Yes, It’s Really Me, Your Manic Pixie Dream Girl

I’m so glad you finally found me, for you see, I’m a free spirit. I’m an ethereal goddess. It’s so rare that I should flutter into your life like this, because I can never usually be pinned down. I do quirky things like cut my own bangs, wear different colored socks, and own a ukulele. I don’t know how to play it, but it’s beautiful to look at. Just like me, your manic pixie dream girl.

Now that I’m here, your life will start to become more exciting. And by that I mean you’re probably already brainstorming ways to fix me.

Because I am the solution to your Sad Boy Syndrome—I exist because you’re miserable and worried you might be boring (you are). You’re sensitive and uptight, which is why you’re so utterly charmed by me being a disaster. I’m here so you can feel the excitement of trying to take care of me.

You’ll be swept away by the fact that I sometimes don’t wear shoes while grocery shopping and I’ll leave love poems on people’s windshields. You’ll be intrigued (although, honestly, at first you were pretty weirded out) by how when I first meet people, I grab their faces and stare into their eyes so I can properly read their souls. I’m allowed do things like that because I’m probably, like, a solid 9.6 level of objective attractiveness.

How lucky are you to have finally found a creature as whimsical as I?

I’m entirely irresponsible, which thrills you. I ignore my bills and always pay my rent two weeks late and am just so adorably bad about remembering names and dates and times—but it’s, like, kinda cute.

I’ll disappear from your life for days at a time without warning. It’s incredibly inconsiderate, but also kinda sexy? Maybe I’ve just flown to Portland for no reason and forgot to bring my phone. Yeah, it’s weird that I would do that on a Wednesday because I’m in my mid-20s and should be at a job or something, but my boss understands. I’m independent. I’m free.

Basic social courtesy and generic human responsibilities just don’t apply to me. I’m a mystery, damn it.

I’ve been to Coachella. My diet is exclusively different kinds of seeds and goat milk. I don’t walk, I frolic. I only wear flower crowns that I’ve woven myself. I knitted this cardigan I’m wearing. I’ll only kiss you if it’s raining. I am constantly threatening to quit real life and live out of my car for a year. I wear high-waisted pants and still somehow look good? I have an excellent record collection and pretend I don’t know what downloadable music is.

I’m bubbly and silly. I’m the antithesis to your Sad Boy. I’m effortlessly creating stories for you to breathlessly tell all of your friends. Maybe you’ll write a screenplay about me one day.

And you love it. Because even though I don’t really exist, I’m exactly what you’ve been looking for.