If there’s one thing that stirs me in that young adult, I’ma-college-student-I-have-political-opinions way, it’s weak women. Subordinate ladies. Girls put down and repressed and known forever as the second sex. Yes, I’ll say it: I’m a self-proclaimed feminist, and weak women are my kryptonite.
The thing is, there are too many of them. I’m not talking in terms of the public, no; I’m not chastising our female population, but rather I’m talking in terms of fiction. There are way too many sidekick (or further, kickstand) ladies these days, and it’s giving me anxiety. Think Bella in the Twilight series. You may not have read it or seen it or acknowledged its existence at all, but you’re likely well aware of Bella: a high school girl who defines her entire identity in terms of some hundred- year-old vampire’s love. Or even Red Riding Hood. What is she doing, skipping through the forest, deciding to trust a rabid wolf with all of her secrets? What’s up with the blatant naiveté?
I marvel to think how anyone can focus, with all these constant reminders. You try to go about your daily life — get to the gym, walk to class, do your laundry, wash your hands — and every step of the way, you’re chased by these weak, sparrow-like, stepped-on, tossed-aside women. Their presence is a cacophony. It’s a never-ending flashing light on the retinas, nails-on-a-chalkboard auditory dissonance pelting the eardrums.
Theatrics aside, as a daily consumer of film and fiction, the number of subordinate female characters I see is getting exhausting. I’m a story addict, I read all the time and I’m constantly looking for people to be inspired by. I love characters. I love how earnestly they convey the real world, how easily I can see myself in them and how strongly they can motivate me to act in their successful footsteps. But how can I, or any girl, do that, when there’s so few success paths to follow?
The previous week in my Intro to Cinema class, I watched Citizen Kane, Orson Welles’s cinematic masterpiece, for the first time. I loved the stark, evocative visuals and the bittersweet portrayal of a man desperate for companionship; however, I couldn’t seem to get past, yet again, the weak female splayed across this screen. Kane’s second wife, Susan Alexander, spent years as his doll, his dressed-up pet put on stage to entertain.
Kane forced Susan into an extensive singing career even though Susan herself possessed no passion (or talent) for it, simply because he believed that it would bring both of them public adoration. He dictated her actions completely. And to be honest, it made me quite, quite uncomfortable.
Here at Hopkins, goofy, laidback, creative humanities majors such as myself can get our fair share of mockery. I don’t have labs or problem sets or any true finesse in math and hard sciences, and thus I am in the underrepresented Hopkins minority. The minority that, on the whole, doesn’t get as much respect.
I think it’s that fact — plus my added femaleness — that makes me cling even harder to any idea of a role model. I want to see people who took that so-called doomed-to-be-a-waitress creative writing track and came out on the other end strong and successful. It’s amazing for me to see people in this lady humanities population, arguably the one that’s taken least seriously, rise above that non-serious-ness, and be, well, serious. Seriously skilled. Seriously fulfilled.
Recently, though, I haven’t been seeing that. I’ve been scouring movies and literature for female role models and finding nothing. Susan Alexander didn’t get the fulfilling career or the passion-driven life; her foray in the arts was nothing but disaster. Ladies can’t really look at Susan Alexander and find much worth emulating.
So, long story short, film and fiction have been failing these days, female-wise. But that doesn’t mean we should stop looking for role models — I, for one, have begun to replace the women of fiction with the women of reality. I’ve begun to look into the world around me and take note of the people I meet — male and female — who achieve their dreams in ways that even cinema can’t properly represent. At Hopkins, I’m surrounded every day by driven, passionate people — students who possess a deep longing to learn and discover and create.
So many of my friends are beginning to make positive change towards the futures they want for themselves, whether that be through a filming job with the Admissions Office, a role in a Barnstormers production, volunteering with a tutoring organization or even just kicking butt in their classes. My friends are extraordinary. And, in reality, so is the entirety of this school.
The lack of empowered, fulfilled girls like me in the media I consume will probably not cease to bother me. I can’t ignore it, but at the same time, I can choose to be grateful for the ways in which reality is so, so much better than fiction. There are women I know who have gone on publicly frowned-upon artsy tracks such as my own and succeeded despite all odds, and these are the women I will choose to focus my attention on. Maybe one day I can put pen to paper and create a female character that spreads all the confidence and empowerment in the world, but for now, I am accepting the flaws in film and fiction. Ultimately, when it comes to role models, there’s nothing that can quite compare to the flawless beings of reality.
