A Manic Pixie’s Manifesto
By Sandra Gurrola
Manic Pixie Dream Girl
/’manik piksē drēm gərl/
Noun
- that bubbly, shallow cinematic creature that exists solely in the fevered imaginations of sensitive writer-directors to teach broodingly soulful young men to embrace life and its infinite mysteries and adventures.
Alternatively, a woman who, from the beginning, exists for others. Not superficially, though: at first glance she is free from society, from expectations, simply free. She doesn’t fit in, but she’s not an outcast, not really. She chooses to be an outsider. So enigmatic. She has life completely figured out at 16, a feat that the great philosophers could never quite achieve. But most importantly, she sees something special in what others don’t.
Isn’t that her whole purpose?
To see in the male protagonist what others don’t? She doesn’t need the rest of the world, but this male protagonist, often reserved and unremarkable, she decides is worth her time. Long enough to break him out of his shell, teach him that embarrassment is just in your head. Help turn him into who he was really “meant” to be, if only he could be more outgoing. She guides him there, simply by being. Being herself with him. Being what she is designed to be.
This girl, often a teenager, often shown as beyond her years, often dreamed of by men in their thirties. It’s not weird, it’s art. Isn’t that the line they use?
The excuse*
It’s about how the nerd isn’t just a nerd. Really, if he was just given a chance, they would see how cool he could be. At least she does. And after she helps him, the rest finally do. And if they don’t, he realizes he’s better off without them. He knows what it is to live, at least what of it she shows him.
But it’s not about the author, no. Can’t you separate the artist from the art? Just because he was awkward in high school and felt misunderstood doesn’t mean that his identical protagonist is a projection of the self. That the author really does love his female protagonist. She’s a character. She’s not real.
She doesn’t exist beyond that chapter of the male protagonist’s life. Why would she? It’s just a book. Maybe there are men like him that exist, but we know that women like her don’t. Not like in the story.
Right?
We know how to separate fiction from reality, right?
We can see that others are more than characters in our own story, right?
You know that there is more to me than this stage of your life, right?
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