From Meredith Grey to Elizabeth Bennet to Sloane Peterson, I used to aspire to emulate my favorite fictional characters. I strived to embody Meredith’s unapologetic independence, Elizabeth’s quick wit, and Sloane’s too-cool-for-school demeanor. When making a decision—whether it be as consequential as selecting a college or as trivial as a fashion crisis—I would ask myself what these leading women would do in my situation.
While I mostly kicked the juvenile tendency of thinking of myself as the main character before I got to Grounds, I found myself pondering this past mentality last month when an old high school friend asked me, “So, do you still recommend living life like you’re a fictional character?”
My first response to my friend’s half-satirical line of inquiry was a laugh. I smiled as my favorite film frames, beloved television scenes and cherished book pages whirled around my mind like pedestrians rushing through a revolving door. Looking up to these characters provided me direction, entertainment and companionship throughout the disconcerting squall that is coming of age. But, upon reflection, I ultimately have to say no, no I would not recommend living life like a fictional character.
The problem with basing your life off movies, television shows, novels, and TikTok influencers is that these forms of entertainment all revolve around conflict. That’s why they’re entertaining, after all. To maintain the viewers’ attention, the writers ensure that characters are always facing conflict, and are usually pretty bad at resolving it. While this makes for a good watch, it makes for a pretty bad model for life.
My personal kryptonite was the main character of John Green’s widely beloved young adult novel Looking for Alaska. A perfect mixture of the manic pixie dream girl and femme fatale tropes, Alaska Young has an enigmatic mystique and an intangible air that swirl together into a personality that is addictive to readers and fellow characters alike. Her intoxicating charm was irrevocably intertwined with her substance abuse, traumatic childhood, and mental illness, making it difficult for my adolescent mind to distinguish one from the other. In this way, Alaska made depression desirable, sadness sexy, and alcoholism alluring.
From sophomore year of high school until second year of college, my desire to emulate Alaska led me to believe that the best way to cope with sadness was to wallow in it. Wandering through a misty haze of existential dread and post-breakup blues, I suffered through all of the hallmark adolescent woes. After having one too many drinks at Trin one too many nights in a row, I would go home and listen to “Freakin’ out on the Interstate” one too many times and cry a few too many tears. While my behavior may have made for perfect Alaska impersonation, it made for a pretty dismal life.
For a more timely example, take society’s current obsession with Carrie Bradshaw. Like many other girls on Grounds, I love to romanticize my nights out by dressing for Coupes like it’s an upscale New York City cocktail bar or pretending my two-dollar rail at Virg is a chilled cosmo. There’s a difference, however, between using characters like Carrie for aesthetic inspiration and using them as lifestyle inspiration.
This is not to say that Carrie Bradshaw is flawed through and through—she is refreshingly vulnerable, endearingly klutzy and all around lovable. It’s easy to see why many college girls want to embody her. However, taking Carrie as a model for your personal life is not setting yourself up for success. “Sex and the City” purposefully writes Carrie’s dating life as a stomach-dropping roller coaster, because watching a years-long healthy relationship is just plain boring. So, feel free to channel Carrie’s “main character energy” as you navigate your own life, if you so please, but just know it comes along with six seasons of heartbreak!
And it’s not only girls who are guilty of this habit. How many Comm School boys have Jordan Belfort plastered across their apartment walls, as if “The Wolf of Wall Street” is a superhero film, rather than a cautionary tale? Again, make your own choices, just know if you want to be Jordan when you grow up, there might be a jail cell waiting for you in the third act.
Even if you don’t consciously base your lifestyle on that of your favorite characters, like teenage me, I think that we underestimate the profound subconscious effect that being constantly surrounded by this conflict-driven media has on our thought processes and decision making.
Despite currently experiencing a very peaceful season in life—knock on wood—I find myself looking for, and sometimes even creating, conflict. The media I consume has taught me the world is always in crisis—whether that be as trivial as the marital conflict of those influencers I love to hate or as violent as the true crime show I just can’t stop binge watching. As a result, I am always expecting conflict in every area of my life, even when there isn’t any.
To combat this tendency towards conflict, whenever I am feeling especially dramatic I try to identify the root of my emotion. Is my best friend actually secretly pissed at me or did I just watch “Gossip Girl” last night? Is the Fitzroy waitress really flirting with my boyfriend or have I just spent a decade religiously following “The Bachelor? Am I actually going to get “whacked” walking down the Corner, or have I just seen one too many Martin Scorsese movies this week?
To be clear, I am not against any of these pieces of media. Artists tell dramatic stories, not only to keep us watching, but also because they evoke the serious emotions that make up the most important parts of life. Processing other people’s conflict—fictional or otherwise—helps us better understand each other, and ourselves, in reality. But when taking these stories at face value, or even as a model for life, the line between learning from art and co-ruminating with fictional characters is sometimes too thin to walk upon without tipping over.
By all means, go study in the McGregor Room and pretend you’re in the stone towers of Hogwarts. Picture yourself in a nineteenth-century period piece as you meander gracefully down the Lawn. Scream-sing Twist and Shout at a darty like you’re Ferris Bueller on that parade float. Romanticize your life! But, when you start to take on the problematic behavior and conflict-prone mindset of your favorite character—instead of just their fashion choices—remember to snap yourself back into reality from time to time too. Your life may not seem so dramatic after all.
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