“Sorry, nobody down here but the FBI’s most unwanted,” a young David Duchovny snarls as the audience first meets him. Tucked away in the basement of the FBI, he sits and sulks. Behind him there is a poster with a photo of a blurry UFO sighting and the phrase “I WANT TO BELIEVE.”
It’s clear right away he is the black sheep of the bureau, but that’s exactly what drew me in.
I was 15 when I started watching “The X-Files.” At first, I wasn’t sold on the show.
As uncool as it sounds admitting it, at the time, I found the show’s focus boring. Government conspiracy theories, alien life and the unexplained didn’t interest me. It was a certain someone on the show, rather, that kept me watching.
That someone was none other than Fox Mulder.
Nicknamed “Spooky Mulder” by coworkers, he’s the outcast at the FBI. Not only is he the head of the X-Files unit, where he solves all things unexplained, but he has a catalog of each case memorized.
He could talk for hours about witchcraft and black magic and could explain the different histories of each modern-day cult. Love a good conspiracy? Great, he knows every single one.
There is never a dull moment when talking to Mulder.
Never do you find yourself resorting to the radio when you’ve run out of things to say on the long drive back to Virginia. It’s never the same story you’ve heard him tell so many times you can quote it perfectly. With him, conversation never drags. In fact, there is rarely room for silence.
It’s so easy to fall for him. Besides his brain, Mulder’s got his looks working for him too.
He’s the embodiment of tall, dark and handsome. A charming smile and blue eyes glisten when he knows he’s right about a case. The way he dresses, while it may be a uniform, makes business-casual seem effortless.
Like I said, it’s easy to fall for him. I certainly have — can you tell? He’s the perfect man. The dream guy.
The only problem is, he doesn’t exist.
All the time I spent soaking up each episode, I found myself falling more in love with the idea of this handsome, brilliant being. Sure, I knew Mulder wasn’t real, but there had to be someone out there like him for me, right?
But where is he?
Where’s my family-loving, paranormal-obsessed, well-dressed, witty dreamboat? Is life really just one big Tinder account where I am ghosted, harassed or unmatched?
I’m tired of this modern view of dating, so I am officially saving myself for my Spooky Mulder. E-boys who skate and steal from Goodwill be gone — my kind, loving, hardworking Mulder is out there somewhere and I can’t wait to meet him.
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