This is a concept that I see a lot in fandom, especially anime-based fandom, and I have to admit that I find it rather absurd. Admittedly this question is better than some — “most like” is much better than the fangirly “ZOMG, I’m just like So-And-So” that I see a lot of the time — but it still seems silly and pointless.

The problem is that even the best-fleshed-out characters, even the ones we get to know in great detail over the course of a long work, are still only visible to us through a narrow window. We only see a small part of who they are, often only see a small period of time in their lives, and usually only see the characteristics that come to light in the particular situation the story has placed them in — and thus they can only represent a fraction of the complexity of a real human being.

This is fine, of course. The vignette-like implication of a whole of which we’re only seeing a part is, in fact, one of the best things about a well-written character. And you can always extrapolate to fill in the gaps — which we fanfiction writers do on a daily basis. But the fact remains that characters are not real people. They’re not even close. Take the most complex character you can imagine, and I bet you can still probably sum him or her up with about ten bullet points… whereas, for a summary of the personality and character of a real, living person you could probably use ten times that much and still be lacking.

At that point it becomes a simple matter of numbers. Say I’m similar to John Doe in Series Whatever in six out of his ten (and my one hundred) particulars. When you only have ten, cutting out four is a pretty serious deviation. That’s only sixty percent of his character, and a staggeringly low six percent of mine. Even in the unlikely event that I share with him all ten of his defining characteristics, that’s still only a tenth of my personality, and I probably have seventy-five other traits that you could never imagine John exhibiting… and in that case, would you really say that I’m like him at all?

Like Emma Woodhouse, I have a tendency to recognize my own flaws somewhat guiltily and make very sincere resolutions to correct them, sometimes with only limited success.

Like Amano Ginji, I’m a creature of instinct; I tend to do what I’m good at largely because it feels right at the time, and leave others to do the analysis — or at least leave my self-analysis until afterward.

Like Heero Yuy, I’m shy; it’s taken me quite a bit of practice to be able to deal with people in a socially acceptable fashion, and I still prefer fewer (and closer) friends and less contact with people in general.

Like Ramses Emerson, I was impossible to shut up as a child, but grew progressively quieter as I got older — though you can still set me off with the right subjects.

Like Luna Lovegood, I was harassed all through school, but either didn’t notice or didn’t care a lot of the time.

Like Himura Kenshin, I sometimes forget that my way of life and what is right for me isn’t necessarily the best way of life and what is right for everyone else, and, though I try not to, I sometimes make harshly judgmental statements to that purpose.

Would I say, however, that I’m like any of these characters? No. I have something in common with each (based on my own interpretation of the characters, which is another can of worms entirely), but the closest that brings me is “I’m like So-And-So in that I such-and-such:” citing that one similar characteristic as the extent of the comparison.

I think a much better phrase to use in this context is “reminds me of,” because it implies certain shared characteristics without claiming sweeping similarity. Tom Bombadill reminds me of my dad. Sawagejou Chou sometimes reminds me of myself. This way, I can make the statement without having to qualify it, which renders the entire discussion a good deal easier and more accurate.

Anyway, enough of that.

Lately cat has been just wild to get into the guest room across the landing from my door. I don’t know why, all of a sudden, she wants in there, but I’m not letting her in. She can roll around in front of the door and meow piteously all she wants.

The thing I forgot to mention was that someone came in to dry clean her son’s costume from when he was recently Prince Eric in The Little Mermaid. There was a princely velvet getup, and a half-shredded washed-up-on-the-beach suit. How cool is that!! I neglected to ask her where he’d been performing this; I hope I’m the one there when she picks the stuff up so that I can remember to.