Morally Grey Men: Why the “I Can Fix Him” Trope Endures

I’ve seen a lot of ink spilled over variations of this question. Why do we love morally grey men? How are we still consuming the “I can fix him” trope when we know it doesn’t work in real life? What’s the perennial appeal of the bad boy? It feels like a new discussion, but it’s not. I’ve seen it happen in one form or another since I was a child.

While I could talk about some of those academic studies, what’s the fun of that. Let’s talk about what I like about bad boys and why I love writing morally grey men.

Spoiler alert: I’m not interested in fixing them.

The Sheriff of Nottingham

Have you seen Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves? If you haven’t, I highly recommend it. I loved this movie unironically as a teenager, and I’ve never outgrown it. I know every one of its faults, but Christian Slater plays Will Scarlet. How could I not want to watch that?

As I got older, though, there was another man who started getting my attention. Maybe it was the magic that was Alan Rickman. He brought a certain kind of magnetism to every dark character. Over the years, I’ve developed a deep crush on our dear Sheriff, because there is something delicious about him. Those fantasies are usually “oh no! What would I do if I were Marian and the Sheriff seduced me?”

I may write those stories up one day …

What’s the Draw Though?

Okay, so I’m hot for Sheriff. But why? Like, I’ve had my real-life attraction to bad boys. I still remember them fondly. But the Sheriff of Nottingham is beyond what any of them were. He isn’t just a bad boy and he’s far darker than being a morally grey man. No, our dear Sheriff is a true villain, and the fantasies that I have about him are very dark.

If I have a limit to what I wanted from my real life bad boys, then why am I so ga ga over this villain? Why the dark fantasies?

Well, it’s because I’m a woman.

Oh No! The Feminisms!

Hear me out. Women have to deal with a lot of bullshit in this world. We deal with it from the men around us. We deal with it from the women around us. We deal with it from society itself. If you know, you know. If you don’t, go read some Feminist literature. I’ll still be here.

Sometimes, these bad boys encapsulate the things we have to worry about from men. They’re often violent – or at least short tempered. They’re domineering and controlling. They will not take no for an answer. They’re the man that’s going to grab your arm when you try to slap him, push it behind your back, and kiss you passionately.

Yes, I had a crush on Rhett Butler too. How did you ever guess?

There’s a cruelty to these men that we have to guard ourselves against in the real world. But these men aren’t in the real world. They’re on the page or the screen.

They’re Safe

These men throw up every red flag, and in some stories, they’re resolved to be the bad choice. In so many, though, they’re the ones who win our heroines’ hearts. Often the darkness that colors them isn’t turned to the female lead, but to other characters. The morally grey man, even when he is a sexy danger to our heroine, is deadly to anyone who threatens her.

Here’s a sneak peek from Magnolia Borne to demonstrate what I mean.

Every wolf turned toward the entrance.

A young South Shore Alpha sat at a far table, arm pinned to the wood by a butter knife driven clean through his palm. Blood pooled across the polished surface, dripping to the floor.

And the one holding the knife was Liam Callahan.

He stood over the wolf, shoulders coiled, breathing controlled, expression carved from stone. It was the first time Kimber noticed him, not at his window ledge, not near his brothers, not with Alpha Callahan.

The wolves at the table had their heads bowed. Hands folded. Eyes down. Submission. No one dared look at him directly.

Liam felt like a storm. Not a loud one, a heavy one. The kind that built slowly over the delta, quiet until the cyclone dropped. Pressure rolled off him in waves, thick enough to feel against the skin. The air around that table looked denser, almost harder to breathe. Wolves closest to him hunched without being told to, spines bent, heads lowered as if the weight pressed them down.

He didn’t snarl or shout.

That quiet, lethal fury clung to the air like static before lightning. Even candles along the table flickered toward him, flames guttering as though something stole their oxygen. Across the hall, wolves shifted in their seats. Some bowed their heads. Others went still, pinned by instinct that screamed don’t move.

Liam didn’t need the Alpha chair. Everyone in the hall felt him. No one even pretended they didn’t.

A wolf talks smack about our dear Kimber, saying something unheard by her. It’s obviously suggestive of what her afternoon activities might have been – and it obviously not being with her arranged mate. And Liam Callahan doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t challenge Kimber or call her out on what these young wolves scent on her. He calls out the ones doing the talking. Kimber understands in that moment what she’s told every Omega wants to know – this is a man who will absolutely kill for her.

It makes him dangerous, but not to her. In that moment, he might be the one wolf she’s safest with.

Breaking It Down

I think what makes these bad boys endure in stories is that balance between the sexy danger and the real danger they pose to the world around our heroines. They are the ultimate fantasy. The danger they pose to us is limited only to the excitement we want. The rest of the danger is reserved for anyone who stands in their or our way. In a way, these morally grey men are a way for us to grab hold of patriarchal norms and bend them to serve us for a change.

And isn’t that just a wonderful fantasy…