It’s a truth universally acknowledged – well, acknowledged by Greta Gerwig, at least – that sad girls love Pride and Prejudice. Life in plastic might be fantastic, but even in Gerwig’s pink “paradise” a depressed Barbie needs a dose of Colin Firth’s Mr Darcy every once in a while.

That moment when Margot Robbie’s Stereotypical Barbie is in the depths of her existential crisis, and Gerwig throws in a mocked-up advert for a Depression Barbie doomscrolling Instagram as eyeliner runs down her cheeks, got one of the best reactions at my screening of the movie. But the biggest laugh of all came when it turned out that Depression Barbie had binge-watched the BBC’s 1995 adaptation of Pride and Prejudice seven times.

Barbie’s nod to this elite British cult classic is a painfully relatable reminder of the chokehold that miniseries has had generations of women in for almost three decades.

Though it spanned just six hour-long episodes, its impact echoes across generations; earlier this year Cambridge University research claimed Austen’s characters are the most memed from classic literature, behind only Shakespeare.

But how did Firth become worthy of the status of “meme idol” and earn an honourable mention in Gerwig’s meta-culture flick as the ultimate comfort watch?

Long before Pedro Pascal and Oscar Isaac were bestowed the title of the internet’s daddy, Mr Darcy was a perennial collective fascination. The BBC introduced a young Firth as the brooding heartthrob who spars with Jennifer Ehle’s quick-witted Elizabeth Bennet to win over her affections.

The mini-series captures the subtle dance between the two unlikeliest of lovers, as every longing stare, brief glance, small smile and eyebrow raise is charged with heated – sometimes misunderstood – emotion that can’t be overtly expressed in Georgian English society.

Austen’s timeless narrative provides all the essentials of a perfect comfort watch: a strong female lead, witty satire, a happy ending and a big declaration of love for the unapologetically smart and independent heroine whom we adored all along.

Unlike Joe Wright’s 2005 movie, the BBC adaptation has room to delve more deeply into the Regency world and each character and with more faithfulness to the novel than its film counterpart. It captures, too, Austen’s witty, smart analysis of her own society and the oppressive expectations of women, and its leads give perfectly pointed depictions of Austen’s most famous characters.

Ehle embodies Elizabeth’s charm as the free-spirited Bennet sister, determined to defy the norms of her time and marry for love rather than money – a revolutionary stand that makes even her own mother threaten to disown her.

Meanwhile, Firth shines as Darcy. Apparently rigid, pompous and sneering, his imperiousness – and truly magnificent sideburns – keep Elizabeth at arm’s length. But slowly, that haughty exterior crumbles. Yes, he struggles to express his emotions, but eventually he puts his prejudice to one side to admit he has fallen for a woman far below his own social status. That’s how much Darcy loves Elizabeth: she gets underneath the mask every other person in his world sees, and makes him see himself clearly too. Swoon.

It’s the combination of a fierce woman who refuses to back down to an intimidating man – and a patriarchal society – with a misunderstood, soft-hearted man who eventually reveals his vulnerable side that makes even Barbie want to binge-watch it.

Though it wasn’t so much Darcy’s words as a dripping-wet Firth, emerging from a fountain in a now see-through white shirt, that left a lasting impression on many viewers.

In contrast to the sexy Regency-set romance of this generation, Bridgerton, the steamiest scene in that mini-series is not the kiss, but this moment of social impropriety of a man in a sodden, compromised state being admired under the female gaze.

The plan, as screenwriter Andrew Davies later revealed, was originally for Firth’s Darcy to climb out of that lake at Pemberley completely nude. But in the end that damp shirt, those riding boots and a sudden air of defencelessness made that unnecessary. Elizabeth is as flustered by his appearance as we all are.

Perhaps it’s the sexually yearning heroine who speaks to our depressed souls and Barbie’s, so worn down by impossible standards and disappointing men that all it takes is a sodden shirt and a declaration of love (by a man written by a woman) to satisfy our romantic needs. While Ehle’s Elizabeth and Firth’s Darcy are convincingly frosty to each other, there’s such a powerful sexual tension between them from their first meeting that their eventual surrender to their feelings feels both impossible and inevitable.

It’s that sense of destiny, even more than that lakeside chat, that keeps us coming back to Ehle and Firth and that adaptation in particular. There’s hope in the idea that love is an undeniable, overwhelming thing that strips away even the thorniest defences. There’s hope, too, in how Darcy learns not to be afraid of his feelings, and that allowing himself to love makes him stronger. If it can happen to someone as controlled and stern as Mr Darcy, it can happen to anyone. Can’t it?

Georgios Chatziavgerinos, a doctoral researcher at the Faculty of Education, University of Cambridge, and one of the authors of that Cambridge University meme study, went further. “It’s no coincidence these memes skyrocketed after #MeToo,” he said at the time. “Darcy, who balances conventional male qualities with sensitivity and respect for women, is in many ways the perfect antidote to the male behaviour that legitimately prompted such outcry.”

Either way, it definitely says something for the state of heterosexual romance if a repressed, emotionally stifled man written in the 19th century is still more alluring than a modern, living man to multiple generations of straight women.

Firth and Ehle became household names, with Ehle taking the Bafta for Best Actress in 1996 for her work. She went on to the Royal Shakespeare Company; Firth has toyed with Darcy on and off since.

Indeed, Depression Barbie’s fixation on this specific incarnation parallels similarly Firth-besotted sad girl heroine Bridget Jones. Writer Helen Fielding famously “stole the plot” of Pride and Prejudice for her best-seller, after she became “infatuated” with Firth in the miniseries.

He played Fielding’s take on Mr Darcy – Mark this time – in Bridget Jones’ Diary, a man who loves the flawed, lonely Bridget “exactly as she is”. It’s yet another meta nod to how Firth’s depiction of Mr Darcy has been etched into women’s minds to take on a life of its own in their imagination.

Firth told The Times in 2007 that he didn’t resent Darcy, though the role has followed him since the mid-nineties. “Every single film since there’s been a scene where someone goes, ‘Well I think you’ve just killed Mr Darcy’. But he is a figure that won’t die. He is wandering somewhere. I can’t control him.”

And, as Barbie’s nod and the reaction to it in cinemas across the UK and further afield show, he’s still wandering. While it felt like a personal attack for those of us who do pine over Mr Darcy, Depression Barbie’s love of Pride and Prejudice has only relit that fire all over again. Rewatch anyone?