The words "hopeless" and "romantic" are far too often paired together. Should someone be asked about their views on love, frequently the response is something along the lines of, "Oh, I'm just a hopeless romantic; I love that goopy, goofy stuff." Aside from my immediate reaction to gag, such a declaration suggests to me a self−defeating proclamation, resembling the sentiment of, "I believe in love, but I'm not too optimistic."
What causes this hopelessness? Is it heartbreak and fear of rejection? Is it a lack of appealing members of the desired sex?
Perhaps. Actually, I can fully attest to the truth of the latter proposition. Step up the game, dudes.
I maintain rational hope, though, and advise you, disillusioned Tufts dater, to do the same, if for only one reason: the magical powers of a mixtape.
Don't scoff: I'm not living in the 1980s, nor do I generally harbor delusions (aside from my long−held childhood fantasy that I am, in fact, Matilda). I believe wholeheartedly in the ability to generate love and spark interest in the form of a musical exchange first known in ancient times as the mixtape. A compilation of songs arranged in a way that demonstrates the innermost feelings of the giver, the mixtape allows us to use the voices of other, more musically inclined individuals to sing our souls. It is so simple, and so widely used even to this day, though rarely given the credit it is due.
Nothing I could ever write could rival the honesty embodied by Elliott Smith's songs or accurately describe the simple yet complicated act of falling in love quite like The Beatles could.
That cultural tendency to explain ourselves through music is sometimes impossible for those of us who can't create original music. Instead, we sample the great work of others in an attempt to show just how we feel, and throw it all together on a mixtape. I have seen a fair few fellas and females melt at the hidden messages within their significant others' musical selections. Romantic, without the goop.
But what of the evolution of the mixtape? It is easy to argue that few carry boomboxes or keep tapes to pop in their tape deck, so the original form of musical aphrodisiac has changed. Our generation witnessed the surge in burned CDs as the optimal form of media exchange. Most angst−ridden middle school students had a stack of scratched up CDs emblazoned with scrawled permanent marker proclaiming "BEST MIX EVER 4 LYFE" or "TO MY BFF — OUR SONGS LOL" as tokens of fast friendships and, better yet, budding romances.
Our tastes might have evolved from that developmental age — I admittedly no longer swoon at the sound of Good Charlotte — but the sentiments behind the CD remain. Sure, some tech−savvy Casanovas opt for flash drives or online sharing sites to demonstrate their interest, but regardless of what form the "tape" takes, the idea is there: This is me! My music is me! Like my music, and like me!
Love can spring from this honest exchange. The simplicity is enough to restore hope in the search for the perfect match, even in the hardest of hearts.
So give it a try! Load up that flash drive with some of your sexier songs and woo that special someone with some sweet crooning. Upload a mix to RapidShare and envision your sweetie falling in love with you through your musical taste. Just be sure not to include any Ruben Studdard. That kind of stuff just doesn't go over well these days, and the explanation just isn't worth your time.
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Madeline Hall is a sophomore who has not yet declared a major. She can be reached at Madeline.Hall@tufts.edu.
