We’ve all been there. You’re curled up on the couch, deep in a Netflix binge, and you feel that inexplicable pull towards the character you know you’re supposed to hate. For me, it was Rafe Cameron in Outer Banks. By any rational measure, he’s the worst: a trust-fund kid with a violent streak, involved in everything from theft to attempted murder. And yet, scrolling through TikTok, the comment sections are flooded with a collective, “But he’s so hot,” or the ever-hopeful, “Maybe I could fix him.”
Sound familiar? Rafe is just one soldier in a growing army of fictional bad boys we can’t help but romanticize. There’s Joe Goldberg from You, the stalker-murderer whose internal monologue we find weirdly endearing. There’s Tyler Galpin from Wednesday, the Hyde-monster-in-waiting who still had fans shipping him with the titular heroine. We even sing along at the top of our lungs to Olivia Rodrigo’s “get him back!” where she nonchalantly drops the line, “I am my father’s daughter, so maybe I can fix him.” Barely pausing to consider the generational curse she’s casually invoking.
We consume these narratives with a side of popcorn, fully aware these men are walking red flags. So why is our entire generation collectively clutching its pearls over these fictional villains, whispering the same dangerous five word mantra: Maybe I can fix him?
Let’s be real: the fantasy isn’t new. It’s a trope as old as storytelling itself, but it’s hitting differently for us now. I’ll be the first to raise my hand and confess that my own blueprint for love was sketched out by a Disney princess. Not Cinderella or Aurora, but Belle. The ultimate “I Can Fix Him” pioneer. She saw a literal beast, a creature known for his terrifying temper and isolation and saw a project. Her kindness, her patience, her love, she believed, were the magic keys that would unlock the prince within. And it worked! The enchantment was broken, and she got her handsome prince as a reward for her emotional labor.
Newsflash: In real life, the beast seldom turns into a prince.
Yet, we internalize this narrative. We are fed the idea that our compassion is so powerful, our love so transformative, that we can heal a broken man. It’s a narrative that places the responsibility and the blame squarely on our shoulders. If he’s still moody, distant, or toxic, we haven’t loved him enough, haven’t found the right way to get through. It’s a recipe for exhaustion and a one-way ticket to a situationship that drains you more than your 7 a.m. lecture.
We tell ourselves, “It’s just a show,” or “I can separate fiction from reality.” And while that’s true on an intellectual level, our emotional brain is a different story. Consistently consuming stories where the brooding, morally grey guy gets a redemption arc and the girl normalizes the cycle of anticipation and drama. The constant push-and-pull of a toxic relationship releases a cocktail of brain chemicals. The “thrill of the chase” and the intermittent reinforcement of his occasional sweet moments can be more addictive than the steady, predictable comfort of a “nice guy.” It’s why we sometimes find ourselves bored in healthy relationships, secretly longing for the emotional rollercoaster we’ve been conditioned to associate with passion.
So yeah, I get it. We all kinda fall for the fantasy, even when we know better. It’s fun to watch, but maybe the trick is just not to confuse a good TV drama with a good relationship. We can like the messed-up characters without signing up for their real-life versions. Let’s just keep the “fixing” for TV, and look for people who are genuine and seeking to uplift you. No judgment here, we’re all just trying to figure it out.