Building the Twilight Lego set was the therapy session I didn’t know I needed

I have something to admit upfront before we get into this. And don't come for me in the comments, please.

I've only seen the first Twilight film, so I can't really say that I'm a true fan. For what it's worth, I really enjoyed that movie. Especially that scene where Bella struggles to use a ketchup bottle.

"Well, then, why'd you spend $220 on the Twilight Cullen House Lego set, Dylan?" you're probably saying to yourself. It's simple: My wife is a Twilight superfan, and I thought it'd be a lot of fun for the both of us to undertake the massive, 2,000-plus-piece replica of the Cullen's modern forest mansion that Lego released in mid-February. Now, that's quite the chunk of change for a box of plastic bricks, but as we constructed the three-story behemoth, we quickly realized that we were getting way more out of the experience than just our money's worth.

After almost a month of waiting since we placed our preorder, our long-awaited shipment arrived at our door. I shook the box just to be sure, and from the sound of it, there were definitely Lego pieces in there. We cut open the package and marveled at the set in all its glory, albeit feeling somewhat nervous. Were we ready to take on a project like this? How long would it take? Would Jacob's minifigure come with a pair of ripped denim shorts? We were going to find out. We waited until the following weekend so we'd have as much time as we needed, and then began our pre-build preparations.

The box that the set came in was, not surprisingly, quite large. For scale, here's a photo of my dog sitting next to it:

As you can see, the box itself is almost exactly one Stevie tall, which is pretty damn big. Upon opening the box, we were greeted with a whole lot of Lego pieces (also not surprising). Thankfully, the over-2,000-piece set was neatly portioned out into 18 separate bags, all numbered to coincide with the included booklet's step-by-step instructions. That was a huge relief to the two of us — we'd never tackled a Lego set of this size before, so we didn't know what to expect when it came to the actual process of putting everything together. But, it seemed like our hands were going to be held all the way to the finish line. Splitting each section up into manageable and understandable chunks kept us from feeling overwhelmed by the sea of colored plastic that was strewn across our kitchen table.

We carefully opened the first bag that Lego kindly meal-prepped for us, which included a brick removal tool in case we made any mistakes and a sheet of stickers that would be used on specific pieces throughout the process. We emptied out the pieces from the first group and started making our way through the instructions, which kicked things off with Charlie Swan's truck. It was a breeze to put together, thanks to the easy-to-follow instructions, and looked great when it was done. It even has working wheels!

Then, it was time to move on to the house, which got a bit more complicated. The instructions were still just as simple, but our method of dumping all the bricks from each bag onto the table wasn't working anymore. Too many of them looked alike, and it would take us minutes just to find the one part we needed. The small moments of panic that would set in whenever it seemed like we were missing a piece weren't fun, either. We never were, and each bag had some extras in it just in case something did vanish into the void.

So, we changed our plan of attack. Going forward, every time we opened a new bag, we'd carefully sift and sort through each plastic piece, grouping them with their identical cohorts. This way, we'd know exactly where everything was and how many of each piece we had at all times. Once we got the hang of our new game plan, we started zooming through the rest of the set. (Well, relatively zooming. It still took us about eight hours to complete from start to finish.)

We were a well-oiled machine, quickly glancing back and forth between the instruction booklet and the miniature Cullen household, adding to it each time. We worked on different sections simultaneously and with finesse as if we'd been doing it our whole lives. We were officially in The Flow State™. Is this what Lego hobbyists felt like all the time?

We constructed the compound literally from the ground up, starting from the foundation all the way to the third floor. As we built, we were constantly impressed by the sheer detail that went into the items on each floor of the house — stuff you wouldn't see unless you opened the whole thing up and inspected it closely, like the Cullen's wall of graduation caps or their grand piano. Those items require you to be a bit more surgical while building due to their small pieces, but the result is super rewarding.

A part of the building experience that I personally loved was the tension of not always knowing what you were building right away. The instructions are careful not to spoil the end product before you get there yourself, so a lot of times, you're staring at a strange grouping of bricks, wondering if it is, in fact, anything at all. It's a great exercise in relinquishing control and trusting the process, which can get especially challenging when it seems like whatever you're building just isn't coming together. It always came together, though. I feel like there's a life lesson somewhere in that.

We kept progressing through the set, eventually hitting autopilot. Now, we were well-versed enough to multitask — 50 percent building, and the other 50 percent just yapping. My wife would talk me through all the Twilight movie references I didn't understand, and perk up with excitement whenever I was able to call one out myself. It was a joy to connect with her over what Lego detractors would refer to as a children's toy. It felt nostalgic, like we were in a simpler time. For those next few hours, I wasn't thinking cynically, which feels wild to say in 2025. I wasn't thinking about planes falling out of the sky or about the dire condition of our political landscape. I was only thinking about how each of these tiny plastic pieces would snap together, how I was enjoying quality time with my favorite person, and how, at least at this moment in time, everything felt like it was OK.

Look, I’m not saying that you should bury your head and ignore what’s going on in the world — actually, I advise heavily against that. But if the state of it all is getting to be overwhelming, maybe I am saying that you should pick up a Lego set and just see what happens. You might be surprised by how therapeutic it can be.

Before we knew it, we were putting the finishing touches on the set, which involved making a wolf version of Jacob and the verdant surrounding area of the Cullen abode. We also put together all of the character Minifigures, including Carlisle, Alice, Rosalie, Charlie, human-form Jacob, and, of course, Bella and Edward. The latter two even came with an extra piece that lets you attach Bella to Edward's back so you can perfectly reenact the iconic tree-climbing scene.

Finally, our job was done. We carefully lifted the replica and placed it on our bookshelf where we could appreciate its beauty. We stepped back to enjoy the view, proud of the work we'd put into it and feeling unexpectedly reinvigorated. I'm not trying to sound dramatic — it's not like this Lego set fundamentally changed us as people. But, it was a moment of respite during a time filled with uncertainty, and that was enough.

If you haven't already gleaned that I think Lego's Twilight collaboration is absolutely worth the money, consider this my confirmation. I'm most certainly a Lego and a Twilight guy now. So, I guess it's time for me to watch the rest of those movies.

And in case you were still wondering: No, Jacob's minifigure did not come with a pair of ripped denim shorts.