One of the names I go by is “Fantasy Feminist”. Before I
even knew what feminism was, I have always loved all things Girl Power. From
Magical Girls, witches to superheroines, seeing girls and women kick butt and
lead their own lives – while embracing all the colours of the rainbow and the
night – has appealed to my little girl self. They have helped me through my
unconscious sense of isolation in a world dominated by boys, and gave me a
sense of belonging that tells me, “You matter to us.” I didn’t care whether or
not they were “proper” role models – from the innocence of youth, Girl Power
has communicated to me, loud and clear, “You can be a hero, too”.
Because the media, particularly children’s and young adult
entertainment, has for decades been largely saturated in appealing and catering
to the male demographic. To the point where a show or film with more than one
female character in it is considered progressive and new, something worth
talking about widely. Representing half the human race by adding only two of
them in a story, whether or not they appear onscreen together, in a world full
of dudes, should not be close to “finally getting it”.
You can blame the Smurfette Principle for this. Coined in
1991 (incidentally, the year I was born) by Katha
Pollitt in The New York
Times, I’ll briefly explain what this is for those who happened to
have never heard of it. It is named after Smurfette, the only female Smurf in
the magical village of tiny blue dickless creatures, each with their own
personality traits and strengths and weaknesses. Smurfette, on the other hand,
is stereotypically feminine with a penchant for flowers and just being a
helpless victim needing to be rescued constantly by the hundreds of male Smurfs
who most if not all have a disturbing fixation on her, presumably because she
is literally the only vagina-creature in their small vicinity. How lonely and
frightened she must have been for most of the time in this scary village
polluted with male entitlement, but is too good and passive to let on. Not
helping matters is Smurfette’s origin: The villain Gargamel created her in
order to seduce and betray the Smurfs so he can capture them, because females
are a male’s ultimate weakness, apparently. This wild seductress is “saved” by
Papa Smurf, who uses magic on her to turn her “good” and harmless. And blonde,
resembling a little blue Marilyn Monroe – chaste and allowing for the male
power fantasy of not being utterly untouchable.
There are so many horrific problems to the character of
Smurfette that it would be funny if it wasn’t such a tragically common story
arc for a female character, one of “redemption” achieved through the presence
of a penis, which is gospel. This doesn’t only occur in children’s programming.
And let me tell you, as a brunette girl seeing another brunette who is forced
to change against her will into a blonde with a personality reduction and who
exists for male attention, my self-esteem was not helped any. But the Smurfette
Principle, long before it was recognized and called that, paved the way for a
harmful trope aimed at children, who learn about the world around them through
the stories told to them. So the common, defensive phrase, “It’s for kids, why
are you so hard on it?”, is irresponsible and should never be used as an excuse
for bad writing with no effort put in.
The Smurfette Principle reduces a gender to a token. This
limiting, lazy standard was so prominent in eighties and early-nineties
cartoons and movies that any kid watching them would think that the females of
the human species are as rare as anyone else not belonging to the straight
white male default. This was bound to have some self-esteem and insecurity
issues on young girls, as well, making them feel, consciously or not, that the
only ways in which they could be visible anywhere are as love interests,
mothers, aunties, secretaries, or any other role which exists primarily to
serve the male lead on his journey, his story; worth telling thousands of times
over because he possesses the “right” genitalia.
This attitude has been the perceived norm since the dawn of
storytelling began.
But every once in a while, there come TV series’ that do
care that we exist, and try to appeal to girls, to make the ladies as varied
and complex as boys are encouraged to be. But first I’ll share my own childhood
experiences with kids’ shows.
I was born and bred all throughout the nineties, which in my
opinion was a decade that made a worthwhile effort for diversity and clever
writing in children’s media, much more than in the safe, gender stereotyping,
market truck of the eighties. I have a brother two years my senior, and
together we watched hundreds of cartoons and live-action programmes.
There was Beast
Wars: Transformers (1996-1999), which has about two female characters
– one, Airazor, is brutally killed off along with her love interest Tigatron
before she has a chance to be really interesting (but not enough to sell toys,
apparently), and the other is Blackarachnia, who has a rich, evil personality,
and it was amazing to watch her slow but engaging development in shifting sides
and ultimately becoming a good guy... because of the influence of another male
character, Silverbolt, her true love. I guess it’s better than remaining with
her abusive partner, Tarantulas.
There was also Gargoyles (1994-1997),
a fascinating and dark Disney cartoon with writing akin to Batman: The Animated Series (1992-1995).
But even it had its shortage of female roles: Demona, the complex but
later-shafted, human-hating villain – the only female gargoyle for most of two
seasons; Elisa Maza, the competent and dedicated policewoman, with the added
bonus of being mixed race in a time when that was even rarer to see than
well-written women, though she was still regulated to be the head male gargoyle
Goliath’s love interest; Fox the faux-action woman who exists as a victim –
then a wife and mother; and Angela, the second prominent female gargoyle the
audience is introduced to in the second season. At least she was given a chance
to be interesting before it is revealed that her presence serves to help
Goliath’s arc as his and Demona’s daughter. But like every woman in Gargoyles, sooner or later Angela has to
be put into several situations where she needs to be saved by men. I have heard
that one of the gargoyles, Broadway, was originally meant to be female, but
Disney didn’t want a fat girl gargoyle. Yes, because Smurfs forbid that women
have more than one body type.
Other shows I watched growing up include The Simpsons (1989-present)
(featuring the all-American family gender stereotypes that will never die! But
Lisa and Maggie are strong in their own loud and/or quiet ways); Pokémon (1997-present) (Misty and
Jessie were always charismatic to me, not just as foils for the male
leads); Hey Arnold! (1996-2004)
(Helga ditto); Rugrats (1991-2004)
(filled with mothers, Lil the twin to the boy Phil, and the bad, manipulative
little girl Angelica); Dexter’s
Laboratory (1996-1999) (more stay-at-home moms! And sisters are so
annoying and stupid and girly LOL! Although Dee Dee is no different from other
“stupid” cartoon character archetypes typically reserved for males); Pepper Ann (1997-2000); Recess (1997-2001); Red Dwarf (1988-present)
(ironically the only TV series I can think of where I actually prefer there
being no recurring female character – season seven killed it for me); Star Trek shows (never as
progressive when it comes to how they write their marginalized
characters); Malcolm in the Middle (2000-2006);
and Mighty Morphin Power Rangers (1993-1995)
and its many sequel series’.
The first pink ranger, Kimberly Hart, appealed to me
significantly as a child – brown hair, did gymnastics, martial arts, theatrics,
music, and was no pushover. She is given loads of opportunities to shine on her
own. In my opinion her development is the most noteworthy out of the other
rangers, getting involved in darker storylines. I was saddened when Kim left
the show in the third season and was replaced by the less-remarkable and blonde
Katherine. I don’t hate blondes, and I apologize if I ever gave that
impression, but the “dumb blonde” plus other useless female stereotypes
existing as love interests for guys is such a tired cliché used in hundreds of
stories. Really what I remember most about Katherine is that she turned into a
cat sometimes in her first, evil appearance.
It is no wonder that in 2016, Kimberly got her own solo
comic book series, Mighty Morphin
Power Rangers: Pink – her impact on nineties girls, including yours
truly, was felt.
The one thing that practically all the women I have mentioned
above have in common is something inescapable, oppressive, insidious and not
accidental: They are all skinny. They have the same slim body type, with curves
in the “right places”, to the point where it wouldn’t surprise me if animation
studios shared the same template sheet. Guys can look different, and have every
kind of body, shape and size to go with their distinct personalities. But
girls? Unfathomable. Not sexy enough. Fat girls were being erased, or demonized
(look at any Disney film, such as The
Little Mermaid (1989), for further confirmation of this); they are
made to feel ashamed of who they are and what they look like by not conforming
to impossible beauty standards – something that cartoons can get away with time
and time again.
Even the Girl Power shows I grew up loving are not immune to
this. Yet there are things to enjoy about them in terms of progress, such as
female characters given their own agency and opportunities to be practical in
their own stories centred on them.
I enthusiastically watched the funny, satirical and
genuinely well-written superhero cartoon The
Powerpuff Girls (1998-2005) – Cartoon Network’s highest-rated
programme in history, by the way – and Nickelodeon’s Sabrina the Teenage Witch (1996-2003), along with its Disney
animated spinoff series, Sabrina:
The Animated Series (1999-2000) (which I always found to be much
cleverer and funnier than the live-action sitcom. Shame the same cannot be said
for its 2000s sequel series, Sabrina’s
Secret Life (2002)). My brother watched these with me too, and didn’t
seem to mind how many females were on screen; startlingly, showing the world
how it is didn’t traumatize him or make him feel small, like so many girls of
all ages are made to feel when exposed to the vast number of “boys’” action
properties.
But the one girl power action-drama-comedy cartoon I loved
above all else and continue to be a huge fan of as a non-jaded adult, is Sailor Moon (1993-1997). What began
as a bad dub that tried to appeal to girls when Power Rangers was a phenomenal success (as if girls didn’t
like it as well as boys, which is nonsense), this weird monster-of-the-week,
Japanese-licensed program was one of my first introductions to anime – I
clearly remember Pokémon being
the first time I saw this unique animation style – and in spite of its
abundance of failings, I’ve never looked back. There I was, a lonely, insecure
little girl in awe of the fact that the majority of the cast of characters
in Sailor Moon is female,
each with their own individual personalities and backstories to contrast with
one another. The anime is action-orientated, but not too violent. There are
more male villains than female. Years later when the internet hit full bloom, I
watched the original, unedited Japanese episodes of Pretty Soldier Sailor Moon, subbed, on YouTube; and any
embarrassment I ever felt for admiring it for its groundbreaking feat of female
love disappeared instantly. I adored this franchise more and more as I searched
on various websites and message boards by people equally inspired by the anime
for being unapologetically “girly”. My manga collection started around that
time at age sixteen. My love of all things Magical Girls came from Sailor Moon, warts and terribly-skinny
girls and all. With its messages of compassion and femininity being strengths
instead of roadblocks/obstacles to overcome, and with its themes of friendship,
hope, empathy and support, it made me into what I am today in the pop culture
world.
That was my childhood television-watching experience in the
nineties. By the time the new millennium came round, I was already aware of the
shows I liked, and which I thought didn’t have enough girls in them. The early
2000s’ children’s cartoon programming was a sharper, more optimistic and opportunistic
time for me, when I was finally to become a teenager. True my insecurities,
shyness and indecisiveness would only grow from there, but escapism in cartoons
still relaxed me.
I indulged in new well-written shows with female leads such
as Kim Possible (2002-2007),
heavily influenced by Buffy the
Vampire Slayer (which I’ll talk about in the next part of the essay),
but in the spy genre. Kim Possible is your basic average girl (still
conventionally pretty and slim, though) who happens to save the world openly in
her spare time using martial arts and gadgets. There is a lot to be compared
to The Powerpuff Girls in
its clever parody approach and quick, witty dialogue. In terms of other female
characters created to break the Smurfette cycle, Shego the henchwoman is a
blast – literally and figuratively – but Monique, a POC friend of Kim’s, is not
in the show as much as she should have been, sadly shoved aside to make further
space for the predominately male presences in a show that’s “gender neutral”
for having a female protagonist. Kim
Possible also made me aware of another sexist trope I hate – the
bumbling, incompetent male sidekick who exists to make the female hero look
better. Ron Stoppable always annoyed me in that regard, so the times when he is
a hero, when Kim should have easily been, were baffling to me. And of course
they were “upgraded” from best friends to lovers by the end of the third
season, as part of teaching kids again and again that friendship between boys
and girls cannot exist without any sexual tension. Romance naturally must come
of it. Kim and Ron were doing fine before anyway, but that is part of a change
that comes with growing up, I guess. Still, it is not the most positive of
“feminist” messages. But overall I enjoyed Kim Possible, Disney Channel’s highest-rated and longest-running
cartoon.
Other cartoons I watched include American Dragon: Jake Long (2005-2007), the slice-of-life Braceface (2001-2004), The Weekenders (2000-2004), and
the one season hit wonder Dave the
Barbarian (2004-2005), from the same creator as The Weekenders, Doug Langdale. There
were shows I enjoyed as a kid despite suffering badly from the Smurfette
Principle, such as Jade from Jackie
Chan Adventures (2000-2005) and Mira Nova from Buzz Lightyear of Star Command (2000-2001), where of
course Mira, the only notable female space ranger, is also a princess, which is
a ridiculously common archetype to place on female characters, not just for
Disney.
Speaking of science-fiction cartoon comedies, let’s talk
about Futurama (1999-2003,
2008-2013). Futurama is a
very funny and smart parody that unfortunately relies on sexist and
misogynistic clichés for some of its humour, despite it being set in the 30th century.
It doesn’t show enough social self-awareness on the writers’ part, to the point
where I’m convinced they had forgotten the timeline they were writing in
entirely. Leela is what is commonly called in fantasy and sci-fi genres a
“strong female character”; she is a spaceship captain and martial arts
professional, and is hard, caring, and allowed to be as funny, mean and
hypocritical as the male assemble. But practically every joke made at her
expense has to do with two things: her one eye, and her being a woman. Again,
this is a 30th century show. The only other recurring female character is
Amy Wong – great for Asian representation, and is heavily implied to be
pansexual, but she is only known as the klutz; a clueless, childish, sexualized
filler character who doesn’t nearly receive enough screen time. As if the
sci-fi genre as a whole doesn’t have enough problems with diversity;
regurgitating tropes that even escape parodies. Even the (all male) writing
team admit to forgetting sometimes that Amy is meant to be getting a PHD in
physics and other space program studies. The woman I find to be the funniest
in Futurama is Mom, who is
living proof that an older female can be as evil and engaging as any man – as
the Mr Burns’s of the male-dominated comedy club, without resorting to tired
sexist non-jokes. Like with Kim
Possible, I continue to enjoy Futurama even with its
gender-related setbacks, nostalgia goggles off.
However, I enjoyed another cartoon much more in the 2000s,
long past the age where I was expected to have stopped watching kid’s stuff,
and which I consider to be accurately “gender neutral”, and that was Teen Titans (2003-2006). Teen Titans, along with The Powerpuff Girls, helped to start my
love of superheroes, as Sailor Moon did
for my love of Magical Girls, and Sabrina did
for witches (Harry Potter notwithstanding;
my life as a bibliophile took off in my late teens). Though I admit that as
much as I had a love-hate-but-pushing-towards-love relationship with and
opinion on Teen Titans, nearly all
the female characters are still drawn with a similar slim body template, whilst
the guys are allowed to be big or small or in-between, with as much muscle as
is appropriate. This is common in other Cartoon Network superhero shows
like Justice League (2001-2004)
and Static Shock (2000-2004),
adapting from the male-dominated comic book industry where tiny waists and big,
physics-defying breasts in women had been and still are a sad commodity all on
their own. Underage girls are just thin and petite, remaining an attractive
ideal for (mostly white) beauty ideals.
Back to Teen
Titans, while I will always admire the subtle way Beast Boy is developed
throughout its five seasons – subverting violent, toxic masculinity – I keep
thinking about how the powers of the two female Teen Titans, Starfire and
Raven, are tied directly to their emotions, reinforcing the sexist notion that
women are the overly emotional ones, never the leaders. They are nevertheless
good characters, but then you have Jinx, literally the only female bad guy to
appear regularly on the show, and only then as part of a group of dudes, the
Hive. And fear not, insecure and fetishist male viewers, Jinx is redeemed in
the finale by, wait for it, a male hero love interest! One who only appeared in
one episode beforehand! It is Beast Wars,
the cycle trotting out. At least in Gargoyles Demona
stays a villain, and her own individual self, with or without male aid.
Men can fix everything, including bad, unconventional girls,
as TV programmes continuously lead us to believe. I know there are plenty of
examples of male baddies turning good in pop culture, notably in superhero and
fantasy works – Dinobot from Beast
Wars and Zuko from Avatar: The
Last Airbender (2005-2008) come to mind – but often their redemption
is a huge part of their journey and character development. It is something not
to be tossed aside or forgiven and forgotten easily. It is a big deal for them.
Meanwhile, women baddies seem to just need a man to show them the error of
their ways, and boom! she is a reward and brownie point for the male hero. As
soon as she switches sides she becomes boring (poor Blackarachnia, and Teen Titans got cancelled before a
reformed Jinx could do anything), with hardly a thought to her actions in her
past; on whether she has truly earned her status as a good person. This takes
away the agencies, personalities and complexities of girls as fully-functioning
human beings and falls back on limited and dated sexist stereotypes of the
female form being pure and good for men and that should be their end goal in
life.
The early-to-mid 2000s also marks the time when my Sailor Moon Magical Girl craze took
wonderful flight. I sought out anything I could find that is of the Magical
Girl genre. This is also the time when I started to get into anime online, and
the few of the many anime I watched were Wedding Peach (one of my worst guilty pleasures), Tokyo
Mew Mew (the 4Kids dub, Mew Mew Power, is one of the worst I have
ever seen and it can burn in hell), Princess
Tutu, a little of Cardcaptor
Sakura and Revolutionary
Girl Utena, and Petite
Princess Yui. The quality of the programmes didn’t really matter to me;
what did were the Sailor Moon nostalgia
trips.
The Magical Girl genre isn’t limited to Japan, either, as I
discovered European shows such as W.I.T.C.H. (2004-2006)
(I’m a fan of the comics rather than the cartoon adaptation, however),Winx Club (2004-2015), and Trollz (2005-2006). It was around
here that I came to realize that in most Magical Girl cartoons, the girls use
magic and healing properties, similar to witches, who are seen as the “evil”
girls – Winx Club always
confused me as to why this is so, and even in W.I.T.C.H. the girl group are never called witches – and the
boys use physical force to fight evil – they are the knights, they are the
protectors. While it is cool that these girls have such power – not explicitly
stated, to varying degrees, to be tied to their emotions – and I remember an
episode of Trollz where the
boy trolls are jealous of the girls trolls having magic gems that allow them do
anything they want, it is telling that the boys are still seen as the muscle,
the rational ones, the ones involved in the more “real” action. They are
concrete and grounded, in contrast to the girls who use abstract, fantastical
methods to overcome obstacles.
How often do you see a magical girl actually use their hands
to push, shove, pull or punch anyone? Or kick? Sailor Uranus uses a sword, and
Kimberly Hart uses a bow and arrow, but the other girls seem to have only
magical, non-threatening weapons, such as wands and sceptres (never used for
clubbing), at their disposal.
Pretty colours and sparkles can only mask so much, but the
importance of female friendships and compassion endeared me to a lot of these
cheesy girls’ shows. Also hey, if boys can have silly, fun, pandering
franchises aimed towards them, why can’t girls?
Then there is Puella
Magi Madoka Magica in 2011... but that’s a discussion for later.
Well, we come to the end of Part 1 of my essay on how being
exposed to Girl Power TV helped my self-esteem and why I had a desperate need
to become familiar with them anyway I could. In the next part I will talk about
other shows, ones that are not guilty pleasures but just guilty, and modern
programming with feminist intentions that subvert the dreaded Smurfette
Principle, a dragon that has been hard to slay since the 1980s.
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