Nicolas Brown-Corrada / Daily Nexus

Last weekend in Isla Vista was like a movie. And by movie I mean “‘Wuthering Heights’” (2026).

It started as most of my nights do. I was sitting by my window, silently projecting my bodice-ripper fantasies onto innocent passersby. But this weekend was different. Emerald Fennell’s adaptation of Emily Brontë’s 1847 classic “Wuthering Heights” had hit the streets.

The men of Isla Vista stood no chance.

At once, I set out to find my very own Heathcliff. Roaming Del Playa Drive, I closed my eyes and imagined the filth-lined streets of 19th-century Liverpool; then, I realized DP looks like that anyway.

Quickly, a man stood out to me. He was the spitting image of the Heathcliff I had always imagined: a tall frat guy with blue eyes, blond hair and a 2021 Cooper Kupp jersey.

I knew then that we were destined to be. I would be his Cathy and he would be my Heathcliff. In his arms I’d be safe, and my every need would be met, just like in the novel.

Now, dear readers, you might be tempted to ask: what about Heathcliff’s racial ambiguity? The lifetime of abuse he suffers as a result of the rigid British class system? The violent acts he commits as a result?

To that I say: What are you even talking about lol?? Like uhh I’m trying to get my rocks off here idrc about that weird stuff. Lowkey, I like the movie more anyway because Jacob Elordi and Margot Robbie are wayyyy hotter. Like fuck let a girl fantasize.

Anyway, back to my Heathcliff. He took me to his remote manor on the blustery English moors (the chapter house on Embarcadero). Together we shared a beautiful night of passion. I could taste the Cool Mint Zyn and stale beer on his breath and fingers. The northern mists that crept through the windows refreshed us as we unwound, and in the morning the servants (pledges) prepared us a lovely feast of ramen and burnt eggs. I had never felt so fulfilled.

There are Heathcliffs everywhere for those with eyes to see them. So, if you need to live out your gothic fantasies, go find a frat house.

Don Juan Tenorio is waiting at your window, and it’s cold.