If you’ve never seen it, it’s typically Austen stuff: a bunch of young women in corsets go to each other’s houses and gossip about the men they want to marry. Sixteen-year-old Marianne Dashwood is a hopeless romantic, who believes absolutely in the all-consuming power of love. She snubs the devoted attentions of 35-year-old Colonel Brandon and throws her lot in with the dashing and very handsome 25-year-old John Willoughby, who sweeps her off her feet and turns out to be a proper git. He reads her poetry, cuts locks of her hair to keep, and then dramatically dumps her for someone with a lot more money.
Once Willoughby has slithered away like the proverbial snake he is, Marianne finally realises that it is Col Brandon who really loved her, and that true love is much quieter and more enduring than anything a Regency fanny rat can muster. She starts to see just how kind, devoted, and thoroughly decent Brandon is and eventually learns to love him completely. If you can manage to ignore the disturbing age gap, it’s quite a beautiful love story where the good guy wins the girls in the end and Marianne learns that her intense passions should be “regulated… checked by religion, by reason, by constant employment”.
Your date isn't a 'narcissist' - they just don't like you
Read MoreAusten first drafted Sense and Sensibility in 1790, at the height of the Romantic movement when poets were traipsing around Europe, trying to get laid and espousing the importance of emotional sensibility. The warning of the book is that our heart is not always the best judge of character, and our crotches even less so. Of course, Austen would never stoop so low as to bring crotches into it, but I will.
I should know. I have done the leg work here. I have a terrible weakness for the Willoughbys of this world. It’s rather embarrassing to admit it, given the fact I literally research this stuff for a living, but show me a flashy f**kboy with a bucketload of charm, who still lives in his mum’s basement and believes his band will make it, and I will go weak at the knees. These people are not good for me, and it is a disaster every single time. But show me a sensible man, with a good job, who is genuinely interested in my welfare, and I panic. “Urgh!! He’s so boring.” I promise you, Pamela Anderson has better taste in men than I do.
I am telling you, a big emotional reaction to another human being is not a good sign – it is certainly not love. Scientists have a word for this: “limerence”. That obsessive, knee-buckling, daydreamy state of being “in love” is actually a rollercoaster of neurochemistry with a hormonal chaser. Researchers have found alarming similarities between the brain chemistry of people with obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD) and those in the grip of limerence.
As Marianne discovered, real and abiding love is deeper, quieter, and much less tumultuous. It is the Brandons of the world who are in it for the long term. Of course, you should feel happiness and excitement around the person you are romantically interested in, but let’s get rid of the idea that Cupid will strike you down with his arrow or that a “grand passion” is to be encouraged.
Either that, or I’ll just get dumped again and cry whilst watching Sense and Sensibility for the millionth time. But if I can save one other person from such a fate, it’ll be worth it.
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