RAWR Means I Love You in Dinosaur

I miss the days when it was appropriate to have a celebrity crush.

Right now I would like nothing more than to change my screen saver to a classy black and white of Chris O’Dowd or to tack magazine cut-outs of Max Irons across the wall of my bedroom. Why don’t I, you ask? Because then I would be a creep.

When you’re under sixteen this is a perfectly natural pastime. Celebrities are gorgeous; they have a magnetism that draws you in and to the young and inexperienced, these enigmas are ideal. I remember in high school I had a collage with the likes of Orlando Bloom, Colin Farrell, Adrien Brody and several members of the Victoria Salsa prominently displayed beside my bed. It was the “Wall of Hotness” and it was wonderful.

When I graduated and met my first real boyfriend I took the poster down. It was a defining moment in my coming of age; a sign that I was growing up. It was also a point of no return.

Once that poster goes down, you can’t just put it back up.

If I were to go out tomorrow and buy every tween magazine featuring Andrew Garfield so I could cut up the pictures and put them on display I would be recommended for psychiatric help.

Instead I am left to obsess over the silence of my phone on a Friday night, unable to stop thinking about that still pending Friend Request on Facebook.

This is considerably less fun than staring at a picture of Jesse Eisenberg.

The beauty of celebrity crushes is that there is absolutely no chance of them calling you. You don’t have to sit by your phone, wondering if you should send that damning text and then regretting it when you do. You don’t know these men; you don’t want to know these men. It’s a harmless crush because there is zero chance of rejection.

The tendencies to idolize are still there, they’ve just been transferred to real people who can’t possibly live up to the example of rom-com romances and Mr. Darcy-esq day dreams. The world of dating is filled with self-inflicted disappointment and unrealistic expectations, leaving you missing out on a brilliant boy because he didn’t “make your foot pop”.

It’s a necessary challenge to lower your expectations without lowering your standards, and it is something I am still working on.

All the same, a poster of Rupert Grint just doesn’t compare to butterflies on a first date.

PS. Just because I can’t paper my walls with pictures doesn’t mean I can’t look. Thank you Google Image Search!