When Jennifer Lopez and Ben Affleck tied the knot two years ago, nearly 20 years after they first became engaged, I was rooting for them. I’m a sucker for a good love story, and theirs read like a plot from one of the breezy paperbacks I pick up when I need an escape from reality.
I understood that there was a strong possibility the union would last only slightly longer than it takes to read a romance novel. At 53, J.Lo didn’t have the greatest track record. Affleck is her fourth husband, the result of her sixth proposal. (Her collection of engagement rings is allegedly worth millions.) Also, Hollywood marriages tend to have the lifespan of a Drosophila.
Still, when news broke earlier this week that Lopez had filed for divorce, I felt like Charlie Brown after Lucy yanks the football away. It wasn’t so much that the inevitable had happened, but that Lopez has once again failed in holding on to something she very publicly seems to covet: true, lasting love.
It wasn’t so much that the inevitable had happened, but that Lopez has once again failed in holding on to something she very publicly seems to covet.
I’m not in the habit of feeling sorry for celebrities, especially ones with great hair and perfectly toned bodies and the kind of disposable incomes that enable them to drop $20 million to make a behind-the-scenes documentary about their latest album and feature film. Also, I’m guessing that the last thing Jennifer Lopez wants right now is pity. But I can’t help it. I feel bad for her.
I saw that documentary, “The Greatest Love Story Never Told.” It came out a few weeks after Valentine’s Day this year and I found it much more watchable than the weird feature film, “This is Me…Now: A Love Story,” that inspired it. I like human interest stories, and while I’m fully aware that Lopez is an excellent actor and maybe she was acting in the documentary, the romantic in me nonetheless bought what she was selling: true love, self-love, redemptive love… all the love.
Not that there weren’t warning signs. Call me a cynic, but I’m certainly not the only one who is skeptical of over-the-top displays and proclamations of devotion. My first instinct is usually to wonder if there’s some overcompensation involved. If your love is that solid, do you need to tell everyone? Shouldn’t it be obvious? Even with J.Lo’s penchant for living private moments in public, the performative aspects of “Bennifer” gave me pause.
Also, it was impossible to ignore that Affleck didn’t seem entirely on board with turning their love story into content. He reminded me of Warren Beatty in the 1991 documentary “Truth or Dare,” in which the iconic actor observed, frustratedly and disdainfully, that Madonna, his then-lover, “doesn’t want to live off-camera, much less talk.” Thirty-three years later, the publicity-shy Beatty is happily (we hope) married to the equally publicity-shy Annette Bening. Meanwhile, Madonna spent her 66th birthday posting long Instagram albums with her 28-year-old boyfriend at the same Italian resort where Lopez apparently holed up earlier this the summer.
Could that be a harbinger of things to come? Eleven years from now, will a 66-year-old Lopez be back in Italy with her own 28-year-old boyfriend? Maybe. But that’s not the impression she’s given in interviews promoting the aforementioned documentary. Sure, she’s a glamorous Hollywood creature who exists on a rarefied plane high above the rest of us mere mortals, but at her core I believe that there’s a still part of her — the “Jenny from the Block” part, perhaps — who wants her happy ending.
Eleven years from now, will a 66-year-old Lopez be back in Italy with her own 28-year-old boyfriend? Maybe.
I can’t imagine she’s going to quit looking for it, but something has to change or we’re going to keep repeating the she’s-in-love-she’s-getting-married-it’s-over pattern ad infinitum. History has shown that’s not good for anybody. Plenty of people have been comparing Lopez and Affleck to Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton, which is natural and tempting, but also feels like an easy out — and a curse. Anonymous, pro-Affleck sources in Page Six, for what they’re worth (not much), have been quoted summing up Affleck and Lopez’s life together as a “fever dream.” That doesn’t bode well for a reconciliation.
As someone who bought my first copy of People magazine as a middle schooler 50 years ago, my fascination with the lifestyles of the rich and famous runs deep. I’d like to think I’m above falling into the pit of parasocial celebrity relationships — the potentially toxic cultural phenomenon wherein fans feel entitled to judge their stars. I’m not interested in judging — indeed what’s drawn me to the latest chapter of J.Lo’s search-for-love story is its humanity. Even someone who works so hard, is incredibly successful at what she does and looks great doing it is as human as the rest of us. It’s a lesson in reality: Nobody gets through this life without failures and frustrations.
Ideally, we learn from our mistakes so we avoid repeating them — and if anybody has the resources to obtain an education, it’s J.Lo.
I wish her well. I hope she finds that true love sooner rather than later. But in the meantime, I’ll be finding my happy endings at my local indie book store.
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