Why Are We Still Glamourising Emotionally Unavailable Men?

I’m a big advocate for reading; persuading people to pick up a book is a hill I would die on. Research proves that reading is good for your mental health, education and empathy development; plus, it's simply fun. However, I think there’s an insidious aspect of literary tradition which might be doing us a disservice as women. What am I talking about? The glamourisation of emotionally unavailable men.

Since the brooding Byronic hero, we’ve digested a catalogue of literary male protagonists defined by distance, hidden trauma and a reluctance to connect, who are marketed as the ultimate romantic hero. But are they? Mr Darcy (Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice) is cold and proud to the point of arrogance. Mr Rochester (Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre) is the definition of secretive; he hides a wife locked in his attic! Heathcliff (Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë) is, in fact, a cruel, angry and unreachable man.

These tropes continued into the 20th century. The idea that unavailable equals desirable was cemented, often by male writers too, and not just in the UK. Think Albert Camus’s novel The Outsider: the protagonist, Meursault’s, emotional detachment is entrenched, but as he is radically honest about his lack of conventional feelings—his indifference to his mother’s death and his girlfriend’s love—he is considered attractive and compelling. Maxim de Winter (Daphne du Maurier, Rebecca) is completely emotionally unreachable to his new, young wife because he is utterly consumed by the dark secrets and memory of his deceased first wife. What’s going on? Why can’t they just be loved and love in return? Why do we continue to think they are romantic, even when they are basically horrid?

Despite our 21st-century developed emotional intelligence, I can still find numerous examples where we seem to idolise the unavailable, perpetuating the trope that tells us inaccessible is attractive. Christian Grey (Fifty Shades of Grey, E. L. James) uses extreme control and a specialised BDSM contract to avoid genuine emotional and physical vulnerability. Nick Dunne (Gone Girl, Gillian Flynn) is emotionally checked out, deceitful and completely disengaged from his marriage long before his wife's disappearance. Connell Waldron (Normal People, Sally Rooney) is crippled by anxiety and social pressure, and so constantly fails to articulate his love or commit to Marianne despite their deep connection. And yet these men are so wanted.

Many of these ‘heroes’ are written by women. It’s natural and understandable that we were/are writing out our experiences, but somehow literary and popular culture has perpetuated the myth that this unavailability is desirable, expected and acceptable. Surely, Mr Darcy, the proud, unknowable and impenetrable, was not supposed to be held up as the ideal; Jane Austen was team communication. Yet somehow, popular culture did not absorb these books as warnings, but instead we continue to associate dark and dangerous with sexy and desirable. How is it that men with a profound lack of empathy, a flagrant disregard for the rights of others, extreme distrust or disrespect of partners, even violent behavioural patterns directed at people and animals become our heroes?

If we acknowledge that there is an enduring appeal of emotionally unavailable literary males, where does that leave the female protagonists? Well, she has no choice other than to carry the emotional load for them both. She must diligently work to second-guess what isn’t being communicated. She endures his snubs, his outbursts, his remoteness. I’m not sure I like the sound of that.

We often read that she must earn his trust, respect and love through her long-suffering; she might eventually be rewarded with reciprocal emotion and/or a fortune. Elizabeth Bennet, Jane Eyre, Ana Steele and the second Mrs de Winter all win the rich man after persevering, by being the most witty, virtuous or sexy. Goodness, are we absorbing a model that tells us that these tricky men are desirable and complex puzzles which must be solved? I’m concerned that we’re hearing that the cleverest woman in the room wins the dysfunctional man. Whoop, what a prize! The emotional needs of the female protagonist are rarely met.

There is evidence in the texts to argue that if we met these guys in real life, we’d identify an assortment of complex disorders, including—but not limited to—Antisocial Personality Disorder, Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Paranoid Personality Disorder and Intermittent Explosive Disorder. The question is, would we then identify this behaviour as red flags and insist he attend therapy or end the relationship? Or has literature taught us to note that inaccessible men hide deep pain behind a harsh exterior? Would we think we alone could fix him, as our female literary heroines do?

Personally, I don’t believe writers ought to feel responsible for causing a dysfunctional dynamic between impressive women and distant men. I believe that it is frequently written about because it reflects a dynamic that happens all too often in real life. Psychologists and therapists tell us that finding ourselves attracted to emotionally unavailable guys usually isn't bad luck; it's a subconscious attachment pattern. It occurs when the nervous system mistakes the intense anxiety and unpredictability of an unavailable partner for "sparks" or chemistry.

I was aware of all of this when I constructed Amy and Oliver in my novel Eyes on You. Oli is the ultimate in emotionally unavailable, and Amy, as a brilliantly clever but traumatised being, does view him as a challenge that she wants to conquer, a prize she wants to win. The problem for them is that weak communication leads not just to a broken heart but to a life-threatening situation. Does Amy even know Oli, or is she obsessively filling in the gaps where actual knowledge is missing?

There is a contemporary shift: modern writers’ books increasingly critique the toxic nature of chasing distant partners, moving away from rewarding poor communication towards seeing it for what it is: at best unfulfilling, at worst dangerous. Remember, readers, unknowable does not necessarily mean desirable; it might mean plonker.

Eyes on You, published by HQ HarperCollins, is out 27th August 2026. You can pre-order it now.