I have a confession to make: Pride and Prejudice has completely ruined my standards for romance.
And honestly? I’m fine with it.
Jane Austen published Pride and Prejudice more than 200 years ago, and somehow Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy still have me convinced that romance should involve witty banter, unbearable amounts of yearning, personal growth, and, apparently, one extremely dramatic walk across a field.
Whether I am reading the book for the millionth time, watching Colin Firth emerge from a lake in the 1995 adaptation, or waiting for Matthew Macfadyen to come walking through the morning mist in the 2005 movie, I fall for this story every single time.
But as much as I love Mr. Darcy, I don’t think Darcy alone is what makes me love Pride and Prejudice so much.
It’s Elizabeth.
Elizabeth Bennet has the kind of personality that makes you want to root for her. She’s intelligent, witty, opinionated, stubborn, and completely willing to speak her mind. Most importantly, she isn’t willing to change herself just to make Darcy like her. And she certainly isn’t afraid to tell him when he’s wrong.
Which brings us to perhaps one of the worst first proposals in romantic history.
Darcy basically confesses that he loves Elizabeth despite all the reasons he thinks he shouldn’t, insults her family in the process, and somehow expects this strategy to end in a wedding.
Shockingly, it does not go well. Elizabeth rejects him, and I think what happens afterward is actually one of the most romantic parts of the story.
Darcy listens.
Not immediately and not without some hurt pride, but he takes what Elizabeth says seriously. He doesn’t spend the rest of the story trying to convince her that her opinion of him is wrong. Instead, he reflects on his behavior and changes it.
And he doesn’t change just to win her over.
By the time Elizabeth begins seeing another side of him, she isn’t meeting some completely different version of Mr. Darcy. She’s seeing a man who was willing to recognize his flaws and become better because someone challenged the way he saw himself.
Maybe that’s why this book has ruined my standards.
Of course, the grand romantic moments don’t exactly hurt. I love the slow burn. I love the banter. I love the fact that it takes what feels like an eternity for these two incredibly stubborn people to finally figure themselves out.
And yes, the hand flex deserves its own place in cinematic history.
But underneath all of that, what makes Elizabeth and Darcy’s relationship so good to me is that they challenge each other.
Darcy learns that loving Elizabeth means respecting the very qualities that allow her to stand up to him. Elizabeth, meanwhile, has to confront her own assumptions and recognize that she hasn’t understood him as well as she thought she did. Neither of them is perfect. They’re both proud. They’re both prejudiced. (Almost like someone should write a book about that.)
They both have to grow.
And maybe that’s a more romantic idea than any dramatic declaration of love.
It’s easy to joke that reading books like Pride and Prejudice gives us unrealistic expectations for romance. After all, modern dating doesn’t exactly come with handwritten letters, English estates, and men wandering through the mist at sunrise.
But are the important parts really that unrealistic?
Wanting someone who listens to you shouldn’t be unrealistic.
Wanting someone who respects your opinions, even when you disagree, shouldn’t be unrealistic.
Wanting someone who notices who you really are, challenges you, supports you, and is willing to grow alongside you shouldn’t be unrealistic either.
And neither should wanting a relationship where you don’t have to make yourself smaller to be loved.
So yes, I’ll happily blame Jane Austen for ruining my standards.
I want the banter. I want the respect. I want someone who can admit when they’re wrong. I want to be challenged, and I want someone who isn’t intimidated when I challenge them right back.
Maybe Pride and Prejudice didn’t ruin my standards after all. Maybe it just taught me that I want someone who listens, grows, respects me, and isn’t afraid of a woman who challenges him.
Although owning the Pemberley Estate certainly wouldn’t hurt.