Dear Tintin,
I think I might actually be in love with you. I know it’s wrong, you being computer-animated and all, but I just can’t help myself. In my defense, the animation in your world is pretty realistic. Except for the noses, but those were mostly weird on the supporting characters. In fact you look even more ridiculously charming and handsome next to all the other funny-looking folks, like Captain Haddock with his bulbous nose and cartoonishly chubby body.
I have to thank Steven Spielberg for introducing me to you in person, because I have to admit, when I saw you drawn on paper I didn’t think of Hergé’s button-eyed little dude with the baby-like tuft of yellow hair as attractive. In fact when I first saw the trailer for your movie I scoffed, because I thought, “Tintin can’t be that realistic!” What I must have really subconsciously been thinking was “Tintin can’t be hot!” Because real talk, you are hot. I’ll confess, I spent most of the movie staring at you. I don’t know what it is. You just have such a boyish charm. I love the flush to your skin, like a white boy who’s outside having adventures a bit too often. I love your little gash of a mouth and its crooked smile. I love your suave mystery-solving trenchcoat. I love your gingery-blond hair, and I even love your signature tuft. Out here in the non-animated world, I have a thing for guys with fauxhawks. True story.
(c) 2011 Paramount Pictures
I think, though, this crush goes way beyond looks. You travel the world having adventures and fearlessly chasing mysteries like a badass. I’m not sure whether I want to be you or date you. The fact that you’re so young and innocent-looking only makes your antics more adorable. When your eyebrows furrow together and your piercing blue eyes narrow because you’re thinking about a clue, I almost swoon. And damn, you can throw a punch.
Besides, I have a thing for French-speaking guys. (Not French, because I know that you’re Belgian!) See, I get you. When you and Haddock were escaping from the ship, the friend I was sitting next to griped, “Why didn’t he grab the machine gun?!?” I knew why – because you’re just a revolver kind of guy. Now don’t get me wrong, I definitely dug your English accent, but rest assured that I’m used to following your adventures in your native tongue. I know that his name is Milou, not Snowy. I think “Rackham le Rouge” sounds more epic than “Red Rackham”. And I get why Dupont & Dupond is funnier than Thompson & Thomson. (In fact I get it more than most, since as a native English speaker who was torturously introduced to French spelling, I have a special soft spot for humor about dumb silent letters.)
Tintin, let’s keep it real here: if you existed I might even have a chance with you, because it’s very possible you’re gay. Why are there never any girlfriend subplots in any of your comic strips? Not even any sexualized girls – no femme fatales, no cute love interests, no nothing? In your adventures there’s no time for girls, and even though I spent most of “Raiders of the Lost Ark” wishing for Marion and Indy to realize they’re meant for each other, I totally respect that.
So the point is: I could be that girl. Well, boy. I could be a totally awesome sidekick/buttbuddy. Together we could forge a new hegemonic standard for the romance dynamic of an adventure-solving group of main characters.
I want to be clear, this is not lust, this is a crush. Activities I want to do with you include cuddling, solving mysteries, hugging, co-authoring newspaper articles, going on walks, flying kites, and maybe hitting up the shooting range so you could teach me some of your crack shooting skillz. Kissing is near the top of a fairly long list, but I won’t even mention anything more sexual until I get a glimpse of you shirtless. Not that I’m pulling for that, or anything. I could follow you through ten more cinematic adventures clad in your usual polo/sweater vest (no offense, but further proof that you’re gay), and my crush on you would stay strong.
I know you’re not real, but I’ll keep you alive in my heart. If you’re ever in my neighborhood, look me up – I wrote for a newspaper once; I could be useful on your adventures! Until then, stay awesome.
And if you’re sleeping with Captain Haddock, don’t tell me. Yeauch. May as well just break my heart into a million pieces like the wreck of the Unicorn.
Sincerely,
An Admirer
(c) 2011 Paramount Pictures
