Team Brandon: Why He’s the Real Romance Hero in Sense and Sensibility

By Sophie Lingl

Why Brandon?

Some may consider Marianne Dashwood’s and Colonel Brandon's commitment to each other in holy matrimony in Sense and Sensibility (1995) to be a rather disappointing ending. After all, she is such a passionate poet; shouldn’t her love story have been more dramatic? I say her choice was the most satisfying and sensible ending possible, for all of the Dashwood women. Colonel Brandon does not just fall in love with Marianne; he sees her. He sees her fire, her light, her youth, and never tries to smother it. Rather, he chooses to protect that sparkle, ensure it never dulls. On the other hand, his rival Willoughby, the man-child, viewed Marianne as another soon-to-be notch in the belt. He played with her feelings and held no accountability for the wreckage that lay in his wake. And let’s be honest: part of Marianne’s marriage to Brandon might have been motivated by practical reasons, too. After the death of their father, the Dashwood women were left with no security. By marrying Brandon, Marianne not only gained love but also the resources and status. In fact, his fortune may have even allowed Elinor to marry Edward Ferrars, since her association with Brandon’s legacy would have improved her social standing and perhaps even provided a dowry. Brandon’s love is not just romantic; it is enriched with support and generosity.

More Than Just Romance

To understand why Brandon shines as a romantic hero, we must consider the rigid gender roles of Jane Austen’s world that persist into our own. Romance fiction is uniquely positioned to expose gender ideology, as it often defaults to opposing the masculine and feminine (Gregson & Lois, 2020, p. 336). In the 1995 film, this is evident. After it was exposed that Edward had engaged with Lucy Steele and his precious allowance was taken, Edward, though disinherited, still has access to employment and land where he can regain his status; a path is cleared for him to make do. Elinor and the other Dashwood women have no such option. They cannot work to earn their keep because society doesn’t permit them. Even humble Edward, who has cottage core dreams, does not seem to grasp how different their realities are. This double standard drifts through the story. I’ll recall the theatrical sequence when Willoughby wistfully rescues Marianne after she tumbles down the hill and twists her ankle in the pouring rain, he arrives like a knight in shining armor – cue the “white knight” trope – asking for consent, checking her injury (even though we are unsure if he has any medical training), with a lingering, sensual touch, to then sweep her off her feet and carry her home. Willoughby represents lust disguised as love. He triggers Marianne’s romantic idealism by speaking in prose, but ultimately leaves her devastated. Even when he sends that cold and cruel breakup letter, she still defends him. Though that moment when Elinor consoles her, heartbroken alongside her sister, is one of the most relatable, timeless scenes in the film. Everyone who’s survived their first heartbreak knows that moment, the tears, the disbelief, the comfort food (thank you, Mrs. Jennings), and the gentle reminders that this too shall pass. Beloved Brandon never engages in manipulation. He never dares to intrude on Marianne’s agency. He loves her through her pain, not in spite of it. And that matters.

Why We Still Need the “Nice Guy”

BookTok is a sub-community on the TikTok app, which is a space predominantly held by women. It’s become a huge influence on the literary industry; you have probably seen a sign about this concept in a library or bookshop, advertising BookToks' most popular reads, including the A Court of Thorns and Roses (ACOTAR) romantasy series by Sarah. J. Maas. ACOTAR has brought countless people to fall in love with reading again, which is a huge win! But they also present problematic romantic ideals. Characters like ACOTAR’s Rhysand are powerful, dark, and possessive. This “morally grey” archetype has become widely popular, alongside tropes like enemies-to-lovers, fated mates, and Grumpy and Sunshine. These tropes are thrilling on the page, don’t get me wrong, but in real life, they can distort what we view as romantic. Dark romance novels sometimes feature non-consensual scenes, stalking, emotional manipulation, or abusive dynamics dressed up as passion. As Gregson and Lois (2020) note, these portrayals can increase readers’ acceptance of sexism and reinforce harmful myths about love and dominance. There’s a real cost to romanticizing cruelty. Colonel Brandon, contrastingly, does not need to be “fixed.” He doesn’t emotionally punish Marianne to prove his devotion, and he isn't a puzzle or a redemption arc; he’s already whole. And that kind of stability, emotional intelligence, and patience? That should be the standard, not the exception.

Have We Lost All Sensibility?

There’s something refreshing, revolutionary, even, about choosing the person who offers peace. Jane Austen reminds us that love isn’t always burning passion; it flourishes in sense, reason, mutual support, and care. Elinor and Edward’s love story also mimics this sentiment. When Edward reveals that he is not, in fact, married to Miss Steele, we see Elinor burst into uncontrollable tears, which is the emotional payoff we’ve been waiting for. The scene erupts in celebration, and when Edward kneels – because of course, they always kneel – it symbolizes proposal and equality. Even the meta-commentary around the film reflects this idea. Emma Thompson’s 1996 Golden Globes acceptance speech, written as if by Jane Austen herself, showcases the enduring wit of Austen’s worldview.

The Hero We Should Be Rooting For

So, you might call Brandon “safe” or “old-fashioned.” But that would be missing the point. Throughout the film, Brandon quietly does everything right. He provides Edward with a living when he’s been disowned, not for recognition, but because he appreciates that he kept his word despite society's stance. He cares for his former love’s daughter, Beth, regardless of scandal. He finds a way to get the Dashwood Family home when things go awry in London. And, personally, the most thoughtful of all, he rushes to get Mrs. Dashwood when Marianne falls ill. These are not grand romantic gestures meant to impress; they are rather acts of love.

Most importantly, he respects boundaries. When Marianne clearly prefers Willoughby, Brandon steps back. Even when he discovers Willoughby’s past with Beth, he does not weaponize the information to sabotage their relationship. He holds back out of respect, not cowardice. That kind of selflessness? That’s real maturity. Colonel Brandon is not a fantasy. He’s not going to burn kingdoms or transform into a magical creature. But he will carry you home in the rain, no matter how much effort it takes, take care of you when you are sick, support your family, and never once make you feel small. That’s romance. In a world craving intensity, Brandon offers intimacy. In a culture obsessed with domination, he chooses devotion. Brandon is the catch.