The Problem With (Wanting) Chuck Bass

Last night, after my daily minimum of two glasses of wine, I had a thought and broadcast it on my infamous Snapchat channel. 

“I’ve been in NY for over a year now, where the fuck is my Chuck Bass”, I asked rather eloquently. 

But see, that’s what my problem is. My problem is that that’s exactly what I want. A Chuck Bass. 

Someone aloof and unavailable enough to be attractive, but someone unfalteringly obsessed with me. tumblr_ms861hnfSz1qedcm8o1_500

My ex had, at least for the longer and better part of our relationship, that Chuck-like obsessed women often crave. I’d say the old “if I said jump he’d say how high”, but the real truth was that I’d never even have to utter the word “jump” because he was in tune enough with me to know that’s what I wanted, and would already be six feet in the air before I could even open my mouth. 

But it gets stale. You don’t want to take someone to bed day after day and month after month if you know they’ll be there to cook you breakfast the next morning, (and probably bring it to you in bed with a love note). And why is that? 

Screen Shot 2016-06-29 at 1.45.36 PMBecause that’s just not the Chuck Bass complex. 

Sure, he’d bring Blair flowers or buy her her favorite champagne, but only after leaving her for months or trading her for a hotel. It’s those kind of romantic gestures, ones only prompted by consequence, or far and few between, that a girl like me truly wants. 

The desire is to have someone who would do anything in the world for you, but not in a way that’s apparent to you. Someone who believes the Earth revolves around you, but leads you to believe they are on a completely other planet themselves. 

So when a guy reaches out to me with the now-more-usual approach of first complimenting my writing, then next my looks. Or tells me that he wants to take me out for the type of date I “deserve”, I leave him on read and pine after the one guy in the past six months whose shut the door on me completely. 

Because what we want is someone to, at first, flatter us and drown us in niceties and Princess-speak, then completely retract and coil back into their own ego, only to leave us guessing completely, and vying for that attention back. 

That’s the only cycle I’ve found, as of late at least, that not only maintains my interest, but really monopolizes my thoughts completely. 

But, just as Chuck and Blair had taught us in their oh-so-fictional courtship, the components of obsession and neglection have to work simultaneously, counteracting one another to make for a “relationship” that’s just about as stable as my current mental state. 

That’s also the problem with the Princess complex… It’s not always as straightforward as desiring to be treated as one, and definitely not as straightforward as craving a Prince Charming.

And hence- some of us have cracked crowns… Symbolizing not only imperfection, but our own awareness, and moreover a complete and total lack of desire to change.  

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