It goes from “He’s so funny!” to “He thinks everything is a joke.”
Or, “She’s so interesting!” to “She won’t shut up.”
Do people turn into someone we don’t like the more we date them? Or were they always that way and we just never realized? Or maybe we did realize but we thought it wouldn’t have been such a big issue? Or, unconsciously, we’re actually attracted to what disgusts us?
The crush
You meet him at a friend’s dinner. He’s someone’s plus-one. You briefly exchange some biographical basics — where you’re from, your relation to the host, and so on. You don’t really know him, but already, because of the scent of his aftershave and the lilt in his accent, you’ve reached a conclusion. Or, maybe you meet her at a conference and she asks about your thoughts on the keynote speech. You both joke about how disgusting the catering is, sit together for the remainder of the day, then rendezvous at a bar in the evening after the event.
Perhaps it’s even more superficial than that. Maybe he’s tall and wearing grey sweatpants at the airport, holding his passport with his lips while his hands are busy zipping up his backpack. Maybe she’s wearing matching sports bra and leggings at the gym and you catch her in front of the mirror, her red nails origami-ing through strands of hair as she readjusts the way it’s tied. Whatever it is — the way they squint at a book or clear their throat — you are readily convinced that this person is it and, in that moment, all other candidates disappear from the world.
For an overwhelmingly certain decision made in under ten seconds, the disappearance of our beloved stranger can bring an unexpectedly harsh bittersweetness as we watch them fade back into anonymity.
However, on the occasion we get closer to our crush, a common disappointment happens. The perfect image we had of them slowly fades, and we start to see their strengths as weaknesses: their slow, careful approach to life becomes a nuisance when you’re rushing out the door and they’re sitting on the steps taking their sweet time to tie their shoes. Their cute inability to deliver a punchline becomes irritating when they can’t properly explain what they’re upset about in a fight. It seems like every trait is a double-edged sword.
So, why are we attracted to that thing in the first place, the thing that spoils? And what should we make out of the feeling we get when what we adore turns into what we despise?
Falling in love with our imagination
There’s a phenomenon in psychology called pareidolia, which describes our ability to distinguish patterns in an assembly of random objects:
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