By Sadie Blasucci
Feminism and modern love have picked apart most Disney princes, and labeled them “problematic” by now. I’m not saying I’m ahead of my time or in any way better than you, but actually, I am. Since the young age of 6, when I obsessed over the animated classic “Beauty and the Beast,” I knew, years before you did, to ignore the prince entirely. I saw past the prince- “I had my sights set on that one. Him, he’s the one- the lucky guy I’m going to marry!” (so sorry for the lyric abuse)…But I’m talking about Gaston, you know, the bad guy in the story. He had that voice, that bod, and that way of delightfully belittling everyone around him. He didn’t really care about Belle’s feelings, per se, but he NEEDED her. Oh, he needed her so bad, he rallied an entire village into a mob to hunt and kill the one she actually loved, just so he could have her! *heart emojis*
This prepubescent attraction, and honest respect for his egg eating abilities, took a new shape as I aged into the horny, (mostly) straight girl I am today. Turns out, I’ve dated multiple men who bear a striking physical resemblance to him. I should take this moment to clarify, this trend was accidental. Also, while I’m clearing things up, please note: I’m not one of those people who worships in the House of Disney. I like Disney the way I like karaoke, because it's fun/ nostalgic. I don’t live for it like some of you freaks (no judgement). This life-altering correlation between Gaston and my love life was discovered in retrospect. One day I was looking back, admiring the hotness of some people I’ve landed (confidence CAN get you anything, ladies) and realized… “he looked like Gaston… So did he… And that one… so hot… wait, did they all kind of act like Gaston too?!”
Do you know what it’s like to realize that you’ve been sleeping with knock-off animated villains? Well, it was jarring and required going through all stages of grief. Under examination, the list was mostly Gaston personalities, the occasional Jafar, and the rare Shere Khan type. For those of you who don’t know these references, I discovered, pretty much all at once, that I was romantically attached to, almost exclusively, dickheads. Also misogynists. Albeit, light Misogynists. (A Misogynist Lite™️= not full blown “grab em by the pussy” misogynist, but more like a “does Kavanaugh deserve to lose his job though?!?” one). The kind of man to say things like: “women get their power from their hair. Never cut it.” or “I, like, respect chicks,” or “I can hear guys’ voices in the background. Why are there guys there!!?” (all real quotes)
The urge to name real names at this moment is strong. Mostly because they are exactly what you think they would be. Names like CHAD. (Sorry Chad). But this isn’t about them- It’s about me! Me and my apparent conditioning to confuse care-taking and self sacrifice, with romance. Not everyone I’ve dated sucked nor were they all lumberjack-esque, but the trend was undeniable. Where did this villain-chasing behavior come from? Did it have anything to do with extremely unstable childhood or very strict religious upbringing? Literally, we will never know… No matter where it came from, this information hit hard as an adult and felt like something I shouldn’t want, but did.
One subconscious reaction to this self discovery was seeking definitive noncommittal relationships. I think the logic was: If we didn’t actually bond, then I wouldn’t actually ruin myself trying to take care of them (spoiler: I found a way). One night, I was explaining to some hottie (probably named Bryan, or Hunter, or Blake) that I didn’t want to be serious with him and the words came out of my mouth “I don’t want that. I want a break. I need a break from putting my life on pause to absorb and take care of someone else.” I had only sort of heard what I said (#rawhonesty) when this simple, buff Bryan said to me “Well, yeah, you shouldn’t do that anyway. That probably has more to do with your past unhealthy relationships than you and I.” Ok, ouch. Also, you’ve never been more attractive?
But, Hunter actually had a point. Pausing and sacrificing my career, friendships, wellbeing, and life to kowtow to someone else’s needs was objectively unhealthy. I had thought I was being helpful and good. I had thought love felt like eagerly putting myself in emotionally and even physically dangerous situations. I was drawn to people who would let me do this, even if they didn’t initially seek to. Google will tell you this is called codependence, but I prefer to call it Street-Car-Named-Desire-Marlon-Brando-Style-Romance. The time, energy, driving, tears, support, research, driving, listening, driving, shopping, cooking, DRIVING IN LA TRAFFIC, all for people I never let care about me. Not only would none of them offer to drive to me (LOL, fuckers), my feelings never came up. We could date for weeks, I could be by their side through their real crises, and they wouldn’t know how many siblings I have, or what my friends’ names were. Here, I played accomplice since I thought they didn’t need to know me. To me, they needed someone to help them and I needed them to let me try.
After that conversation with Nate, or whatever his name was, I slowly made some changes. And like applying liquid eyeliner, I overcorrected, again and again. I’d meet someone new and attempt cold/ aloof and then with someone else I’d be inappropriately vulnerable/ open. This time period was/ is a shit show where I mostly look like a dumbidiot, thus I will glaze over it.
It is a strange feeling, trying to move on from a pattern that had been harmful but so soothing. Burrowing myself in someone’s worst qualities seemed mutually beneficial and had been my home. I’d be lying if I said I’ve never deeply missed it or these men. But over time, a million things influenced me stepping away from being less of a mom to selfish boiz and start being more of a mom to myself. Chief among these things are my impressively loving and safe and beautiful friendships (probably all codependent but, let me have this). So here I am, completely past all that and utterly repaired! Just living/laughing/loving with my soulmate and partner Shia LeBeouf, and our 3 rescue dogs, Edith, Oatmeal, and Stedman…
...Or I’m just a combination of all these past selves, checking my comforting yet destructive impulses while attempting to follow my more loving instincts. Because “there is more than this provincial life,” ya know?? None of the changes are at all comfortable or flattering, but I do feel different. If only Chad could see me now! But he won’t because I do well avoiding hot misogynists and I cut my hair, anyway, so he wouldn’t be down.
Sadie Blasucci is a writer/performer in LA (read: poor but talented), and dreams of one day affording several large Taschen books. Her solo show Forced Intimacy previews in March 2020 and consists of stories about sexuality from before, and since, leaving the Mormon Church-- because, honestly, she is tired of answering individual questions about it. Find her on Instagram @sadielane and know that she doesn't mind if you eventually mute or unfollow from overwhelm-- she gets it.