The quote that will instantly make you fall out of love with Paul Mescal.

It's over. We're done. I'm officially breaking up with my celebrity boyfriend, Paul Mescal.

Before I get into it, I know what you're thinking: "Em, you're a crazy b*tch who Paul Mescal wouldn't even give a second glance to." Yes, you are correct on all counts. But hear me out.

For years, I, like the rest of the internet, was under his spell. Observing his intense chemistry with Daisy Edgar Jones in Normal People, the ugly (yet, somewhat beautiful) crying in Aftersun, the hot, tortured killer in Gladiator II, the general vibe of a man who looks like he'd build you a bookshelf and then read you poetry next to it.

I was in.

But then, he did an interview with Rolling Stone…. And it read like my idea of a nightmare first date. The kind of first date where you didn't actually realise how bad it was until you wake up the next morning with the most violent case of the ick you've ever experienced.

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The profile, brilliantly penned by journalist Alex Morris, is a masterpiece in capturing a man who seems to be trying very, very hard to be both a deep, soulful artist and a chill, relatable dude. It's an impossible tightrope to walk, and my man Paul was WOBBLING.

Morris's opening line alone was enough to make me yell "HA" out loud: "'I have a sneaking suspicion that everybody wants to be in a musical,' says Paul Mescal without a hint of irony, reaching into an off-license refrigerator and pulling out a pink G&T in a can."

No notes. This is the kind of sentence a man says on a first date right before he tells you his favourite movie is West Side Story (the original one, of course). The pink G&T in a can, the pack of Marlboro Golds, the cheap plastic lighter… it was all giving 'uni student trying to seem worldly'.

As Morris describes their walk through a London park, she paints a picture of a man performing "chill". He nods at the elderly, skirts strollers, and swings his headphones around by the cord when he's thinking. It's the kind of writing that makes you feel like you're watching a nature documentary.

He gives the impression that he wants people to see him as this complex, emotional being, but at the same time, he's terrified of being perceived as… well, a complex, emotional being.

Now I need you to prepare yourself because we're getting to a part of the interview that physically made me ill.

Paul was talking about reading a book on The Beatles. "It's so moving, so moving. I was crying so much". He catches himself and grins," Morris writes. Then Paul adds, "Do people just think I'm crying all the time? I'm not! I hate crying. I don't like it. I hate it. I couldn't tell you the time that I cried before last Sunday, for example."

Excuse me? He brought up crying, insisted he doesn't cry, then admitted he cried just a few days ago, and then when asked about it, "declines to go into what made him cry last Sunday." Sir, you did this to yourself.

The ending was the final nail in the first-date-from-hell coffin. As a live band starts playing in the pub, he leans over to the Morris and begins to, for lack of a better word, mansplain what is happening musically. "They're transitioning, and he's just watching her hands — see? He's watching her hands," he explains, as if she, a grown woman, couldn't observe this herself.

The grand finale comes when he pulls up the soundtrack to Stephen Sondheim's Assassins on his phone and begins to sing along. "'It takes a lot of men to make a guuuuuuun!' he sings, his voice deep and tremulous." The joy on his face is described as exquisite. And just like that, the date was over. It was all just... a lot.

But here's the thing. This interview wasn't the one that put the final nail in the coffin. It just cemented what I was afraid was true: Paul Mescal is just hot. The interview that actually started the breakup happened earlier this year with W Magazine.

The last question he was asked was: "What's your biggest pet peeve?"

His reply? "Laziness. I hate people who waste time, people who aren't prepared. And I'm not just talking about a work context. It's like, I think I've got a good nose for when people are just kind of winging it, and I don't like that."

Huh? Your biggest pet peeve is what other people do with their own time? Something that has literally nothing to do with you? The toxic-biohacking, grinding-bro, hustle-culture undertones are hard to ignore.

I knew, deep down, that if a Paul Mescal-esque man appeared on my dating app and his bio prompt read, "My biggest pet peeve is… laziness" I wouldn't swipe right. It screams judgment while also whispering, "I will be annoyed if you want to spend a Sunday doing absolutely nothing but watch reality TV and eat a family-sized bag of chips."

And that, my friends, was the beginning of the end.

Of course, I have to give him his dues. A famous man openly talking about going to therapy ("Thank f*ck for therapy," he says in Rolling Stone) is an incredibly important message and a massive green flag.

But sorry girlies, the spell is broken. The illusion has shattered. The man who I thought was the sensitive, chain-wearing, Troy Bolton-y guy (his words, not mine) is actually just a dude who hates laziness, loves explaining the concept of live music, and is terrified you might think he cries. And that's fine. It's just not for me.

The breakup is official. I wish him and his short-shorts well.

Listen to Em Vernem talk more about Paul Mescal on The Spill below.

If you want more from Emily Vernem, you can follow her on Instagram @emilyvernem.

Feature image: Getty.