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I’ll admit it…I love the “Twilight” series.

Just close your eyes and pretend he’s not underage.

I’m ashamed.  I’m appalled by my own behavior.  I look in the mirror every night and call myself a whore while slapping myself in the face.  I cry in the shower with a rag in my mouth to muffle my sobs.  Ok, I’m taking this a bit too far.  I really do feel a slight tinge of embarrassment, though, when I am forced to tell anyone that not only have I read “Twilight” series, but that I also eagerly await every new movie like a ‘tween girl.  I won’t go so far as to say I count down the days to the next premier on my calendar, but I think you can probably surmise that on your own.

Alright, before we get into my “Twilight” obsession, let’s backtrack about sixteen years…

I had a mother that would make you read the book before she’d let you see the movie.  This is something I adore about her now, but I absolutely despised it about her back then even though I was an avid reader.  We could never just go see a movie.  I would see a trailer for something, ask to see the movie, then have to wait however long it took me to read the book which usually meant the movie was either in the super-ghetto theater that smelled like mold and pee, or it wasn’t out anymore and I’d have to wait for it to come out on VHS.  So it went when the movie “Interview with a Vampire” came out.  I asked if we could go see it, and mom replied the way I expected her to, “That’s a film adaptation of a book, right? Let’s read it first.”  So, mom and I read the book (goddamnit) and I was HOOKED.  I then collected every book in “The Vampire Chronicles”, and, when I had completed those, moved onto “The Lives of the Mayfair Witches.”  From that point on, I had a pretty healthy obsession with vampires.

They should start a family band.

I’m the type of person that always questions what I’m really getting from something.  I question it in my career, in my relationships, in the things I allow myself to be involved in…it’s just something I’ve always done.  When I started reading the “Twilight” series, I questioned myself a lot.  Why am I reading a book that has no artistic merit?  Why am I reading something so far below my reading comprehension?  Why am I so engrossed in these characters and this story?  The conclusion I came to is simple…I’m not about to act like I’m the first one to think of it, I just don’t give myself that much credit: “Twilight” taps into some serious gender-role issues that may or may not be long forgotten.

When you’re a little girl, you probably play with dolls, pretend to be a fairy princess, pretend to be rescued by a handsome knight or prince.  These are things that a lot of little girls are taught by their mothers and the media to desire.  We start planning our perfect wedding when we’re not even in the double-digits yet and that’s goddamn terrifying.  I definitely had an upbringing that taught me to question, learn, be independent, and take care of myself from early on, but that didn’t stop me from engaging in those fairytale fantasies; it’s simply ingrained in little girls from infancy.

Mormon smut.

So, a little over a year ago I picked up a copy of “Twilight” because I will watch any and all vampire movies whether they are good or bad (see: the Underworld trilogy).  The Oatmeal has an absolutely amazing comic about why the “Twilight” series works.  It’s so dead-on, there’s not much point in me rephrasing it, but I’ll go ahead and try.  Not only does Stephenie Meyer succeed in making a main character that any person who feels insecure or inferior from time to time (read: everyone) can slip themselves into, but she also creates the perfect “knight in shining armor”.  He’s beautiful, strong, protective, and he loves your stupid and clumsy ass despite you being perfectly average.  Hook, line, and sinker.  Ka-CHING!

What worries me is not my own reaction to these films, as I am old enough to not surrender to fantasies at this point (or maybe I should say, I’m cynical enough…), but the reaction of young girls when they see this.  I’ve had this conversation with many of my friends that have read the books.  They trigger such a feeling of insecurity and dissatisfaction with your circumstance.  It’s teaching young ladies to not accept anything short of a romance with the perfect god of a man that will be obsessively in love with them forever, and, let’s be honest, that just doesn’t happen in real life.  It’s also pretty much shouting that physical beauty is a currency.  Any of the beautiful characters are described in great detail while the average (read: human) characters are barely a footnote.  Don’t get it twisted, I’m still going to buy my tickets in advance to see the next poorly acted film in the series, but I won’t feel good about myself while I’m doing it.  This is the very definition of a guilty pleasure.

What are your thoughts?