The Handsome Monster Romanticises Abuse

The Handsome Monster Romanticises Abuse

Dec 6 , 2025. By Kidist Yidnekachew ( Kidist Yidnekachew is interested in art, human nature and behaviour. She has studied psychology, journalism and communications and can be reached at (kaymina21@gmail.com) )

The "romance" I had interpreted from that tiny clip wasn't romance at all. The whole context revealed something far darker. The show revolved around a woman trying to escape her husband, a dangerous man who abused her and other women. The flirtatious scenes I thought were hints of forbidden love were moments manufactured through an amnesia plotline.

I was watching YouTube Shorts the other day, trying to convince myself it was a healthier choice than TikTok. In truth, I was just looking for another quick dopamine hit. My attention span has shrunk to the point where if a video doesn't grip me immediately, I swipe without hesitation. Long-form anything feels like a marathon I'm not trained for.

I've been trying to stay disciplined about screen time. Recently, I've focused on educational, spiritual, and financial content, things that help me grow. But learning requires energy, and eventually you hit a wall. No one can stay reflective all day. So I decided a little mindless entertainment might help reset my brain. A bit of comedy, a short romance clip, nothing deep.

Then a scene from an unfamiliar television drama appeared on my feed. It stood out instantly because of the chemistry between the actors. In that minute-long clip, it looked like a classic "we shouldn't be together, but we can't help it" tension. It felt like the sort of show I'd save for a lazy weekend.

The series had already been cancelled, so tracking down full episodes wasn't easy. But with today's internet, fan edits and commentary make it easy to piece a plot together. The show only had seven episodes, so it didn't take long to understand the whole story.

And that changed everything.

The "romance" I thought I saw in that short clip wasn't romance at all. The full context revealed a much darker storyline. The woman wasn't flirting with a forbidden lover; she was trying to escape her husband—a man who harmed her and other women. The scenes that looked romantic were part of an amnesia plot. She was falling for him again because she couldn't remember what he had done to her. The tension wasn't desire. It was danger.

Once I understood that, the whole thing felt disturbing. The writers had erased her self-protection instinct so viewers could enjoy a seductive storyline. They built chemistry between a victim and her abuser, hoping no one would question it.

This emotional confusion isn't accidental. Our brains are wired to interpret intense eye contact between two attractive people as desire, not warning. But if you strip away the filters and music, what's actually happening is a violation of trust and safety.

This problem goes beyond one show. I was reminded of other series that romanticise harmful dynamics. There was a story where a captive eventually married her captor, framed as destiny instead of trauma. Another showed a woman who later fell for a man who stood by during her assault, treated not as someone complicit, but as a future romantic lead. The audience was pushed to root for relationships that should never have been portrayed as love.

A major reason these narratives work is casting. Studios know the power of a handsome face. When the controlling or violent character is played by someone charismatic with great hair and a brooding stare, viewers soften their judgement. People start thinking he's just complicated, or misunderstood, or redeemable through love.

But if those roles were played by someone styled as an actual villain, harsh lighting, tense sound design, no glamour, you'd see the behaviour clearly: manipulation, stalking, emotional harm. Instead, soft filters and romantic soundtracks trick viewers into confusing danger with passion.

This sends a hazardous message: that devotion can transform a violent man, that suffering is part of a woman's journey, that love requires endurance instead of safety.

It doesn't matter if the character apologises repeatedly or is rewritten as a changed man. A woman should not be expected to forgive someone who harmed her. Yet many shows make forgiveness feel inevitable, as though the audience must accept it for the story to move forward. This minimises the seriousness of harm and prioritises a dramatic twist over a woman's safety.

There is nothing romantic in persistence after rejection. That isn't loyalty, it's harassment. Secrets aren't protection; they're control. A man forcing his feelings onto a woman isn't expressing passion; he's ignoring boundaries.

And because we consume content in tiny, decontextualised bursts, Shorts, Reels, TikToks, it's easy to watch a well-edited clip of a handsome man grabbing a woman's arm and think it looks intense or exciting. But context matters. Aesthetic storytelling can mask behaviour that would be alarming, even dangerous, in real life.

Love is safety. Love is respect. If a show suggests that love must involve fear, pressure, or harm, it isn't offering romance. It's dressing up abuse as desire.

PUBLISHED ON Dec 06,2025 [ VOL 26 , NO 1336]