I loved "Wuthering Heights": a true story
One may be the loneliest number.
On Friday night, I ventured to the Alamo Drafthouse with my best friend Tommy to see Emerald Fennell’s “Wuthering Heights”—a film that has garnered much chatter and discourse from the moment it was announced a few years ago—Margot Robbie stepped out at the first premier, appearing to continue her streak of method dressing thanks to her stylist Andrew Mukamal—Jacob Elordi being crowned the token horny boytoy of the hour—to now, where after seeing it (or just reading the Twitter discourse and joining the hate brigade), everyone hated it.
I did not read the book. I have not seen any other film adaptation. I’m well aware of the differences and the reasons why everyone is upset.
However, I couldn’t help but absolutely love it. It’s almost as if Miss. Fennell herself sat down and thought to herself, how could I make the ultimate Olivia Hawkins movie?
I love perverse art. I love Victorian aesthetics. I love weird romance. I love things that look great, and I love hot people. I love Charli XCX, I love movies.
The online chatter about how awful it was is kind of reminding me a bit of when people would hate on Lena Dunham over ten years ago for Girls and her other projects. Some things are not for mass consumption, and we live in an era where everything is shoved down our throats that make us feel like we should all be participating in discourse. I don’t watch Squid Games or Marvel movies or The Last of Us for a reason—I know I’m going to hate it. I don’t like science-fiction or zombies or superheros or the idea of all of those people killing each other, not even in an escapist realm like television. All of these things garnered the same amount of press, if not more than WH, but as an adult women who knows my interest, I was able to ignore it like a normal person and not a troll under the Williamsburg Bridge. I wasn’t going on Twitter to talk about how stupid I found the plotlines or how much I hated the dialect in which Chris Pratt was talking.
As a white girl from Connecticut who lives in Manhattan, works in fashion, and lives a very privileged life, weaning off of her parents’ support like a five-year-old who is still breastfeeding, Girls is my favorite show. I understand how if I grew up differently or lived a different existence, I wouldn’t be able to relate to it, find it annoying, or just hate it and think it’s all around disappointing, as Lena put it herself.
I consider myself a woman of pop culture, first and foremost. I love Sabrina Carpenter and Taylor Swift and rhode lip treatments and Brandy Melville. These are not unique opinions, they’re actually of the masses. I can’t comprehend how I could love something so much that everyone else—it seems—hated.
What I loved about it was the sheer ridiculousness. The tiny dog, the ribbons, the accents, the sexiness. The soundtrack, the casting, the vibe. A Pomeranian + Alison Oliver + a song like Dying For You = a smash success in my eyes.
I spent hours online—on Reddit, Twitter, Wikipedia—researching the original, reading the true story (really barely scratched the surface, huh?) understanding who Heathcliff and Cathy are, who they were to each other and to the world. I would be lying if I said that I thought this version really captured all of that, so if I were a lit-fanatic, I would be annoyed as well. Lucky for Emerald, Margot, and Jacob, I’m not!
From the hills of Yorkshire to Nashville I went, going to visit one of my best friends from college, ecovi, with our other bestie Eliza. Elizabeth moved there to pursue her dreams of country singing, and she is also the unofficial queen of Valentine’s Day as a February Pisces that loves pink. Each year she throws a Valentine’s Day party, and I wasn’t going to miss this year’s no matter where it was.
Upon landing on Saturday morning, we got lunch at Mama Bread, went shopping at a bunch of amazing places which names I don’t know the name of (Elizabeth please comment below), where I found these picture-perfect Prada kitten heels. Finding these on VDay felt very serendipitous—the price even more so.
We then enjoyed dinner at Sho Pizza Bar which I’m very upset is not in New York. I had a martini with a mozzarella-stuffed olive, vodka sauce pizza, and the cheesiest Caesar salad I’ve ever seen. We got drinks at Close Company and Mother’s Ruin thereafter, where every bouncer commented on my East Coast ID.
Sunday, Elizabeth was hosting a writer’s roundtable at Cross-Eyed Critters, the bar located inside of the Graduate Hotel near Vanderbilt’s campus. For those of you who don’t know such as myself before attending, a writer’s round is where local artists perform their original songs in small groups, each singing three songs total. Elizabeth sang my favorite song of hers, I’ll link it below.
There is so much undiscovered talent in Nashville, it’s kind of crazy. As Elizabeth put it, these people aren’t famous, but Benson Boone is. Make it make sense.
My new favorite singer is Tiffany Johnson, who sang right before Elizabeth. She was as if Audrey Hobert and Taylor Swift had a baby. You should stream her if that descrition resonates with you because I guarantee you’ll also love her, but it’s also very important to support small artists.
Elizabeth has a new song coming out on February 27th, which you can preview here:
Nashville was like a breath of fresh air. It was amazing to drive around in a car that my friend was driving with the windows down, especially after the weather we had to endure in New York for the past several weeks. It was also incredibly special to spend our third Valentine’s Day together as best friends, a tradition we promised to continue even when we inevitably settle down. Traditions like these are why Valentine’s Day is my favorite holiday, and I think it’s pretty wonderful that it doesn’t involve the stereotypical elements of romance.
I too, enjoyed wuthering heights and driving around Nashville. Xx
Also not embarrassed to admit that I am the target demographic for wurthering heights