We finally saw Julie & Julia over the weekend. I’d been wanting to see it for a while; not only do I love Meryl Streep and Amy Adams, but the plot sounded fascinating. I hadn’t read the blog or the book, although I’d heard of both, so this was my first introduction to the whole thing.

I loved it. I related to it as a blogger, as an aspiring cook, and as an autodidact. Several critics have said that the Julie Powell parts of the movie are not as good as the Julia Child parts, but I thought both were done equally well. Even though Meryl Streep was phenomenal, I think I actually found the Julie Powell story more interesting — or at least it resonated with me more.

This must be the first mainstream movie about blogging. How could I not want to see it? I got totally sucked in, and it made me nostalgic for the world of blogging as it used to be. Julie Powell’s story takes place in 2002-2003, back before Twitter and Facebook. Back then, you could write a blog and hope that someone would discover it and want to publish you. I always wanted that to happen to me. It never did.

Julie Powell’s living the dream. There’s a scene in the movie where she and her blog are featured on the front page of the Arts section of the New York Times. She gets home from work and there are 65 messages on her answering machine from agents and editors. I don’t know if she really had 65 messages overnight, but as I watched that scene, tears of envy welled up in my eyes. In the last couple of years, I’ve realized that I don’t need to be a published author in order to be happy or validated. Still — I sooo would like it to happen.

As for perfectionism and self-learning: the idea of teaching yourself something by working your way completely through a book appeals to be immensely. I tried to do it with Latin — I didn’t finish. I’ve tried to do it with the so-called Great Books; I’ve read some of them, but not very many.

And when you apply this to cooking, how wonderful! I’ve tried to do more cooking and baking in the last few years. My mom is terrific at it, but she’s so good that I was always scared to try it on my own; it always seemed like a mysterious art. So teaching myself to cook and bake is like unlocking a door I always thought was closed to me. Not only that, but when you make a new recipe, you’re making something tasty and you’re learning how to do something new.

But here’s what really made the whole thing resonate for me.

It strikes me that we admire Julia Child and Julie Powell for different reasons: Julia Child because she seems perfect, Julie Powell because she doesn’t.

Julia Child was not actually perfect; there’s that famous pancake-flipping incident where she tells you that you don’t actually have to be perfect. And she comes off as totally fun and unpretentious. But still: she’s Julia Child. She’s a legend. You can admire a legend; it’s a bigger leap to aspire to be one.

Julie Powell is different. She’s everywoman. You can relate to her because she seems normal, with her boring job and her tiny kitchen. You, too, can cook your way through Julia Child’s cookbook! You, too, can start a blog and get it turned into a book and a movie starring Meryl Streep!

Maybe admiring and liking someone are not the same thing. I admire perfect people; I like people I can relate to. And this is the flaw in perfectionism, if you turn it around: perfectionism will get you admired, but it won’t get you liked. I used to think that these were the same thing, but now I know they aren’t. And if I have to choose, I’d rather be liked.

In the past I desperately wanted the perfect people to like me. If they liked me, then that meant they admired me, since these were the same thing. And if they admired me, that meant there was something in me worth admiring. And if you are admired, you are loved by millions!

Except that it’s not true. The only people who love perfect people are people who feel bad about themselves. And why would you care about the judgment of people who feel bad about themselves? Wouldn’t you rather be liked by the people who already like themselves? Wouldn’t you rather be liked by the people who accept their imperfections?

In other words, if you’re perfect, people will like you for the wrong reasons. If you just try to be yourself, people will like you for the right reasons. And the people who don’t like you don’t matter.

Now if I could just make all of this sink into my head…