Today in the Morning News Tournament of Books, presented by Field Notes  |   Zombie time! Station Eleven v. A Brief History of Seven Killings

Ads via The Deck

Crushes on Strangers

Yeah, You Know Him

Yeah, You Know Him
Credit: Allison Marchant

I wanted to dislike the actor. I was sick of his pretty mug on glossy magazines, all sad eyes and smug pout. Years ago, I had knocked back pints of beer with a film editor in New York who told scathing stories of the actor’s pretentious on-set behavior. She had nothing but praise for his pretty blonde co-star, but as for the actor, “He is a premium douche.”

And yet, I sat in the dark theater and felt a planetary pull toward him. I went all hot and melty during a scene in which he did little but stare at his love interest, a mysterious smile flickering on his lips. The movie was hypnotic, strange, but I noticed myself noticing him: The fit of his tight jeans, the arch of an eyebrow, tongue tracing over lip.

I knew this actor provoked strong feelings in people. Not long ago, an email circulated among the culture writers at work. “I really really do not like his face,” one declared. But I knew another staffer had nursed an enormous crush on him for years. She, I suspected, could explain the mystery of his charms.

“I actually have thought about this a lot,” she replied to my email. “I believe he’s the perfect romantic hero ... in need of rescuing.” As his roles toggled between romantic underdog and tragic figure, he uncorked in her an angsty teen’s longing to save him, as if only she could spy the goodness in his troubled heart.

There was something unsatisfying in trying to analyze my attraction to him, like reducing music into binary code, the throb in the groin to simple blood flow. I had every reason to dislike the actor, but I could not. He had won me over. I had been seduced. Him, he was just doing his job.


TMN Contributing Writer Sarah Hepola is the Life editor at Salon. Her work has appeared in the New York Times, Slate, Nerve, and on NPR. She lives in Texas with a sweet orange cat who is not fat, he’s just big-boned. If you just read her story about Joseph Gordon-Levitt, she’d like to point that it is fiction. More by Sarah Hepola

blog comments powered by Disqus