Why We (Shouldn’t) Love Christian Grey: Romanticizing Abuse

Since 50 Shades of Grey skyrocketed to popularity  — and now that the film version has been released — I’ve found myself taking part in the occasional discussion about the series with other women (many of whom are swooning fans), and when I express my utter lack of excitement and, in fact, my concern about the story’s message, the response is often something to the effect of, “What, whips and chains aren’t your thing?” Well, no, they happen not to be, but that’s not actually what I take issue with.

What I find disturbing about this story isn’t the BDSM; it’s the dynamic of the relationship between Ana and Christian.

The relationship, which we as readers and audience members are supposed to believe begins as an intense, deep, whirlwind romance between two unlikely (but magnetic) souls, is actually something else entirely. The dynamic is (or should be) a familiar one to anyone acquainted with the way abusive relationships are formed — the potential abuser is drawn to someone vulnerable, caring, inexperienced — someone who would not only be flattered, but floored that someone like him would be interested in someone like her. Then comes the grooming phase in which seemingly grand, over-the-top “romantic” gestures are actually early red-flag-raising displays of obsession and control (like Christian showing up at Ana’s work after having only met her once, breaking into her apartment, etc.). This phase also includes virtually-immediate sexual contact and statements of intense emotion early on, and as the relationship grows, it is punctuated by expressions of ever-growing jealousy, possessiveness, control, risk-taking, emotional manipulation, and abusive behavior, all “justified” by desire.

Sounds an awful lot like our “hero,” no?

So why does Ana (and why do we, as an audience) sympathize with, even lust after, this person? Because he has managed our expectations by managing Ana’s. He’s groomed us the way he’s groomed her. He is straightforward about his dysfunction early on, explaining his needs and requirements to a star-struck Ana. It’s made clear that her choice is to either accept his terms and treatment of her, or lose him. She is forewarned, and chooses to involve herself. This creates a built-in excuse for Christian, and it makes it seem almost acceptable for Ana (and for us) to expect precious little in the way of healthy, mutually-validating, kind behavior, even making otherwise-normal expectations — like Ana’s needs, wants, or complaints being heard — seem unreasonable. These altered expectations teach Ana to believe she asked for and deserves poor treatment, and cause her (and us) to marvel at, swoon over, and even feel grateful for any crumb of normalcy or respect he may pepper in here and there.

But let’s be clear: if your partner is jealous of or threatened by your friends, family, interests, and other things that warrant your time; if he wants to possess you utterly; if his own demons put you in a position of trying to fix, heal, or save him — and of compromising your own values, beliefs, and boundaries in the process — then his insecurities are fundamentally dangerous to you.

Yet, even if we recognize this (as Ana seems to do in her occasional moments of defiance), there’s another piece to the puzzle that keeps her — and us — hooked in to Christian and those like him: we see that his narcissistic tendencies and his pathological need to control, to possess, to harm, all stem from his own lack of self-worth and inability to see himself as lovable; he’s damaged. We can see that his behavior is rooted in his own pain, leading us to the misguided belief that if we can just build him back up, if we can just save him, then he’d love himself and, in turn, love us better. As Ana says in the book:

He doesn’t even love himself. I recall his self-loathing…he feels undeserving of love. Why does he feel like that? How can he feel like that?

It can be intoxicating to be made to feel like a person’s only source of love, of salvation, of happiness — to believe you are the only one who sees the immense and complex beauty within him. And when those who love you express concern about your relationship and fail to understand your impassioned belief in your partner, those feelings of I’m the only one who understands him often only take deeper, stronger hold. After all, you’ve been allowed glimpses of his goodness, of his potential for growth and healing, of the light that occasionally pierces through his darkness. You cling to those redeemable moments and qualities as proof that with enough nurturing, loving, and coaxing, that light might eventually overtake the darkness; you grasp at those glints of normalcy for proof that he does, in his way, love you. Which, in his way, he might; but that “way” is not healthy for either of you.

In your mission to prove to him that he’s lovable, you’ll sacrifice too much of yourself, compromise things that should never be compromised, ignore the red flags, inner alarm bells, and self-preservation instincts too many times; you’ll get lost (and possibly much worse, depending on the level of dysfunction and abuse). You could bleed yourself dry trying to prove you love this person, but his own warped self-image will prevent him from ever believing you. This is not your failing; recognizing this and getting out of the toxic relationship is a sometimes life-threatening struggle for countless people.

But get out you must.

50 Shades, however, makes the opposite case: that Christian’s behavior is excusable because of his demons; that with enough love and boundary bending and sacrifice, you can save this type of person — because Ana does. But in a book series that’s supposed to be a fantasy, that is the most “fantastic,” unlikely part about it: the outcome. She suffers, but for a winnable cause. This is not how it works. There are virtually only two ways out of an insidiously abusive relationship like this one, and a happy ending in which the abuser has a miraculous change of character isn’t one of them. You don’t have to take my word for it. Take a peek at articles about this type of relationship written by professionals here, here, and here.

While some may argue this is all part of the BDSM lifestyle, I’d recommend this article about the problematic representation of the culture in 50 Shades of Grey, written by a member of the BDSM community. For those who say, “It’s fiction. It’s a fantasy. Calm down, it’s not harming anyone,” let me be clear: I have no intention of shaming anyone who enjoys this story; I simply feel that whether it’s a matter of culture reflecting art or art reflecting culture, due to its immense popularity, its message warrants some analysis and thought. Every time I hear a woman my age, a woman much older than me, or a teenage girl at the school where I teach describe the relationship between Christian and Ana as “romantic,” I worry. If we live in a society and culture in which a story like this is the standard to which we hold eroticism and romance, then I believe I should be worried; and maybe you should be, too.

Header image credit: Entertainment Weekly/Belfast Telegraph