Mad, Bad & Dangerous to Know

Why Lord Byron is my self-care king

Bear necessities

“Mad, bad and dangerous to know”: this was how poet and prolific philanderer Lord Byron was described by one of his lovers. One would hope that the same is not being said behind one’s own back, by lovers past and present. But one cannot entirely be sure.

For Byron, I imagine it was apt. He probably gave the woman in question syphillis, and/or ruined her marriage, and/or also shagged her teenage daughter. Or all three.

Despite fucking his way through the 19th century, and ruining women’s lives and reputations left right and centre, he’s always been somewhat of a hero of mine. When attending Cambridge, upon finding that cats and dogs were forbidden as pets, he bought a bear instead. He knew what he wanted, and he always followed through.

Most importantly, despite his numerous affairs and slights on his character which were probably entirely well deserved, Byron still backed himself with that unshakable sense of self-believe that can only come from being the big three: pale, male and stale. AKA a white Cambridge-educated poet in the 18th century.

Pictured: me, as said bear, for Halloween during my first year of my undergrad. I forced my boyfriend at the time to dress up as Lord Byron. He really didn’t want to but was a thoroughly decent sport. I’ve cropped him out to spare him the embarrassment

Uncertainty, certainly

Byron has a self assuredness that can only be admired, because one cannot ever be entirely sure of anything, if truth be told. When my parents divorced, aged 15, although I saw it coming from a long way off, it still shook me. I couldn’t believe something I had taken as a stalwart pillar of my life - the nuclear family living under one roof together - was gone.

As I’ve grown older, I’ve begun to realise that nothing is certain. A relationship I thought would last a lifetime finished. A dream that I thought was my life’s ambition faded and drifted away. I lost good friends I thought I’d know for life. People I loved died. Transience is perhaps the only real constancy, I discovered.

Except it’s not.

Because one person was with me throughout it all. Throughout all the change, all the uncertainty, all the instability. Throughout the grief and the death and the loss. And that person was me.

Be your own boyfriend

When I was 18, there was nothing I wanted more than a boyfriend. I thought that the companionship, that kind of unwavering affection could solve my problems and make my life easier. I thought it would make me feel less alone. But the truth is, we are always alone. You can be sleeping beside someone, watching their chest rise and fall, feeling the patter of their heart and still feel lonely. A relationship is no guarantee of security. It’s no guarantee of feeling safe, or whole. That feeling is something you have to give yourself.

So, what’s the takeaway?

Divest. When it comes to dating, it’s easy to get swept up in the magic of it all. The butterflies, the dopamine hit every time they text you, the feeling of validation that comes when someone fancies you. It can be easy to be borne on the wing of the fairytale love stories of novels, films and songs. And it’s enjoyable to do so, for a time. It’s like flying. But eventually there comes a time when you have to let your feet touch back down, and get to grips with reality.

Often, I’ve observed in heterosexual dating, women have been conditioned by society, as caregivers, to think about what the man wants. What will turn them on? What will make them happy? How can I convince them that what they want is me?

The answer: you can’t. And you don’t have to. And I’m not saying that you shouldn’t think about what someone else wants, because it’s a lovely trait to find in people. But you shouldn’t do so at the expense of yourself. At the expense of what you want. As, after all, you are not living their life, but yours. And you will always be living your life. So you might as well make it one that you’ve chosen, instead of catering it to the desires of somebody else.

So, as much as I love dating, when it comes down to it, I’m gonna channel the ancient horny Romantic ghost of Byron. I can’t have a dog? Fuck it, I’m bringing a bear.

That is to say, I’m going after what I want, every time.