This whole bullshit reminded me, however oddly, of Vicky Cristina Barcelona, in which Woody Allen pretty successfully (I think) mocks naive young women for “following their hearts” in spite of all signs that they really, really shouldn’t. As I wrote last week:

"The American girls, smart and experienced though they think they are and even might be, are reduced to fools by their attraction to the Spanish painter. They remain consumed with the question of what their dalliances mean, convinced they must mean something, even after he’s told them repeatedly that nothing means anything. This is insanity defined—holding onto faith that something is true when all evidence would mark it as false–and it’s this lust-bred insanity that’s the more precise Allen theme than the oft-cited neurosis."