I love romance novels (Emily Henry and Kinsella in particular), and I’ve never met a fellow romance reader who earnestly believes the romances in those books are how actual romance plays out, nor do I believe that myself. People get so frustrated at the left for attacking everything that’s not meant to be taken seriously, and yet more and more I’m seeing the same kind of overly reactionary attacks from people on the right. Chick lit and romance novels aren’t meant to be poignant guides on how to live one’s life—they’re fluffy escapism, and they’re just meant to be fun. Why can’t people enjoy things? 🤷🏻♀️
Growing up I always thought that becoming an adult woman would mean that I would just start to enjoy these "sexy" chick lit style books. It never happened. I tried reading one a year or so ago, and I was disgusted. Why would I need to read about someone's miserable life that can only be fixed with vacation and "fabulous sex with a stranger" when I have an incredible husband and life? They miss the mark on happiness and fulfillment to the point of it being almost comical to read, if I didn't know that these authors, unfortunately, genuinely believe these things.
I love romance novels (Emily Henry and Kinsella in particular), and I’ve never met a fellow romance reader who earnestly believes the romances in those books are how actual romance plays out, nor do I believe that myself. People get so frustrated at the left for attacking everything that’s not meant to be taken seriously, and yet more and more I’m seeing the same kind of overly reactionary attacks from people on the right. Chick lit and romance novels aren’t meant to be poignant guides on how to live one’s life—they’re fluffy escapism, and they’re just meant to be fun. Why can’t people enjoy things? 🤷🏻♀️
Growing up I always thought that becoming an adult woman would mean that I would just start to enjoy these "sexy" chick lit style books. It never happened. I tried reading one a year or so ago, and I was disgusted. Why would I need to read about someone's miserable life that can only be fixed with vacation and "fabulous sex with a stranger" when I have an incredible husband and life? They miss the mark on happiness and fulfillment to the point of it being almost comical to read, if I didn't know that these authors, unfortunately, genuinely believe these things.