Mary Volk: Love me, Leonardo DiCaprio!
By: Mary Volk, Columnist
Issue date: 11/13/08 Section: Opinion
When I was in sixth grade, I genuinely believed that I would meet and fall in love with Leonardo DiCaprio.
I believed it fully and unabashedly. I knew that I embodied the cliché of the twelve-year-old girl so completely that someday I would be ashamed, but no matter; Leonardo would understand. I was different. We would be different together.
I remember having just seen Titanic for the third time; my friends and I were nestled in a pile of blankets on the floor, and among the mess of Swedish fish and nail polish we discussed our dreams.
I felt pretty cool because I did not yet weigh 90 pounds like most of my other friends, and so I thought I was the skinny one. Nevermind that I was four foot seven and did not play soccer like everyone else; my sub-90 categorization made it likely that Leonardo would love me if he ever got the chance to sweep me off my middle-school feet.
We all talked about the actors we would marry, and we decided that girls who didn't shave their legs every day were not worthy of Leonardo, Lance Bass, Ben Affleck, or even Seth Green's affection. I remember thinking, "What if I don't meet Leonardo? Seriously. How can you want something so much and not get it? How? I'll just dieeee."
Well, I never met Leonardo. I will die, but I haven't yet, and when I do, it probably won't be because of the massive hole Leonardo leaves in my heart by his oblivious refusal to fill it. Gisele and Bar got to him first, and I no longer weigh 85 pounds. It is unlikely that we will meet, and even more depressingly, I no longer find him attractive. I do still like Titanic and sleepovers though, so I haven't changed that much.
My twelve-year-old self may have unironically listened to N'Sync's "This I Promise You" and cried at the beauty and sincerity, but she was a fairly pleasant girl nonetheless.
My fifteen-year-old stage was much more annoying; I realized that I should be listening to T.Rex and Lou Reed as loudly as possible and reading Kerouac. I hate Jack Kerouac, and I do not like William S. Burroughs either, but guess what? I read them both doggedly until I was absolutely certain. And I read them in public, in coffee shops, hoping to meet boys who weighed 85 pounds. That girl sucked.
I look back on Chuck-wearing Mary and I think, you loser. But at least my foray into good taste yielded some genuine interests, and I am still benefiting from my literary and musical exploration.
But it was no more valuable than my frame-by-frame memorization of Titanic, except for that it did give me the priceless talent for people pretending to like things. It is a studied skill, and fifteen-year-old Mary could give a tutorial.
Sonic Youth? Hahahaha. Nice try, tenth-grade Mary. Sonic Youth sucks.
To conclude: Leonardo, Dawson's Creek, the Smiths, Ray-Ban wayfarers, and a brief stint as a vegetarian have led me to my current self.
That is to say, the path to perfection is multiple viewings of Titanic followed by a backlash and the assiduous study of what 85-pound boys like in a girl followed by another backlash of purposeful lace-and-ruffle wearing.
But through it all, Leonardo: I will never let go. Never.
I believed it fully and unabashedly. I knew that I embodied the cliché of the twelve-year-old girl so completely that someday I would be ashamed, but no matter; Leonardo would understand. I was different. We would be different together.
I remember having just seen Titanic for the third time; my friends and I were nestled in a pile of blankets on the floor, and among the mess of Swedish fish and nail polish we discussed our dreams.
I felt pretty cool because I did not yet weigh 90 pounds like most of my other friends, and so I thought I was the skinny one. Nevermind that I was four foot seven and did not play soccer like everyone else; my sub-90 categorization made it likely that Leonardo would love me if he ever got the chance to sweep me off my middle-school feet.
We all talked about the actors we would marry, and we decided that girls who didn't shave their legs every day were not worthy of Leonardo, Lance Bass, Ben Affleck, or even Seth Green's affection. I remember thinking, "What if I don't meet Leonardo? Seriously. How can you want something so much and not get it? How? I'll just dieeee."
Well, I never met Leonardo. I will die, but I haven't yet, and when I do, it probably won't be because of the massive hole Leonardo leaves in my heart by his oblivious refusal to fill it. Gisele and Bar got to him first, and I no longer weigh 85 pounds. It is unlikely that we will meet, and even more depressingly, I no longer find him attractive. I do still like Titanic and sleepovers though, so I haven't changed that much.
My twelve-year-old self may have unironically listened to N'Sync's "This I Promise You" and cried at the beauty and sincerity, but she was a fairly pleasant girl nonetheless.
My fifteen-year-old stage was much more annoying; I realized that I should be listening to T.Rex and Lou Reed as loudly as possible and reading Kerouac. I hate Jack Kerouac, and I do not like William S. Burroughs either, but guess what? I read them both doggedly until I was absolutely certain. And I read them in public, in coffee shops, hoping to meet boys who weighed 85 pounds. That girl sucked.
I look back on Chuck-wearing Mary and I think, you loser. But at least my foray into good taste yielded some genuine interests, and I am still benefiting from my literary and musical exploration.
But it was no more valuable than my frame-by-frame memorization of Titanic, except for that it did give me the priceless talent for people pretending to like things. It is a studied skill, and fifteen-year-old Mary could give a tutorial.
Sonic Youth? Hahahaha. Nice try, tenth-grade Mary. Sonic Youth sucks.
To conclude: Leonardo, Dawson's Creek, the Smiths, Ray-Ban wayfarers, and a brief stint as a vegetarian have led me to my current self.
That is to say, the path to perfection is multiple viewings of Titanic followed by a backlash and the assiduous study of what 85-pound boys like in a girl followed by another backlash of purposeful lace-and-ruffle wearing.
But through it all, Leonardo: I will never let go. Never.
Viewing Comments 1 - 3 of 3
Rob Instigator
posted 11/14/08 @ 3:26 PM CST
who cares?
Slamuel "Slammy" Dunkerz
posted 11/14/08 @ 5:35 PM CST
Mr. Instigator,
In regards to your comment:
You'd be surprised.
Good day,
Slammy Dunkerz
LeAn
posted 11/14/08 @ 10:34 PM CST
Bravo! I am well past the age of 12 and I am still get sucked into that scary phase of fantasizing that I will randomly meet Leonardo and he will fall in love with me. (Continued…)
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