Bad Feminist

Gay describes a hypothetical television show about her twenties featuring a dramatic plot and messy characters. This hypothetical introduces her claim that most representations of girlhood/womanhood in popular media are unsatisfying, unvaried, and simple. Furthermore, there is an inordinate amount of responsibility placed on the shoulders of women for the projects they create. She notes, for example, the reception of Bridesmaids and the necessity of it succeeding (to “justify” similar future projects). While the movie was described as revolutionary, primarily because women unexpectedly (to the male gaze) did well in comedy, the movie did not bring radical change and relied on familiar tropes about women.

Another example of the responsibility placed on female creators is Lena Dunham’s Girls. Gay concedes that she is not the target audience for the show, but she understands why many young women find it relatable and noteworthy. The critical discourse around Girls has emphasized the amount of nepotism and privilege in the show’s creation, cast, and depictions, so Gay points out that Girls exemplifies the way that Dunham writes and creates from a particular perspective, as well as the limitations of doing so. Thus, while Gay finds some of the critiques valid (emphasizing that her most significant critique is the relative absence of race), she also argues that the show’s deviation from the norms of female depiction cause people to expect too much of it. Girls is not the first show and won’t be the last to represent race and class poorly and myopically, which raises the question of why Dunham has been singled out for criticism.

Gay notes the limited opportunities for women and people of color to recognize themselves in popular media, beyond stereotypical casting and depictions. She discusses Mara Brock Akil’s Girlfriends and briefly mentions Living Single, A Different World and The Cosby Show as examples of those few opportunities for Black people/Black women, while also raising the question of what opportunities exist for Latina, Indian, Middle Eastern, and Asian women to see themselves depicted accurately.

When Vanessa Williams became the first Black Miss America, it was a significant moment for Black girls to see themselves as the “all-American girl.” Traditional images of the all-American girl populate the Sweet Valley High book series, which Gay read avidly during her youth. The main characters are the Wakefield twins, Elizabeth and Jessica, who are “blond and thin and perfect” (62)—popular girls who live in an idyllic town with happy endings. Gay’s appearance and life at the time she read the books was nothing like that of the Wakefields or Sweet Valley, but she wanted to be loved by popular people like the characters in the book were. Once, when the popular kids were teasing her, she retorted that she would one day become Miss America.

Gay understood at an early age that the book’s settings and characters were unrealistic, but she found comfort in the books and the world they created, and she identified with Jessica Wakefield. Her love for the books remained strong well into her forties, so she was excited when the creator, Francine Pascal, announced the release of Sweet Valley Confidential, a sequel to Sweet Valley High featuring the twins in their twenties. Although Gay found Sweet Valley Confidential bewildering, appalling, and unintentionally humorous, she still enjoyed reading it for the entertainment, escapism, and nostalgia. Furthermore, her active fantasy life allowed her to embrace its absurdity and implausibility. While Gay understands that she was not “supposed” to see herself in the books, the fact that she did demonstrates that books “are often more than just books” (70).

Gay cites Judith Butler on gender as a performance and unstable identity. Gay emphasizes that women knowingly and unknowingly perform femininity and sometimes feel trapped by the expectation of this performance, as well as the fraughtness of it. She points to Kate Zambreno’s Green Girl as an example. The protagonist, Ruth, is learning to perform her femininity with the intimate awareness that she is always on display in public and that she is detached from herself as she performs. Gay suggests that there is a “green girl inside all of us” who “is able to understand the damage she does to herself even as she does nothing to prevent it” (74).

Where Zambreno’s novel depicts the green girl rising, Joan Didion’s Play It as It Lays depicts the green girl falling or retiring from the performance. The protagonist, Maria Wyeth, is in crisis in the aftermath of an abortion that her husband encouraged her to have. Gay discusses the complex relationships of the characters, the similarities that Maria shares with Ruth in terms of gender performance and internalization of the male gaze, and Didion’s depiction of abortion. Gay sees the “insanity” and selfishness that the other characters ascribe to Maria as her weariness of playing the role of the green girl.

Gay suggests that reality television depicts the green girl “interrupted.” She notes the formula that reality TV has developed to reduce women, including stereotypes about low self-esteem, marital desperation, poor relationships with other women, and obsessions with beauty standards. She cites Jennifer Pozner on the sexist, racist, and dehumanizing tactics that reality TV uses—for example, manipulating female reality TV stars into becoming and displaying the worst versions of themselves. Gay provides examples in celebrity dating shows, like Rock of Love and Flavor of Love, and she explains how the women on the shows are never able to evolve beyond the performance or the fragility of the green girl interrupted role, or to develop any self-awareness.

Gay observes that Ruth and Maria desire rebirth by the end of the novels, and she posits that the same could be said for the green girls interrupted of reality television. She speculates that perhaps reality television is so popular because the female viewers see themselves reflected in the stars’ gender performance and its concomitant issues.

Gay recalls not knowing what it meant to be likable or to be human when she was a child. She notes the cliche of “I’m not here to make friends” in reality TV, suggesting it indicates these women freeing themselves from the guilt of dislike and contempt. She also talks about Charlize Theron’s character in Young Adult and how the discourse around the film focused on the unlikable qualities that her character displays and attempts to justify or condemn them. Gay identifies the expectation and performance of likability as a cultural malaise that denies humanity and human flaws to women/girls, and she raises the question of why likability is even a question at all.

Gay argues that the question exemplifies the ways that female characters (and creators) are judged in terms of gender performance rather than artistic merit. Male unlikable characters are lauded as anti-heroes and indications of authorial skill, whereas women characters and women writers are scrutinized. Gay emphasizes that the priority should be whether or not the character seems alive. She cites James Woods on the idea that readers look to fiction to see better versions of themselves rather than accurate reflections of their humanity, which explains why unlikable characters can put readers in an uncomfortable position. However, Gay still advocates for unlikable characters, and she discusses several works that depict unlikable women, such as Battleborn, Treasure Island, Dare Me, You Take it From Here, Magnificence, and Gone Girl. These unlikable characters embody certain core values and flaws that make them deeply human and unflinchingly honest in their depictions. She concludes that what these books reveal is that the unlikable woman is not interested in performance. For Gay, these complex characters and consequences are what make the books worth reading.

Gay discusses how the dominant discourse on gender relies on a mutually exclusive dichotomy of man and woman, as well as on a scarcity model that implies progress for women means the decline of men. She argues that books released in 2012 did little to reframe the discourse with more nuance.

Gay’s primary point of discussion is Hanna Rosin’s The End of Men: And the Rise of Women. She concedes that Rosin makes compelling points and has clearly done her research, but Gay points out that Rosin is selective in the data she presents. Rosin’s argument about women’s success in certain industries overlooks evidence about women’s earnings in other industries. Rosin emphasizes female ambition and the rise in university enrollment without exploring the reasons for the decline in male enrollment. She also discusses matters of violence against women and the broadening of definitions of rape without acknowledging how often violence goes unreported. Curiously, Rosin claims that patriarchy is dead without considering that progress for women doesn’t mean patriarchy has been defeated for some (or even all) women. In addition, Rosin disavows both radical feminism and anti-feminism, which Gay argues places the reader in the position of feeling like their anger at the patriarchy is unwarranted.

Another example of the narrow discourse is Caitlin Moran’s How to Be a Woman, where Moran claims that women haven’t progressed at all because of a number of sociocultural factors that have historically favored male dominance. Her thesis revolves around the question of whether or not men think about the issues that women face. She also presents a stance on burkas and Middle Eastern women that exposes her Western-centric perspective, and she makes a statement showing her casual racism regarding the N-word to make a point about the term “strident feminist.”

There is writing that tries to wrest the discourse from a narrow cultural outlook. For example, Kate Zambreno’s Heroines is honest about the writer’s subjectivity and the emotion that drives her criticism. Like Gay, Zambreno bridges pop culture, contemporary literature, and literary ancestors, and she looks to claim feminism and femininity while resisting marginalizing and silencing labels. Nevertheless, Heroines is silent on race, class, and heterosexual privilege. Another example is Junot Diaz’s How You Lose Her, although Gay is conflicted about the book. While she loves the stories and Diaz’s depictions of flawed characters, the female characters are merely instruments for the male characters, who behave with impunity.

Gay is not sure how the literary world can improve its discussion of gender, but she does know that writers and readers must overcome the insistence on particular positions, the resistance to nuance, and the need to appear interesting and/or funny.