I didn’t set out to write a guide to the Manic Pixie Dream Girl — hell, I didn’t even know what one was until she showed up in my life like a fever dream in fishnets, wrecked everything I believed about love, and left me sobbing to The Cure in a hotel bathtub.

Twice.

Okay, fine — three times.

She ruined me. Not just once, but on repeat, like my life was a scratched 7″ of Just Like Heaven skipping at the best part. Every time I thought I’d escaped her orbit, she came back — sadder, sexier, saying shit like “I missed your chaos” while stealing my hoodie and whatever was left of my soul. I don’t even believe in soulmates anymore — I believe in soul-theft.

But I’ll give her this: she was a blueprint. The original MPDG. The girl who could crash a wedding just to steal the centerpieces, cry about her dead rabbit in the middle of a blowjob, then convince you to run away with her to a commune in New Mexico because “the moon feels closer there.”

So I took notes. In blood, glitter, and cigarette ash. And now I’m sharing them. Because someone has to warn the next poor bastard before she roller skates into his life holding a joint and a tarot deck and says, “Don’t fall in love with me.”

Welcome to MPDG 101:
The Official Crash Course in Manic Pixie Dream Girl…ing.

Ten steps to Manic Pixie Dream Girl success.
Just add Adderall. (Just kidding.) (OK, not really.)
Learn them.
Live them.
Ruin someone else’s life with them…

Step 1: Ruin His Life… but Make It Cute.

Your job isn’t to fix him — it’s to knock over the Jenga tower he calls emotional stability, then hand him a mixtape and a lighter. Smile sweetly as he spirals. That’s foreplay, baby.

Step 2: Weaponize Whimsy.

Adopt a pet ferret named Pablo. Make earrings out of doll heads. Start sentences with “You know what I’ve always wanted to do?” and end them in misdemeanors. You’re not quirky — you’re chaos in eyeliner.

Step 3: Dress Like You Just Raided a Dead Grandma’s Closet During a Tornado.

Mix tulle with denim, polka dots with bloodstains, combat boots with a ballerina skirt. You should look like a lost Wes Anderson character who just wandered out of a methadone clinic.

Step 4: Kiss Like It’s a Joke. Fuck Like It’s a Prayer.

He’s not supposed to fall for you. But he will. And when he does, pretend not to notice while lighting his favorite hoodie on fire. That’s how you get them hooked.

Step 5: Cry Beautifully.

In diners. In parking lots. During sex. While watching a Mentos commercial. Bonus points if your mascara runs like a French film noir villain’s.

Step 6: Quote Bukowski, But Mispronounce It.

Be just smart enough to wreck him intellectually, but unfiltered enough to make him question his entire liberal arts education. Read Anaïs Nin in the bubble bath. With a cigarette.

Step 7: Disappear Randomly.

Leave behind a scarf that smells like regret and clove cigarettes. Text him “Don’t worry. I’m with the sea” and go off-grid for a week. When you return, bring a rock you found that “looks like it has something to say.”

Step 8: Be Broken, But in an Aesthetic Way.

Childhood trauma? Yes. But served in a teacup with absinthe and lemon zest. Make him think he can fix you. That’s the trap. No one fixes the MPDG. She’s an emotional Ponzi scheme in thigh-highs.

Step 9: Love Him in a Way He’ll Never Recover From.

Make him a better man. Then leave before he gets the chance to thank you. Leave behind a playlist, a vintage lighter, and a scribbled note that says, “You taught me how to stay still. I taught you how to run.”

Step 10: Exit Scene.

Vanish. Poof. No goodbye. Maybe a voicemail from a payphone in Reno. Maybe not. He’ll search your name for years. But MPDGs don’t return — they haunt.

Final Exam:

Can you ruin him, inspire him, fuck him senseless, vanish with the moon, and leave him writing songs he’ll never admit are about you?

Then congratulations, sweetheart.
You’re his manic pixie dream girl.

And just remember…

“Don’t be the girl he marries. Be the reason he can’t.”
— Phil Italiano, 3 whiskeys deep and watching Amélie with the sound off