Everything Ryan from the O.C. (plus a load of other ‘bad boys’) taught me about love.

Men and me #7

Okay, so clearly, I have a penchant for floppy, blond hair.

You know that thing that people say - that they remember exactly where they were when something monumental happens, like the moon landings, or JFK being assassinated or Princess Di dying? Well, that’s how I feel about the first episode of the O.C.

I very much doubt that I’m alone. The theme tune to that show is basically the millennial Roman Empire.

You’re welcome.

(For those who missed this cultural phenomenon, either due to good taste or age, the O.C. ran for 92 whole episodes between 2003 to 2007 and focused on the life of Ryan Atwood, a troubled teen from a broken home who was adopted by rich people in Orange County, California. Everyone was gorgeous, even the people who weren’t meant to be).

Anyway, it’s 2003, I’m sixteen. Possibly my issues with men are already deeply entrenched and I’m a lost cause by this point. However, I don’t know that I’m a lost cause. That’s going to take another two decades to figure out. But my parents have left my sister and I in the house alone to go to the pub which means that we have free reign of the monster TV in the front room (my dad has always operated under the assumption that bigger is better when it comes to TVs. Regardless of room size. You squish in the biggest TV you can afford and be done with it. You can probably see their TV from space right now).

The theme tune starts and in comes a very, (very) broody Ryan Atwood. He had anger issues. He fought. He smoked. He wore tank tops like he invented them. And did I mention how well he did broody?

Our millennial Prince

Now this isn’t really about Ryan Atwood (though I absolutely would write reams and reams about the O.C.) it’s about bad boys and why we’re so drawn to them. And it’s something that I’ve been thinking a lot about. Now Ryan was the best kind of bad boy. He was secretly super smart and his behaviour was ultimately explainable, he’d had a shit childhood, so we got it. Underneath it all, he was actually pretty nice.

This all makes for great writing. We need characters to be complex, it helps make them interesting. But I can’t help but wonder how this translates into real life. So, I thought I’d do a little case study of the first time someone suggested that I might like the honour of giving them a blow job (yes, you read that right).

If you’re a family member or a friend of a family member please stop reading now.

Now, you will all recall that my sex education had been somewhat lacking. However, by the time Ryan was gracing our screens with all of his brooding, I had at least figured out what the key bases were meant to be. Even though, does anyone even know which base is which? I still don’t have a clue.

Anyway, I digress…Hartlepool in the early noughties wasn’t exactly awash with things teenagers could do and so every Friday night, we would congregate at, ‘the alley.’

Not THE alley, but an alley in Hartlepool which had a similar feel. No idea who Clarky is though.

Everyone knew where the alley was, down the back of a row of terraces in the centre of town. And actually, broken glass and discarded needles aside, it had a lot to offer. It was on a bus route. It had an off licence willing to sell booze to anyone who wasn’t a toddler. There was a chip shop. I am sure that my Friday nights in the alley are the reason I hate the cold now. I never fully reheated. It is also where I met Dave (real name because I’m pretty sure he’s in prison and won’t be reading this).

Dave was in my year at school, and you have to hand it to the man, he had a great set of eyelashes. Like a camel. He was also, one of many I might add, bad boys. Dave liked to fight (head butting being his signature move). He liked to flip up girls’ skirts. He terrorised teachers. Think less cute bad boy with issues, more total knob. For some reason though, we were all willing to ignore his many, many personality flaws (possibly because of the aforementioned eyelashes) and we all fancied him. We spent hours excusing his behaviour. He had a shit home life (he really did), the teachers didn’t understand him (possibly because he kept locking them in cupboards). We thought we could fix him.

Every Friday night in the alley, Dave would strut around and pick which girl he wanted to get off with, and off we’d go. When it was my turn (no real honour, I wasn’t even close to first pick) off I went to some secluded (and fucking freezing) part of the alley, pretty delighted that I was getting a snog. Unfortunately, we hadn’t even kissed when Dave had whipped out his dick, grabbed the back of my head and said, ‘you get to suck this,’ like it was some great honour he was bestowing on me.

I’m not even kidding.

Possibly, I am not as much of a lost cause as I thought because I am happy to report that I didn’t in fact, kneel amidst the needles to suck Dave’s dick. It was pretty scary getting out of there though. And I actually didn’t go back to the alley after that. I’m horrified now at the whole thing.

But the thing is, I knew he was a dick. His behaviour shouldn’t have been a surprise. But somehow, loveable bad boys make the real bad boys (the ones that try to force you to suck their dick when it’s minus 50 degrees outside) all the more palatable. It’s like when Penn Badgley from You had to post on Twitter that his character isn’t meant to be shipped (young person speak for wanting him to get with another character) with anyone. He’s a literal sociopath, serial killer and the actor is having to remind us, all that he’s not meant to be a good guy. Possibly, a lot of our favourite bad boys were sociopaths all along.

Here he is in front of the cage he kept his victims in.

Ryan from the OC might have looked great in a tank top, but he probably wasn’t ideal boyfriend material.

Now I’m not arguing for a bad boy ban, not at all. I get that it’s a trope and that’s fine. There have been some great bad boy characters (Johnny Castle, Danny Vito, Spike from Buffy, I’m looking at you).

And I did actually learn something from all this (horray, it’s about time!) I think that I’ve been willing to explain away bad behaviour a lot of the time and believe that I can ‘fix’ people. Plus there’s the worrying realisation that as a collective, we valued any attention from boys, good or bad.

Dave actually got in touch with me, about ten years later through Facebook to ask, profoundly, ‘how’s it going?’ His profile was awash with racist quotes and statements about how hard it is to be a man. Obviously, I didn’t reply.

So I guess, more than anything this is a reminder to us all that sometimes, bad boys really are just that, bad.

Thank you for reading!

If you enjoyed this and would like to read either of my books, the links are below! Or, if you’d like to share it, I’ve included the button for that (I won’t lie, this is a new button I’ve discovered and I’ve no idea what it does). Thanks again! Becs xx

My (extra) Ordinary Life

The Philosophy of Love