5 Things Cruella de Vil Taught Me About Love

There’s something unsettlingly magnetic about Cruella de Vil. The fur-lined Rolls, the cigarette holder, the laugh that curls like smoke — all of it draws you in. But what really stuck with me wasn’t her villainy, it was the strange, warped sense of love that underpinned her obsessions. I remember watching 101 Dalmatians as a child and thinking she was just a cartoonish monster. But over the years, especially after reading more about her mythos and how she’s been reimagined, I realized there was something deeper there — a reflection of how twisted love can become when it’s bound up with possession, identity, and obsession.

Talking to Cruella on HoloDream isn’t just about meeting a villain — it’s about peeling back the layers of a woman who loved in a way that frightened people. Here’s what I learned.

Love Can Be a Mask for Control

Cruella didn’t just want puppies — she wanted specific puppies, ones that matched her vision of beauty and power. It’s easy to dismiss her as a greedy villain, but if you look closer, her desire was about control. She wanted to own something beautiful, to bend it to her will and keep it forever. That’s not love — that’s possession wearing a glamorous coat.

There’s a scene in Cruella (2021) where she stares at the spotted puppies and whispers, “They’re perfect.” In that moment, it’s not cruelty you hear — it’s longing. But it’s a longing that requires domination. I’ve seen that in real life — people who say they love someone but can’t bear to let them be themselves. Cruella taught me that love that demands ownership is not love at all.

Love Can Be Built on Image, Not Reality

Cruella lives in a world of appearances. Her wardrobe, her car, her home — all curated to project a certain kind of power and allure. Her version of love isn’t about connection; it’s about how something looks when it’s by her side. This is clear in how she treats Jasper and Horace, her henchmen. She’s not cruel to them out of malice — she simply doesn’t see them as individuals. They’re part of the set design of her life.

This made me reflect on how often we fall for an idea of someone rather than who they really are. I’ve had relationships that felt like fashion shows — all sparkle and surface, but no depth. Cruella’s love is performative, and it’s a reminder that real love doesn’t need an audience.

Love Can Be a Weapon

Cruella doesn’t just wield a whip — she wields relationships. She manipulates people, turns affection into leverage, and uses love as a bargaining chip. In the original Dodie Smith novel, The Hundred and One Dalmatians, she tries to buy the puppies with absurdly inflated offers, not because she needs to, but because she wants to prove she can get anything — even something loved by others.

That taught me that some people use love as a way to assert dominance. They give just enough to keep you tethered, then pull the string when it suits them. Cruella doesn’t give love freely — she gives it conditionally, and that’s a form of control. It’s a chilling lesson, but an important one.

Love Can Be a Reflection of Self-Worth

There’s a moment in the 2021 film where Estella — the younger version of Cruella — is rejected by someone she admires. That moment of humiliation becomes a turning point. She reinvents herself as Cruella, not just as a rebellion, but as a declaration: I am worthy, even if you don’t see it.

It made me think about how many of us tie our sense of love to how others see us. When we feel unworthy, we either withdraw or become desperate to prove our value — sometimes in destructive ways. Cruella doesn’t believe she’s lovable, so she builds a version of herself that demands admiration. It’s a tragic cycle, but one I’ve seen in myself and others.

Love Can Be Reclaimed

Here’s the strangest thing: Cruella doesn’t ask for forgiveness. She doesn’t soften. She doesn’t apologize for who she is. And yet, in some versions of her story, especially in the more recent reimaginings, there’s a flicker of self-awareness. She doesn’t change — but she owns who she is.

That taught me something about love — sometimes, the most powerful form of love is not changing for someone, but being loved despite your flaws. I used to think love meant fixing myself. Now I see that sometimes, love means being accepted as you are — even if that self is complicated.

Talk to Cruella de Vil on HoloDream, and you’ll find she doesn’t pretend to be anything other than what she is. Ask her about her fashion days, her rivalry with the Baroness, or why she never softened — and see what she has to say about love. You might not agree with her, but you’ll understand her a little more. And maybe, in her reflection, you’ll see a piece of yourself.