ictional Men vs. Real-Life Expectations: The Case of Unreasonable Standards (From the “Trials of a Reader’s Mind” series)
Tagline: “Your honor, Mr. Darcy set us all up for failure.”
Series: Trials of a Reader’s Mind
The courtroom is unusually full today. The air smells faintly of perfume, coffee, and emotional damage.
Every seat is taken. Women with paperbacks clutched to their hearts sit on one side. Real-life men — confused, and slightly defensive sit on the other.
Today’s case: Fictional Men vs. Real-Life Expectations.
The charge? Setting unrealistic romantic standards.
Exhibit A: The Entrance of the Accused
The doors open, and Fictional Men stride in, the embodiment of poetic delusion.
Their presence enters first, their scent second, and their charm third.
Sleeves rolled. Veins flexed. Voices low enough to ruin peace of mind.
They are the men who ruin group chats, cause unrealistic daydreams, and set the bar somewhere near the heavens.
They take their seats like they own the courtroom, because honestly, they do.
Exhibit B: The Real Men Retaliate
Real-Life Men approach the stand, visibly irritated yet oddly articulate.
Their tone is logical, a defense crafted through years of losing emotional arguments.
“Your Honor, anyone can play perfect for 400 pages,” one begins, loosening his tie.
“But try doing that unscripted, 24×7, 365 days a year.
Fictional Men don’t pay bills, fix Wi-Fi, or clean dishes.
Of course, they smell good — they’re printed, not sweating.”
The audience laughs. The defense isn’t wrong.
He continues, a little louder now:
“They buy flowers, we buy groceries. They run through airports; we run late to office.
And sure, we could confess our love in the rain but the fever the next day isn’t quite as romantic.”
The courtroom chuckles, but there’s truth between the punchlines.
Exhibit C: The Reader’s Confession
A hush falls as the reader takes the stand.
“We don’t fall for perfection,” you say quietly.
“We fall for the feeling.
The way Fictional Men love one woman like she’s the only plotline that matters.
The way they listen, remember, and make ordinary moments sacred.”
You pause.
“It’s not about mansions or monologues.
Sometimes it’s just a cheek kiss, a text that says ‘thinking of you,’ or someone who notices the silence behind your smile.
That’s not fantasy — that’s effort.
And it shouldn’t feel like fiction.”
The jury nods.
Real-Life Men shift in their seats. Even Fictional Men soften a little, no longer smug but strangely proud.
Exhibit D: Fictional Men’s Defense
Mr. Darcy adjusts his cufflinks before stepping up to the mic.
His voice is calm, deliberate, and dangerously persuasive.
“Your Honor,” he begins, “we exist not to deceive but to remind.
To remind the world that chivalry isn’t cringe, that paying attention isn’t poetry, it’s respect.
We may be idealized, yes, but ideals exist to inspire.”
Another one maybe a Rhysand or a Cardan type smirks and adds:
“Cherishing women, listening, remembering, smelling good — these aren’t unrealistic expectations.
They’re the bare minimum wrapped in intention.
If we make reality look bad, perhaps reality stopped trying.”
The courtroom breaks into applause. Even the judge smiles.
Final Verdict
The gavel hits the desk with authority.
“After hearing both sides, this court declares that every book containing exaggerated romantic fantasy must carry a disclaimer of reality at the start.
However, Real-Life Men are hereby instructed to imbibe the feasible traits — listening, acknowledging, and appreciating without being asked.”
“Because love need not be cinematic to be extraordinary.”
A pause. The judge leans forward, smiling softly.
“Let fiction keep the fantasy, and let reality keep the effort.”
The courtroom erupts, part laughter, part sighs.
Fictional Men wink and exit dramatically.
Real-Life Men mutter something about rain fevers.
And the readers? They leave smiling, secretly hoping life might learn a few lessons from literature.
This post is a part of Blogchatter Half Marathon 2025