Romantic Rewrites #2: Patiently waiting for my Bridget Jones fight scene
How the iconic scene between Hugh Grant & Colin Firth shaped my romantic ideals (& why that was somewhat unhelpful when I wanted to actually find a life partner)
This is the second piece in my Romantic Rewrites series , a series where I explore the romantic myths I grew up on, thanks to a borderline unhealthy obsession with romantic comedies and Disney. This time though, it’s a take from the thirty-something year old, married version of me, delving into the love stories I believed, vs the reality checks I collected along the way. For the whole lot please go here.
I’ve spent most of my adult life waiting for my Bridget Jones moment — and no, not the running into the snow chasing after the diary bit. I mean the restaurant scene. Colin vs Hugh. Ties flying, fists swinging, “It’s Raining Men” blasting.
A truly core childhood memory for me.
I don’t care if it’s problematic, at least I’m aware of it, right?
The music. The soaked shirts. The fists. The idea that you were worth that kind of drama. That you meant that much to not one but two men.
And I’ve got to admit: I bought into it. Big time.
That scene was burned into my brain as the gold standard of messy, romantic chaos. It wasn’t just iconic. It was aspirational.
And I think it was aspirational because it implied that you could win over a badly behaved man, because he would come back for you, and fight for you.
The very minute you started your unbothered act, he would realise what he was missing.
This belief dominated my many years of dating, and I know I’m not the only one (even if the reference wasn’t specifically this one — I appreciate, not everyone is so obsessed).
We date a guy who gives us everything, until he doesn’t.
He starts responding less. Stops initiating dates. Stops following through.
When he says he’s too busy with work, we say, “No problem! Just let me know when you’re free,” instead of clocking that the problem isn’t time — it’s that we aren’t his priority.
When we inevitably read the entire conversation out loud to friends, we’re told:
“Don’t be too keen.”
“Play it cool.”
“Let him decide to ask you for another drink.”
And so we wait.
We don’t text after a nice date, because we don’t want to seem too eager.
We don’t ask if they want to see us again, because we don’t want to seem too needy.
Everything centres around him — his timeline, his choices, his attention.
He is the prize.
He will come back.
He will fight for us.
The reality?
He usually doesn’t.
Okay sometimes they do. But more often than not, they don’t.
And it takes us years to realise the following:
If he doesn’t seem that bothered about meeting up — he probably isn’t.
If he says he’s not sure about labels — believe him.
If he’s rubbish at responding — he probably just isn’t that fussed about you.
It’s hard to hear, but I spent too many years chasing men who couldn’t be bothered. Too many years making excuses for them, and assuming that I was the problem (which to be fair, I sometimes was).
It would always start with passion and thrill and excitement, and I often confused that for love.
I continued to chase the thrill, hoping that if I just did the right thing, said the right thing, and just generally played the role of unbothered… then he would come back to me.
I once dated a guy for a few months until he told me he wasn’t really “ready for a relationship.” A classic.
I replied, “Yeah, that’s fine! I’m happy to keep it chilled.”
Then proceeded to spend the next week crying about how I wasn’t good enough to be someone’s girlfriend.
I wish I could hug that girl now.
Reader — I was practically in love with him.
Or rather, I was in love with the idea of him.
The idea that if I stuck around long enough, he’d change his mind.
That eventually, he’d realise he did want to be with me.
So I moulded myself into the “cool girl.”
Low-maintenance. Chill. Non-needy.
And guess what? Two months later, he didn’t change his mind, and he ended things.
Of course, it was him.
He also got into a new relationship about three months after we stopped dating which devastated me, but ultimately proved the point:
He was ready.
Just not for me.
That was a pill I was absolutely not ready to swallow, but I think it would’ve been more helpful if I had just accepted it.
In hindsight, I wish I’d protected my energy more.
I wish I’d taken the red flags seriously.
I wish I hadn’t held out hope for a fight scene that was never going to happen.
I wish I’d prioritised self-respect, and given energy to those who showed up for me. Like my wonderful friends and family.
Because waiting for someone to realise your worth is not romantic.
It’s draining. And you deserve more than that.
And love?
Real love doesn’t need to be chased or earned or tested.
It just shows up.
That being said, I did get a moment at the very end of my wedding night.
Picture this: the venue had massive, see-through umbrellas. It didn’t rain, so they were left untouched.
Until 11.30pm. It’s Raining Men comes on.
I start jumping up and down (I assume — I can’t actually remember the details, thanks to one too many margaritas).
The men in the room — many with ties around their heads, jackets long abandoned — start grabbing the umbrellas and heading to the dance floor.
We’re spinning, singing, jumping, soaked in sweat and joy. And I think: yes. This is it. This is my moment with this song.
No one was fighting.
I only had one man there and I was literally committing to only one man (hopefully) for the rest of my life.
There was no drama.
There was no longing.
There was no thrill.
And I think that that is the kind of quiet love I’m happy with.
Not the stories. The fantasies. The drama.
What I’ve realised is this:
We confuse intensity with intimacy.
We confuse chaos with chemistry.
We think that bad behaviour plus passion = great love.
But it doesn’t.
It equals confusion. Craving. Anxiety.
The problem isn’t that we fall for Daniel Cleavers. It’s that we’re still waiting for them to fight for us like it’s a movie. Spoiler: they don’t. They ghost. And that’s your sign to let them. We say goodbye, thank you for the funny story, and we move on.
And we find a nice, relaxing relationship that isn’t as exciting, loud and thrilling as Bridget/Daniel, but is quietly loving, and safe, and happy.
Love from
Imi 💛