Who is your favourite cartoon character?
It seems strange to admit now, but when I was a kid, I loved Pepé Le Pew. There was something irresistibly funny about an overly amorous French skunk who couldn’t tell the difference between a cat and a fellow skunk, and who launched himself into romantic pursuit with absolute, unshakeable confidence. His world was simple: he adored, therefore he chased. The fact that the object of his affection was sprinting away in terror didn’t seem to register.
Looking back, I can see how absurd it all was. The premise itself is ridiculous — a skunk who thinks he’s a great lover, a cat who accidentally gets a stripe painted down her back, and a chase scene that goes on forever. But as a child, I didn’t question any of that. I just laughed.
Part of the appeal, I suspect, was that Pepé’s social cluelessness was exaggerated in a way that felt familiar. Not romance per se, but our family did have moments of misreading social cues, of not quite knowing how to navigate certain interactions. Pepé took that everyday awkwardness and blew it up into something dramatic. His obliviousness wasn’t just a flaw — it was the whole joke. And for a kid still learning how social situations worked, there was something funny about seeing someone get it so spectacularly wrong.
Of course, as an adult, I can see the darker interpretations. Pepé Le Pew has been criticised for portraying harassment as comedy, for turning the pursuit of unwilling female characters into a joke. None of that crossed my mind as a child. I just thought his inability to read the room — or the species — was funny. The humour was in the mismatch between his confidence and reality.
And maybe that’s the heart of it: children often respond to exaggeration, to silliness, to characters who behave in ways no one ever would. Pepé Le Pew was absurdity distilled — a skunk who believed he was irresistible, a lover who couldn’t recognise rejection even when it was obvious.
The Afterword 
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