When I woke up, naked and disoriented, he was dressed and crouching by the foot of the bed, lacing a shoe. ‘I’ve got to go. You know I said I was separated? Well, we’re not yet as separate as I’d like to be. It’s complicated.’ He left, making reassuring noises, telling me the room was paid for, and that I could order room service if I wanted.
I was 26, and not unused to waking up with strange people in strange places. In an attempt to get over a horrible dumping, I was behaving like a cliché. I was drinking too much, dating indiscriminately and enthusiastically and telling myself that my life was a great adventure, even though it felt like a huge disaster.
When N, one of my favourite novelists, started talking to me on Twitter, it felt as though my real adventure was finally beginning. I was dazzled, dumbfounded that my connection with him could change from fan to friend. His attention felt like fire, making everything hot and bright; I melted instantly. For the first time since school, I had a crush. After months of messaging, we met for lunch. Even then, I felt embarrassed by my feelings. He was twice my age, and famous! What could I possibly have to offer him? I expected him to tell some jokes, give me some wise, benevolent, writerly advice, and send me on my way. After a few hours, and a few drinks, I was behaving like a different kind of cliché. When he kissed me, my world turned Technicolor. When he suggested we retire to an hotel, I was powerless to resist _(_the drunkest I have ever been).
When I saw the pictures of Dominic West and Lily James, I felt a sharp jag of shame. I know how it feels to fall hard for someone you shouldn’t be with, and the overwhelming guilt you carry around with you when you realise your pleasure is going to eventually cause great pain. But the pictures made me think about how quick I was to take all the blame in a situation where I held almost none of the power.
The headlines all covered the same ground. West is married, and very famous for starring in a television programme that explores the pain and problems that are caused when someone cheats on their long-term partner. Somehow, James is seen as being more culpable, with less to lose. She’s younger, she’s single and she seems to have her pick of handsome celebrity dates, like Matt Smith and Chris Evans. Twitter users were quick to jump in and brand her a ‘homewrecker’ when the story is shrouded in mist – the reality is far from clear.
While none of us can know exactly what is happening with West, James, or Catherine Fitzgerald(West’s wife), many of us are fascinated by the situation, and there are plenty rumours surrounding the people at the centre of the story. West and Fitzgerald recently spoke together from the doorstep of their home in Wiltshire, telling assembled reporters 'Our marriage is strong and we're very much still together, and then handing out pieces of paper which bore the same words, signed by them both.
Still, it’s easy to understand why the pictures taken in Rome have generated so much tabloid attention and gossip. Collectively, there’s nothing we love more than looking at photos of a beautiful woman – unless we can look at those photos while assassinating her character and establishing our own moral superiority. Judging James is a welcome distraction from the rest of the bleak news cycle. We’d never get involved with a married person. The fact that it’s pretty much impossible to find a married person when we can’t leave our houses is beside the point.
The #metoo movement has gone a long way to address some of the starkest instances of sexism, exploitation and abuse that women have faced. However, we’re still struggling to understand the more nebulous aspects of the power imbalance. James is a successful woman in her thirties, and it’s easy to assume that she can take full responsibility for all of her choices. Yet, we know that she’s spent years working in an industry in which women are primarily valued for their beauty and youth. As women, we’re groomed by the society we live in to feel flattered and grateful for any attention from powerful older men. Implicitly, we’re told that their thoughts and opinions matter more than our own. I don’t offer that as an excuse for my own behaviour, but as a context for it. I’m a white woman who grew up with relatively high levels of wealth, comfort and privilege – and I still felt so insecure and worthless that I had an affair with someone simply because I thought their attention might help me to shore up my shaky self-esteem. We can’t keep labelling women as ‘homewreckers’ until we investigate the warped, shaky values we continue to instil in young girls. You’re nobody ‘til somebody loves you – ideally, someone older and wiser, whose power and status will not be questioned.
Ultimately, my adventure ended before it started. Slowly – too slowly – I realised that I was at the bottom of N’s list of priorities, and that to him, I’d never be anything more than a bit of fun. A convenience. He might have seemed glamorous and exciting, but he was part of a dull, repeated pattern. He was the latest in a long line of men I’d been involved with who didn’t care about me very much. Being pursued by someone I idolised was intoxicating. I couldn’t stop wondering what on earth they saw in me. Over time, it became clear that N didn’t want me because I was special but because I was vulnerable. I adored him, and most importantly, wouldn’t allow myself to expect very much from him. The experience forced me to grow up, find some agency and ultimately fall in love with someone who treated me as an equal. I really wish I hadn’t made a romantic choice that might have hurt another person. But most of all, I wish it hadn’t taken me so long to realise that no man can bestow value upon me – I had to find it inside myself.