damn day.
No.
Absolutely not.
This is a horrible, damaging messaging.
Don’t get me wrong- I love a good love story. I believe in love. That’s right. You heard it here first. Despite my disastrous, mostly documented, horror show of a love history- I still believe in love. I do. I am a romantic in my little wounded and scarred heart.
But I also believe that we can thrive as humans without an “other.” I believe that connections come in all shapes and sizes and there is no one-size-fits-all when it comes to such things. Of course, I imagine some might say that I have this view because I don’t have a traditional romantic love interest in my life. Okay. I see your point. I can promise you that’s not the issue, but you are going to believe what you will. So, live your best life and think all the thoughts you want.
I think we need to get to a place where we can accept the reality of love and romantic relationships and not make them the end-all, be-all. I think we can get to a place where we don’t call a woman brave for going out to dinner or having a cocktail whilst reading a good book or people watching…BY HERSELF. I think we don’t have to seek out reasons why people don’t want to search for a missing piece. I think we can just say: to each their own.
Really.
I will forever sit and watch holiday movies with mom. I will relish when the handsome city slicker needs to invest in a good pair of snow boots and then, upon putting on said boots (in lieu of his shiny black wing tipped work shoes), decides the main factory in town is worth saving, along with everyone, such as the beautiful woman who runs HR. My heart will fill with joy when a Christmas movie director convinces a Grinch-like network executive to keep making holiday movies despite the desire to phase them out to increase profits. I will love every minute filled with sappy, fantastical, goodness. I will.
And I will still hope that once in a blue moon, they land on a women/man/they who decides that they’ll keep dating the big shot lawyer that came home to visit family for Hanukkah, but knows if it doesn’t work out, they have their friends and family, and snacks, and work, and hobbies and a good vibrator/personal sex toy.
Right? Right.
Happy December y’all.
X
L.
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