The Awww-topsy

You know, there are some awww-inducing things in this world… those things guaranteed to make all women go awww and melt right there in their seats like a vanilla softy on a bright April day in Delhi. And this latest life insurance TVC is an amazingly classic example of that.

Don’t get me wrong. I loved that ad. And I went awwww just about every five seconds in it. And that in a one and a half minute ad, is well, a lot of awwwws.

But what that really made me think about is why did it make me react that way? Why did I go all dreamy eyed looking at that ad? Why is it, that the thought of a chivalrous protective man is something that turned me into a gooey mess of lovey-dovey-ness?

That, when I’d like to believe I live in a growing world of feminists, when life is all about being a strong and independent woman, and scorning at anyone who dares to imply otherwise. There’s a weird pressure on all girls today. In a world where oppression is something to revolt against, girls are taught early on in life they’re equal to men, and then spend the rest of their lives making sure the world knows it.

And yet, along come the Edward Cullens and Christian Greys, who pull out a chair for their women, and tell them what to do… and BAM!, you have a world full of swooning young girls, waiting to be rescued from this planet full of un-chivalrous mere-men who might actually let you make your own decisions. As Susan from Desperate Housewives (Yes, I watch that show, do you have any clue how screwed up funny it is?!) once put it, “It’s in our genes to fall for men who rescue us.”

When four successful women in Sex and the City spend 99% of their time talking about their perfect man, maybe we really have something to think about.

Because what that really leaves us, is shit confused. Because now, when someone runs forward to help me open a rather heavy door, I find myself smiling like a silly girl, and then reminding myself that I was perfectly capable of opening it myself, even if with some trouble. And yet, when a friend drops me off home late at night, I actually turn around to check if he waited till I reached the lift safely, and feel a tinge of disappointment when I see the departing tail lights of the car instead.

So dear men, I really really feel bad for you sometimes. If even half the girls around you are anything like me, am guessing you’re dealing with a world of mixed signals and emotions that even they themselves don’t fully understand. Because you see, all we really want is the perfect man, who looks like a Greek god, behaves like an English gentleman, talks like a poet, understands us like our best girlfriends, and somehow over and above all of that, appreciates us, loves us, and tolerates us, and makes us go awwww. 

Once every five seconds, apparently.

We-ell...good luck.