A guy I know, let’s call him Mario, was seeing a guy who ghosted him after their third date. Now, Mario is no stranger to ghosting; in fact he’s never had any qualms completely ignoring anyone the second they lose his attention, myself included, so you’d think he could easily shrug it off when the tables were turned. But no.
Mario instead proceeded to “obsessively message him on all platforms” and even ride his bike around the ghost’s street to see if he could catch a glimpse, knowing he would totally flee if he actually saw the specter.
It was at this point in his retelling that I leaned forward, folded my hands and said with grave sympathy: “My dude. You just pulled a Marianne.”
Indeed, in Jane Austen's "Sense and Sensibility", Marianne Dashwood is one of the great mother figures of delusion and poor decision-making, and yet she is so relatable. Her flirtation with the dashing John Willoughby is, at first, undoubtedly reciprocated, until he suddenly takes off, answers none of her many, many letters, and Marianne epically refuses to take a hint. After all, they must have some understanding, right? No formal engagement or even verbal agreement, but surely, all that flirting, poetry reading and lock-of-hair cutting meant something, right?
Often it’s this idea of the understanding that will mess with people when they’re being ghosted. It’s a kind of grownup placeholder for when your relationship status is put into question. Because labels are for kids, right? You don’t need to define each other like that, you have an understanding. It’s also great if you’re too scared to ask the old “So, what are we?” and instead, like Mario, rely on the certainty that mutual exchange of perfectly lit soliticed dick pics carries some sort of elusive promise.
But I digress. Marianne keeps at it until she runs into Willoughby at a ball and finds out he’s engaged to some rich lady called Jane Grey, and Marianne fucking loses it. And yes, her obsession nearly kills her, but at least she begins to accept the facts and get some closure. Of course, if Willoughby had just answered one of Marianne’s many, many letters and told her “You’re awesome, but I need something else from a relationship," (money), Marianne may have opened her heart to the reliable Colonel Brandon sooner, and if Mario’s ghost had replied on one of the many, MANY platforms, Mario would probably be on to the next already.
But being ghosted and freaking out about it is not just about not taking a hint, it’s about the questions that suddenly arise, even if you didn’t even like the ghost that much to begin with. Obviously, Marianne was very much in love with Willoughby, but a lot of people who are ghosted aren’t even sure why they’re freaking out about it. They just know someone suddenly decided they weren’t good enough and are then consumed with a) wanting to know why and b) taking control of the situation by convincing the ghost they ARE good enough. And then maybe dumping the ghost once that’s done. Oh don’t look at me like you’ve never dreamt of that.
In many cases though, you’re stuck with never knowing, and you need to make peace with that, unless you want to become Donna Elvira from “Don Giovanni” and furiously stalk your dumper, wrecking any of their new attempts at seduction and never letting go of the hope that you can convert them. Wouldn’t recommend the approach, but if you do decide on it, make sure to vent your anger in style like Kiri Te Kanawa. Do include the riding crop. But I can’t recommend it, even when wearing a really awesome hat.
“But I need closure,” you scream. Well, that’s the great thing about having an active imagination and endless amounts of fiction at your disposal. The ghost refuses to give you an answer? Make one up. Choose your own ending. Want to believe your ghost is a Willoughby who actually did adore you, but had to marry for money and will regret it for the rest of his life? Go for it. Could be true. And if someone’s blocked you on all social media, they can’t prove you wrong either.
Donna Elvira: A woman of one purpose and many hats
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