PRATINYA BODANAPU / OPINION EDITOR

In 2008, a 17-year-old girl fell in love with a man who had been alive since 1901. He watched her sleep without her knowledge, followed her around town and repeatedly warned her that he might kill her. Naturally, he became one of the most desirable romantic figures of an entire generation. His name was Edward Cullen; “Twilight” was only the beginning.

In the early 2000s, Hollywood was obsessed with vampires. Not the grotesque, bloodthirsty monsters of traditional horror, but attractive men with extraordinary wealth, tragic backstories and a peculiar interest in high school girls.

Stephenie Meyer’s “Twilight” saga sold more than 160 million copies worldwide, while its five film adaptations collectively earned over $3 billion at the global box office according to Deseret News. When “The Vampire Diaries” premiered in 2009, Hollywood Reporter stated that its first episode attracted 4.8 million viewers. These were cultural phenomena that helped define an era of entertainment.

Millions of girls were divided into team Edward and team Jacob, team Stefan and team Damon (Edward and Damon are obviously the right choices, but that’s beside the point). We debated who was more romantic, attractive and deserving of the heroine’s affection. Somehow, the question of why these men were pursuing high school students rarely en tered the conversation.

In fact, the vampires’ ages were never treated as a disadvantage in these stories. Edward lived for more than a century and decided Bella was the most extraordinary person he had encountered. Stefan and Damon survived generations just to become captivated by the same teenage girl.

Imagine being so interesting that a man who witnessed the invention of sliced bread, two World Wars and the rise of the internet, decides you are the most exciting thing to happen to him. Except Bella and Elena are hardly the most fascinating people alive.

They spend most of their time stressed, confused and caught between men who, despite having centuries to develop personalities, seem to have acquired nothing but emotional baggage.

There is also a peculiar pattern in these stories. In “Buffy the Vampire Slayer,” a teenage Buffy falls for Angel, a vampire more than 200 years old, while “True Blood” pairs 25 year old Sookie Stackhouse with 175 year old Bill Compton. The immortal, powerful character is almost always a man, while the person he falls in love with is a teenage girl who is, conveniently, exceptionally mature for her age.

Bella is responsible and rese rved, while Elena is compassionate and emotionally intelligent. Both characters are presented as equipped to understand men who have been alive for eons. Being mature for 17 does not make someone an appropriate romantic partner for a 117-year-old man.

Of course, this is not to suggest that we should stop watching vampire romances. The dramatic love triangles, questionable decisions and impossibly high stakes make for excellent entertainment. Fiction does not always need to model healthy relationships, and the absurdity is precisely what makes these stories enjoyable. However, the values these stories reinforce are still worth examining. Wealth, physical attractiveness and female youth are repeatedly idealized, while girls are celebrated for their purity and innocence. This shows young female viewers that a woman’s greatest achievement is to remain innocent enough to be desired by a man who can give her everything.

Still, the irony is hard to ignore: the worst qualities of these characters were often presented as their most romantic ones. Jealousy became passion, surveillance became protection and possessiveness became devotion.

The more a vampire consumed a girl’s life, the more extraordinary their relationship appeared.

There is nothing wrong with enjoying a questionable fictional relationship, but for men who had witnessed centuries of h uman history, it is remarkable that high school was still the most interesting place they could think to be.

Vampire romances became a staple of teenage pop culture. Art by Alicia Higuchi