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blackfrancineSo, I've been a little bored lately. And this has forced me to entertain myself--so (inspired by something negative I saw on Tumblr), I started thinking about how much I love Buffy, the character. Then, out of further boredom, I decided to make an art project or two. It truly is shocking the things that boredom will drive me to.
Please to be reading my love letter to my fictional BFF, Buffy.
Why do I love Buffy?
I love her because she’s smart, but unpretentious. I love that she never uses her intelligence to try and make others around her feel like less.
I love that she’s funny. As a rule, I love funny ladies. But my love for Buffy’s sweet, “You think I’m a dumb blond, don’t you? Well, more fool you” brand of humor transcends the love I feel for the other ladies who own my heart (ladies like Kathy Griffin and Tina Fey and Margaret Cho). Because for Buffy, her humor isn’t just an idle way to pass the time, and it isn’t just a way of coping with the way she’s constantly underestimated (though it does do those things as well). It’s a way of dealing with the knowledge that she’s alone. And like in post-modern literature, her humor is a way of alleviating the bleakness that’s all around her: The surety that she’ll die long before her time. The possibility that she may fail at her job and others will die too or the earth will be overtaken by unimaginable sinister forces. When you face possibilities—and certainties—so absurdly horrible, how can you not laugh?
I love that at her darkest moments, she uses humor to buoy herself, to laugh at the darkness in herself (“I was all dead and frugal.”) Because that’s what she’s forced to do every night—to laugh into the darkness. To make sense (even if it’s through acerbic wit and cracking wise) of the chaos of nightly demon fights. I love that after everything she’s been through, in season 7 she still teases Giles about being stuffy—because, goddammit, it’s STILL funny. In fact, it’s funnier than ever. Because she knows damn well Giles isn’t boring and British. Well, not boring, anyway.
I love that she’s a born protector. She reaches out to Willow in Welcome to the Hellmouth, maybe partially because she thinks Willow may need her protection. Or her nurturing. The way Buffy nurtures IS to protect. Maybe that’s actually what I love about Buffy’s protective instincts—it’s that she’s not protecting in the prototypical masculine way (well, to some extent she is). She’s expressing her motherly instincts through protection. She’s mama bearing just about everyone in Sunnydale. And that’s why I just don’t understand when I see comments criticizing Buffy as nurturer. I think she’s actually VERY nurturing. Just not in the way that we expect women to be. Unless they’re female grizzly bears. Then we do expect them to nurture that way. But not humans.
I love that she’s forgiving.
I love that she’s brave. Now, by this I might mean something a little bit different from the standard “Buffy is brave” statement: I don’t love her for her bravery in facing down apocalypses and legions of demons (well, of course I love her for that too, but that just isn’t my main point). I love her for seasons 4-7. I love her for becoming an adult. For looking at her values and really making choices about what is important.
I love her for being a rebel. For being a big enough rebel and being brave enough to question all the things that she believed were right when she was just a kid. I love her because she struggles with the questions like: What is love? Is it wanting to die when I kiss my special fella? Or is it something else? Something that romantic comedies and Jackie Collins novels don’t care to discuss because it’s too quiet and serious and real? Will I ever be able to fully accept the quiet love? Or will I always crave the drama? And, beyond questions of love, she asks herself how much value she should place on other people’s judgments about her femininity or intelligence or competence. Or should she just listen to her heart—to what she really believes is right? That’s what I find so brave about Buffy. The uncertainty. The willingness to stare into the darkness and laugh. And try to figure it all out.
Not that the risking life and limb weren’t brave. But it doesn’t even compare to a girl who, at 14 or 15, believed that true love and soul mates existed and that to be worthy of a man’s love she had to fit in to a certain concept of femininity—who breaks free of that type of thinking. Or—moreover—who struggles to break free of that type of thinking. Because don’t a lot of us feel that way at 15? We know from watching Sex and the City and any number of sitcoms with a teenage daughter (I’m lookin’ at you, Full House) that we shouldn’t feel that way—that if a boy doesn’t like us, then that boy is missing out—he’s failing to live up to our standards (to quote one Ms. Britta Perry). We know from the Dove soap commercials and the quarterly “Love your body” issues of Glamour that we’re not supposed to feel like we have to squeeze ourselves into someone else’s definition of beauty. We know we shouldn’t feel that way—but we DO feel that way. And so does Buffy. At 16 or 17, she knows she’s not supposed to care what type of girl Angel prefers—but she still does care. And at 20 she still cares enough about what someone thinks of her (I’ll be damned if I could say who—Riley? Xander? The world?) to chase after Riley despite his infidelity and ultimatums. She’s fighting it—fighting those pernicious images and ideas about being a woman that we all have to fight. And sometimes she loses. And sometimes she’s not even sure which side she’s supposed to be fighting on. But she tries. And I love how she tries.
And later in season 5, when Buffy turns down Ben’s offer of coffee, it feels to me like something she does because she’s watched a little too much Sex and the City. Like she isn’t self-possessed enough to feel sure that she doesn’t want to date Ben (or anyone). But she wants to try on that role—that of the self-possessed woman. This is what I love about her. She’s just feeling it out—feeling out the idea of being a HBIC. She tries it on, and ya know what? It fits. Like a fucking glove.
In season 5-7 Buffy becomes what a lot of people think of as hard. And certainly, especially in season 7, she has to steel herself. And she does come off a little more brusque. A little harder edged. But in general—apart from her Generalissimo moments of season 7--I tend to think of her in the later seasons as not hard, but as genuine. As easy. As effortless. She’s not full of contrived sayings like “that gives me the wiggins,” and she’s not wearing glitzy dolled-up styles. But she’s still Buffy. She’s like an effortless version of her high school self.
I get the feeling that lots of old-school fans dislike older Buffy because she’s less… I don’t know the word… showy, maybe? Less Buffy-speak. Less really hitting the punchline in jokes. Less eyerolling and hair tossing. But I love that. I love the later seasons, not in spite of the fact that she’s not a carefree drama-queen teenager—but because she’s not. Starting less than half way through season 5, Buffy begins to convey a sense of womanliness. Of femininity. But not what we’re used to as the concept of femininity—she transcends that. She’s elegant. Even when she’s out of control in season 6—I find her to be so honest in her confusion. And (this is probably a personal quirk), there’s very little I find to be more elegant and lovely than honesty. Especially when you’re being honest about pain and sorrow and confusion. The difficult stuff is always more beautiful to me.
And let’s talk about season 6 for just a second. Because there is no one in the entire fictional world who is braver than Buffy in season 6. Waking up day after day, trying to put on a brave face. Having to struggle through every hour—every minute—she’s awake. I don’t even have the words. THAT is bravery.
I also get the feeling from time to time that some parts of fandom dislike older Buffy not just because of her shift away from showiness and frivolity—but because of the hardness, the shell that she forms to deal with all the trauma that she’s endured. And, I guess that’s a logical reason to dislike her. But, call me illogical. Because I love her BECAUSE of the hardness. I love that shell (even though it breaks my heart that Buffy needs it). To me, it’s the badge of a survivor. It’s a sign of true strength. And the even greater sign of strength? Is when she dismantles her own shell.
In season 7, Buffy pushes just about everyone away. But, in Touched and End of Days, she starts to chip away at the barriers. She puts the pain of betrayal that she felt at being kicked out of her house behind her. She reaches out to Faith. She asks for Giles’s input on her plan. But then, standing with Spike inside the Hellmouth, she finally takes a sledgehammer to that seemingly impenetrable shell around her heart.
There’s a quote from Anaïs Nin that I love. I had it hanging on my wall from the time I was 14 until just a year or two ago. I even carried it in my wallet for a while. It goes: “And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” There, in the Hellmouth, watching Spike glow? That was the moment for her. It was the moment that Buffy knew that staying closed off, that NOT expressing her love, would hurt her more than expressing it ever could.
Now. This is a post about why I love Buffy. So, I don’t want to get confused: I don’t love Buffy because she loved Spike. I love her because she had the strength and the bravery and tenderness to express her love for him—and for everyone. For me, that expression of love is the ultimate show of strength and forgiveness and compassion. That she can open herself up after so much pain shows the depth of the well of optimism and love in Buffy. Yeah, sure, she forgives Spike—obviously. But she also forgives Life itself. She forgives the world for all it’s done to her. And she still believes in the value of love.
And that’s why I love Buffy.
ETA: I don't know why my picspams are showing up so small. I swear the original files aren't that size. Oh well.
Please to be reading my love letter to my fictional BFF, Buffy.
Why do I love Buffy?
I love her because she’s smart, but unpretentious. I love that she never uses her intelligence to try and make others around her feel like less.
I love that she’s funny. As a rule, I love funny ladies. But my love for Buffy’s sweet, “You think I’m a dumb blond, don’t you? Well, more fool you” brand of humor transcends the love I feel for the other ladies who own my heart (ladies like Kathy Griffin and Tina Fey and Margaret Cho). Because for Buffy, her humor isn’t just an idle way to pass the time, and it isn’t just a way of coping with the way she’s constantly underestimated (though it does do those things as well). It’s a way of dealing with the knowledge that she’s alone. And like in post-modern literature, her humor is a way of alleviating the bleakness that’s all around her: The surety that she’ll die long before her time. The possibility that she may fail at her job and others will die too or the earth will be overtaken by unimaginable sinister forces. When you face possibilities—and certainties—so absurdly horrible, how can you not laugh?
I love that at her darkest moments, she uses humor to buoy herself, to laugh at the darkness in herself (“I was all dead and frugal.”) Because that’s what she’s forced to do every night—to laugh into the darkness. To make sense (even if it’s through acerbic wit and cracking wise) of the chaos of nightly demon fights. I love that after everything she’s been through, in season 7 she still teases Giles about being stuffy—because, goddammit, it’s STILL funny. In fact, it’s funnier than ever. Because she knows damn well Giles isn’t boring and British. Well, not boring, anyway.
I love that she’s a born protector. She reaches out to Willow in Welcome to the Hellmouth, maybe partially because she thinks Willow may need her protection. Or her nurturing. The way Buffy nurtures IS to protect. Maybe that’s actually what I love about Buffy’s protective instincts—it’s that she’s not protecting in the prototypical masculine way (well, to some extent she is). She’s expressing her motherly instincts through protection. She’s mama bearing just about everyone in Sunnydale. And that’s why I just don’t understand when I see comments criticizing Buffy as nurturer. I think she’s actually VERY nurturing. Just not in the way that we expect women to be. Unless they’re female grizzly bears. Then we do expect them to nurture that way. But not humans.
I love that she’s forgiving.
I love that she’s brave. Now, by this I might mean something a little bit different from the standard “Buffy is brave” statement: I don’t love her for her bravery in facing down apocalypses and legions of demons (well, of course I love her for that too, but that just isn’t my main point). I love her for seasons 4-7. I love her for becoming an adult. For looking at her values and really making choices about what is important.
I love her for being a rebel. For being a big enough rebel and being brave enough to question all the things that she believed were right when she was just a kid. I love her because she struggles with the questions like: What is love? Is it wanting to die when I kiss my special fella? Or is it something else? Something that romantic comedies and Jackie Collins novels don’t care to discuss because it’s too quiet and serious and real? Will I ever be able to fully accept the quiet love? Or will I always crave the drama? And, beyond questions of love, she asks herself how much value she should place on other people’s judgments about her femininity or intelligence or competence. Or should she just listen to her heart—to what she really believes is right? That’s what I find so brave about Buffy. The uncertainty. The willingness to stare into the darkness and laugh. And try to figure it all out.
Not that the risking life and limb weren’t brave. But it doesn’t even compare to a girl who, at 14 or 15, believed that true love and soul mates existed and that to be worthy of a man’s love she had to fit in to a certain concept of femininity—who breaks free of that type of thinking. Or—moreover—who struggles to break free of that type of thinking. Because don’t a lot of us feel that way at 15? We know from watching Sex and the City and any number of sitcoms with a teenage daughter (I’m lookin’ at you, Full House) that we shouldn’t feel that way—that if a boy doesn’t like us, then that boy is missing out—he’s failing to live up to our standards (to quote one Ms. Britta Perry). We know from the Dove soap commercials and the quarterly “Love your body” issues of Glamour that we’re not supposed to feel like we have to squeeze ourselves into someone else’s definition of beauty. We know we shouldn’t feel that way—but we DO feel that way. And so does Buffy. At 16 or 17, she knows she’s not supposed to care what type of girl Angel prefers—but she still does care. And at 20 she still cares enough about what someone thinks of her (I’ll be damned if I could say who—Riley? Xander? The world?) to chase after Riley despite his infidelity and ultimatums. She’s fighting it—fighting those pernicious images and ideas about being a woman that we all have to fight. And sometimes she loses. And sometimes she’s not even sure which side she’s supposed to be fighting on. But she tries. And I love how she tries.
And later in season 5, when Buffy turns down Ben’s offer of coffee, it feels to me like something she does because she’s watched a little too much Sex and the City. Like she isn’t self-possessed enough to feel sure that she doesn’t want to date Ben (or anyone). But she wants to try on that role—that of the self-possessed woman. This is what I love about her. She’s just feeling it out—feeling out the idea of being a HBIC. She tries it on, and ya know what? It fits. Like a fucking glove.
In season 5-7 Buffy becomes what a lot of people think of as hard. And certainly, especially in season 7, she has to steel herself. And she does come off a little more brusque. A little harder edged. But in general—apart from her Generalissimo moments of season 7--I tend to think of her in the later seasons as not hard, but as genuine. As easy. As effortless. She’s not full of contrived sayings like “that gives me the wiggins,” and she’s not wearing glitzy dolled-up styles. But she’s still Buffy. She’s like an effortless version of her high school self.
I get the feeling that lots of old-school fans dislike older Buffy because she’s less… I don’t know the word… showy, maybe? Less Buffy-speak. Less really hitting the punchline in jokes. Less eyerolling and hair tossing. But I love that. I love the later seasons, not in spite of the fact that she’s not a carefree drama-queen teenager—but because she’s not. Starting less than half way through season 5, Buffy begins to convey a sense of womanliness. Of femininity. But not what we’re used to as the concept of femininity—she transcends that. She’s elegant. Even when she’s out of control in season 6—I find her to be so honest in her confusion. And (this is probably a personal quirk), there’s very little I find to be more elegant and lovely than honesty. Especially when you’re being honest about pain and sorrow and confusion. The difficult stuff is always more beautiful to me.
And let’s talk about season 6 for just a second. Because there is no one in the entire fictional world who is braver than Buffy in season 6. Waking up day after day, trying to put on a brave face. Having to struggle through every hour—every minute—she’s awake. I don’t even have the words. THAT is bravery.
I also get the feeling from time to time that some parts of fandom dislike older Buffy not just because of her shift away from showiness and frivolity—but because of the hardness, the shell that she forms to deal with all the trauma that she’s endured. And, I guess that’s a logical reason to dislike her. But, call me illogical. Because I love her BECAUSE of the hardness. I love that shell (even though it breaks my heart that Buffy needs it). To me, it’s the badge of a survivor. It’s a sign of true strength. And the even greater sign of strength? Is when she dismantles her own shell.
In season 7, Buffy pushes just about everyone away. But, in Touched and End of Days, she starts to chip away at the barriers. She puts the pain of betrayal that she felt at being kicked out of her house behind her. She reaches out to Faith. She asks for Giles’s input on her plan. But then, standing with Spike inside the Hellmouth, she finally takes a sledgehammer to that seemingly impenetrable shell around her heart.
There’s a quote from Anaïs Nin that I love. I had it hanging on my wall from the time I was 14 until just a year or two ago. I even carried it in my wallet for a while. It goes: “And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.” There, in the Hellmouth, watching Spike glow? That was the moment for her. It was the moment that Buffy knew that staying closed off, that NOT expressing her love, would hurt her more than expressing it ever could.
Now. This is a post about why I love Buffy. So, I don’t want to get confused: I don’t love Buffy because she loved Spike. I love her because she had the strength and the bravery and tenderness to express her love for him—and for everyone. For me, that expression of love is the ultimate show of strength and forgiveness and compassion. That she can open herself up after so much pain shows the depth of the well of optimism and love in Buffy. Yeah, sure, she forgives Spike—obviously. But she also forgives Life itself. She forgives the world for all it’s done to her. And she still believes in the value of love.
And that’s why I love Buffy.
ETA: I don't know why my picspams are showing up so small. I swear the original files aren't that size. Oh well.
