Forget my phone, if I die, hide my Kindle. Why Women Love Book Boyfriends: Fantasy, Marriage & Desire

The Book Boyfriend Craze, the Husbands Side-Eyeing Our Kindles, and Why Fictional Men Have Us in a Chokehold

Why Are We All in Love With Men Who Don’t Exist

Ladies, we need to talk about our boyfriends.

Not our husbands.

Not the guy we dated in college who still occasionally appears in a dream for absolutely no damn reason.

I'm talking about our book boyfriends.

The tattooed one.

The billionaire one.

The emotionally unavailable one who somehow becomes emotionally available for exactly one woman.

The morally gray one who would probably be a walking red flag in real life but is apparently irresistible when he's contained safely between 400 pages.

The hockey player.

The cowboy.

The firefighter.

The brooding businessman.

The damaged man who hasn't properly communicated a feeling since approximately 2007, yet somehow knows exactly when his woman needs to be pulled close and told, I've got you.

Sir.

Where did you come from?

And more importantly, why have women everywhere suddenly decided that sleep is optional because we need to read just one more chapter about a man who does not exist?

Welcome to the age of the Book Boyfriend.

And our real husbands have questions.

First of All, We're Not Cheating on You, Brad

Relax.

Your wife isn't leaving you for a 6'4" fictional hockey player.

Mostly because he doesn't exist.

Also because he lives in Canada, has an emotionally devastating backstory and apparently only plays hockey when it doesn't interfere with the plot.

But if you've noticed your wife smiling at her Kindle lately?

Maybe don't ask.

Actually, definitely don't ask.

Because there's a decent chance she just read something that made her think:

Well. That's interesting.

And now she's looking across the couch at you while you're watching ESPN in basketball shorts and eating something directly out of the bag.

Poor timing, babe.

So What the Hell Is Happening?

Women have always read romance.

That's nothing new.

But BookTok, Kindle Unlimited, audiobooks and social media have turned romance reading into an entire culture.

Women aren't quietly hiding a paperback underneath the mattress anymore.

We're sending recommendations to the group chat.

We're rating spice levels.

We're arguing over fictional men like they're NFL draft picks.

We're buying special editions of books we've already read.

We're saying things like, “He's completely toxic, but hear me out…”

And somehow everyone immediately understands.

It's hilarious.

But I also think there's something deeper happening.

Because women aren't spending hours with these fictional men simply because they're hot.

We're spending hours with them because of how they make the women in their stories feel.

And THAT is where things get interesting.

Maybe We Want the Fuss Without the Mess

A book boyfriend requires absolutely nothing from you.

Think about that for a second.

He doesn't leave a cup three inches from the dishwasher.

He doesn't ask where something is while standing directly in front of it.

He doesn't announce that we're out of toilet paper as though he's a field reporter delivering breaking news.

He doesn't need you to schedule his dentist appointment.

He doesn't ask, “What's for dinner?” while you're simultaneously cooking dinner.

And he has never—not once—asked you what time the kids' practice starts when it has been on the shared calendar for three weeks.

There is no mental load attached to this man.

We get all the fuss without any of the mess.

We get the tension.

The flirting.

The pursuit.

The butterflies.

The grand gesture.

The protective arm around the waist.

The I noticed something was wrong before you had to tell me moment.

And then?

We close the book.

No laundry.

No bills.

No snoring.

No discussion about whose turn it is to call the plumber.

That fantasy isn't necessarily about wanting another man.

Sometimes it's about wanting a break from being responsible for everybody.

Because Book Boyfriends NOTICE THINGS

This might be the sexiest thing about them.

And I'm not even talking about the bedroom yet.

They notice.

She gets quiet?

He notices.

She walks into the room?

He notices.

She's overwhelmed?

He notices.

Someone hurt her feelings six chapters ago?

Oh, he remembers.

Meanwhile, some of us have walked into the living room with a completely different hair color and gotten:

“Did you do something to your hair?”

YES, KEVIN.

I HAVE BECOME A BRUNETTE.

Thank you for noticing.

And yes, fiction exaggerates this. Of course it does.

A fictional hero has an enormous advantage: an author literally knows what the woman is thinking.

Our husbands do not.

They cannot hear our internal monologue.

They don't get a chapter written from our point of view explaining that when we said, “I'm fine,” we were actually one misplaced backpack away from moving into a beachfront hotel alone.

That's an important distinction.

But maybe these books are still showing us something about ourselves.

Maybe women are realizing how desperately we want to feel seen.

Not helped after we finally lose our shit.

Seen before we get there.

And Then There's the Bedroom

Ohhhh, yes.

We have arrived.

Because we cannot talk about Book Boyfriend Nation and pretend women are staying awake until 2:17 in the morning because they're deeply invested in fictional communication skills.

Come on.

Some of these men apparently earned doctorates in Knowing Exactly What She Wants Without Requiring a PowerPoint Presentation.

And THAT fantasy is fascinating.

Because the appeal isn't necessarily that every woman secretly wants the exact things happening in these books.

Fantasy is fantasy.

The appeal is that the woman is often wanted without hesitation.

She's desired.

She's pursued.

Her pleasure matters.

The man is paying attention.

He isn't distracted.

He isn't rushing.

He isn't mentally composing tomorrow's grocery list.

And most importantly?

She isn't either.

For a woman who spends all day anticipating everybody else's needs, there's something incredibly sexy about imagining someone anticipating hers.

Maybe that's the real fantasy.

Not the billionaire.

Not the abs.

Not the private jet.

Not even the impressive fictional bedroom résumé.

Maybe the fantasy is:

For once, I don't have to be in charge.

That's a Pretty Big Deal for Moms

Think about how many decisions mothers make every damn day.

What are we eating?

Who needs new shoes?

Did anyone sign the permission slip?

Who has practice?

Where is the water bottle?

Did the dog get fed?

When is picture day?

Do we have milk?

Did somebody pay that bill?

Why does the school need poster board TOMORROW when apparently this project was assigned during the Obama administration?

Our brains never shut up.

And then we're supposed to climb into bed at night, flip some magical switch and instantly become seductive goddesses.

Excuse me while I move the laundry first.

Romance novels provide something reality often doesn't:

complete mental escape.

Someone else is driving the story.

Someone else is pursuing.

Someone else knows what to do.

For 300 pages, Mom doesn't have to manage shit.

No wonder we're hooked.

But What Do Our Husbands Think About All This?

This is where it gets fun.

Because some men genuinely could not care less.

Their wife is reading?

Great.

She's happy?

Fantastic.

She's suddenly giving him a certain look after finishing Chapter 32?

God bless literature.

Other husbands seem mildly suspicious.

Who is this man?

Why does he have tattoos?

Why are you smiling?

Why did you just tell your friend that “Rhys would never”?

And some men may feel genuinely insecure about it.

Which, if we're being fair, isn't completely ridiculous.

Imagine your husband spent three hours every night consuming stories about impossibly gorgeous women who understood him perfectly, wanted him constantly, laughed at every joke and never once asked him to unload the dishwasher.

You might eventually say:

“So...how's Jessica?”

That's human.

And that's why I don't think the Book Boyfriend conversation needs to become fictional men are better than real men.

They're not.

They're written to be fantasy.

A real husband has to exist outside the chapter.

He has bad days.

He gets distracted.

He has responsibilities.

He has insecurities.

He occasionally has gas.

Romance authors rarely devote Chapter 17 to the hero standing naked in the bathroom trimming his nose hair.

Reality was never going to compete on those terms.

Maybe Our Book Boyfriends Aren't Competition. Maybe They're Clues.

This is where I think things get interesting for actual relationships.

Instead of asking:

Why can't my husband be like him?

Maybe the better question is:

What am I responding to here; and wait, do I still love sex?

Is it being pursued?

Being noticed?

Being protected?

Being flirted with?

Being complimented?

Being touched more?

Having someone take charge sometimes?

Feeling like a woman instead of somebody's mom?

Having your pleasure treated as important?

Feeling wanted instead of merely needed?

Because THAT information is useful.

Maybe your fictional boyfriend isn't exposing everything wrong with your marriage.

Maybe he's exposing something you've forgotten you miss.

And maybe instead of silently comparing your husband to a fictional man who was literally created by a woman to push all the right emotional buttons...

You tell him.

Not:

“Why can't you be more like my book boyfriend?”

Please don't do that unless you're actively trying to start World War III in your kitchen.

But maybe:

“I miss when you flirt with me.”

“I love when you take charge and plan something.”

“I want you to kiss me like you actually missed me.”

“I want us to have more fun together.”

“I want to feel pursued sometimes.”

“I don't want to always have to tell you what I need.”

Now we're getting somewhere.

And Husbands, You Might Want to Read the Room

Your wife probably doesn't actually expect you to become a billionaire hockey-playing cowboy with a traumatic past, a private jet and 14 percent body fat.

That sounds exhausting anyway.

But if she's spending hours swooning over fictional men who notice, pursue, listen, flirt, protect and pay attention...

Maybe don't focus exclusively on the abs.

There might be a message buried in there.

And ladies?

We have some responsibility here too.

Our husbands aren't mind readers.

The fictional guy is.

Technically, his author is.

She knows exactly what the heroine needs because she created both of them.

Our husbands are working with considerably less information.

Sometimes we actually have to tell them.

I know.

Rude.

So Why Are We All in Love With Men Who Don't Exist?

Because they're uncomplicated.

Because they're exciting.

Because they're safe fantasies.

Because they let us escape.

Because they remind us what anticipation feels like.

Because sometimes it's nice to be wanted without simultaneously being asked where the ketchup is.

Because women who spend their entire lives taking care of everyone else occasionally want to imagine being completely taken care of.

And yes.

Sometimes we read them because the man knows his way around a bedroom.

We're grown women.

We can admit it.

But maybe that's still not the biggest fantasy.

Maybe underneath the muscles, dirty whispers, dramatic declarations and ridiculously well-timed kisses is something much simpler.

He pays attention to her.

He wants to know her.

He learns her.

He notices what makes her light up.

He makes her feel desired.

And for a few hours, the woman reading gets to borrow that feeling too.

So no, husbands.

We're probably not leaving you for our Book Boyfriends.

You're real.

They're not.

You have something they can never have:

Us.

But maybe you should ask what we're reading tonight.

You might learn something.

And depending on the chapter?

You might have a very good night.

XO, Janthina

 P.S. Don’t forget to share your favorite book boyfriends..