Category: Pop Culture

The Glasses Off Makeover Trope

by No Rules Cornell, posted in Movies & TV, Opinion, Pop Culture

by Aditi Hukerikar //

We’ve all seen it in at least one movie. The awkward, nerdy girl realizes the lack of attention towards her, especially from the men in her life, and decides to drastically change her looks. She takes off her glasses, puts on more makeup, and suddenly, everyone around her notices how gorgeous she is.  

Listen, I love the Princess Diaries movies, but Mia’s iconic makeover by Paolo in the first film is the epitome of this problematic trope. Paolo breaks her glasses (after Mia mentions that she doesn’t enjoy wearing contacts) and Mia’s curly hair is straightened during her transition from unlikeable geek to a gorgeous princess. A turning point for her character in the film, Mia’s new looks quickly catch the attention of her crush Josh and eventual love interest Michael, sending the message that Mia’s looks were what was standing in the way of her and the men she wanted to be with.

Now, discussing the issues with naturally curly hair being labelled as ugly compared to straight hair could take up its own article; straight hair tends to be associated with Eurocentric beauty standards, and though Mia and other curly-haired protagonists may be white, young BIPOC girls will still see scenes like this and start to feel that their ethnic hair texture is less beautiful than straight hair. I certainly thought so when I was a child watching these movies. But let’s look towards the role of the glasses in these scenes and how girls who wear them, according to certain pieces of media, become less attractive because of their desire to see clearly. 

women in movies are constantly changing their looks in order to better appeal to the men in their stories. And while many times, the made-over woman realizes in the end that she didn’t need the man to be happy after all, she still retains her new look throughout the course of the film.

The Princess Diaries is certainly not the only example of this trope; women in movies are constantly changing their looks in order to better appeal to the men in their stories. And while many times, the made-over woman realizes in the end that she didn’t need the man to be happy after all, she still retains her new look throughout the course of the film. So even though this character decides that she isn’t going to focus on adjusting her looks to look attractive for a man in the film, she must still look appealing to the audience, and that includes keeping her glasses off. These makeover scenes are a clear illustration of Laura Mulvey’s cinematic theory of the male gaze: essentially, the camera itself takes on the perspective of a heterosexual man, leading to the sexualization of the women on-screen. Even in movies marketed towards young girls, such as The Princess Diaries, the male gaze promotes beauty standards that the characters must follow, and when those standards include ditching a pair of glasses, young girls who wear glasses start to associate the objects that help them see with being less beautiful.

Taking a Closer Look at Glasses

In 2018, the Vision Council reported that an estimated 164 million adults wore glasses in the United States, and even more wore some type of corrective vision. So why is removing glasses such a common movie trope? Despite how frequently you’d see someone wearing glasses in your daily life, it’s not very common for film or television protagonists to have them on. 

It’s worth noting that oftentimes, glasses can be seen as a sign of intelligence. So what does it say about the message of these films when a woman removes her glasses to become more beautiful? Teen movies especially end up typecasting characters who are women as either smart and unattractive or attractive and unintelligent.

It’s worth noting that oftentimes, glasses can be seen as a sign of intelligence. So what does it say about the message of these films when a woman removes her glasses to become more beautiful? Teen movies especially end up typecasting characters who are women as either smart and unattractive or attractive and unintelligent. There shouldn’t be an expectation for women to choose between being attractive and being intelligent; really, someone’s appearance shouldn’t comment on their intelligence at all. But if movies continue to utilize tropes and archetypes that reinforce imagined dichotomies, the danger of these tropes will grow.

Blurring The Lines Between Cinema and Reality

We shouldn’t be sending the message to young girls that they need to change aspects of their appearance to be considered beautiful, especially when the metric of beauty is set at male attention. Sadly, this is exactly the message sent when the makeover trope appears yet again and has a woman on-screen remove her glasses in an attempt to become more attractive.

When movies targeted towards younger audiences use these tropes, they promote ideas that could impact how children see themselves. As someone who started wearing glasses in first grade and had characteristically bushy hair for most of my life, seeing this nerd-girl-turned-gorgeous trope—in which a girl whose appearance wasn’t too different from mine was constantly the one in the ugly “before” photo—certainly impacted my self esteem. If I had seen more characters who didn’t have to take their glasses off or otherwise change their appearance to become well-lied by their peers, it’s likely that I would have felt a little better about myself back then. 

We shouldn’t be sending the message to young girls that they need to change aspects of their appearance to be considered beautiful, especially when the metric of beauty is set at male attention. Sadly, this is exactly the message sent when the makeover trope appears yet again and has a woman on-screen remove her glasses in an attempt to become more attractive. It’s no secret that the characters we see in our favorite movies or television shows have an impact on us, especially when we’re young and impressionable. Therefore, it’s essential for popular media to ensure that women on-screen removing their glasses isn’t associated with a significant change in their attractiveness.

Looking to The Future, Is There Hope?

As opposed to the simple archetypes of the past, more women in films today are written as complex, interesting characters. Still, I could not tell you the last time I saw a woman who was a main character in a popular movie wearing glasses. Fortunately, there does appear to be change in sight: when I saw the trailer for Encanto, an animated film in which the main character Mirabelle is wearing glasses, I was thrilled to finally see a woman on-screen who keeps her glasses on. Let’s hope this change also continues with live action films in the near future.

Somewhere Between Fucking Bitches and Respecting Women: Separating the Art from the Artist

by No Rules Cornell, posted in Music, Opinion, Pop Culture

by Cella Schnabel //

I was brought up in a house headed by a matriarch. I learned to be a feminist before I could tie my shoes. I have been surrounded by smart, kind, strong women my entire life. This served me to be confident in myself as a young woman; I am assertive in my conversations, I defend myself, I believe in myself. I am a feminist.

And yet, I walk to class every morning bumping along to Kanye West. I watched the Dave Chappelle special (which was uniquely offensive, even for him). Kanye West is not the only rapper who says “bitch” too regularly. A lot of rap culture belittles women. Dave Chappelle is not the first comedian to joke about rape or undermine transwomen. I used to cringe a little when songs would so explicitly objectify women, but I’ve begun to notice that I don’t flinch at all anymore. I’ve just accepted that this is what men sing about.

And so the debate ensues: Do I belong in a club that practices intersectional feminism if I leave listening to Kanye West? What about R. Kelly? Or Chris Brown? Or Tupac? Can we separate the art from the artist? It gets complicated. Maybe there’s a moral boundary that distinguishes listening to the artist that says “bitch” too much from listening to rapists. But what if your favorite artist gets accused of rape?

If we ruled out every rap song that objectified women, we would have substantially smaller playlists. But by continuing to listen to artists who have been exposed as sexual assault offenders or even just artists whose songs disempower women, we are perpetuating a culture that not only excuses these demeanors but almost encourages them.

By listening to that music, by watching that special, we’re directly supporting people who don’t believe in women. And the conclusion seems obvious: stop giving money to people who are abusing women, belittling women, raping women. 

But sometimes the music is good. And sometimes it’s really unique. If we found no separation between art and artist then the allegations against Michael Jackson would have made it nearly impossible to listen to “Who’s Lovin’ You.” So much of our musical canon is composed of problematic individuals. If we ruled out every rap song that objectified women, we would have substantially smaller playlists. But by continuing to listen to artists who have been exposed as sexual assault offenders or even just artists whose songs disempower women, we are perpetuating a culture that not only excuses these demeanors but almost encourages them. Not to mention that streaming the music of an abuser is directly profiting them. 

Kanye West is a misogynist. And a musical genius. I am a feminist, but his songs are pretty good. What do I do? 

“You” Season 3: Yet Another Representation of the White Male Gaze

by No Rules Cornell, posted in Movies & TV, Opinion, Pop Culture

by Isa Meyers //

The third season of Netflix’s thriller series You was released in October 2021. The season’s mere 10 episodes document the manipulative and murderous Joe Goldberg (played by Penn Badgley of Gossip Girl) alongside his equally violent wife Love Quinn (played by Victoria Pedretti) as they struggle to raise their son in the fictional Bay Area suburb Madre Linda. While this season received critical praise and a whopping 96% on Rotten Tomatoes (a higher score than both the first and second seasons), this next installment in the series involves largely the same themes and plot points: secret obsession, lots of sex, and murder. 

A Problematic Point of View: The White Male Gaze

Ultimately, despite being entertaining, You’s third season does little to confront the liminal perspective of Joe. In turn, the series perpetuates the undeniably white male gaze found in popular film and TV. Through silly gimmicks and satire, You attempts to be seen as “woke,” when, in reality, it merely tells the “tragic” story of yet another white man.

Joe is a perfect definition of an unreliable narrator. However, what makes the audience sit on the edge of their seats are not the bloody ax swings or the crime scene clean-ups, but rather the psyche of Joe. Using the second person point of view to address the audience as though they are the woman he’s currently obsessed with, Joe establishes a sense of narrative intimacy with each viewer. Additionally, while the real viewer may hate Joe and see him for his monstrous self, Joe’s character has control of this narration, which inherently positions the series to be seen from the white male gaze.

White Masculinity & Extremity

The intention of giving Joe this power is for the audience to feel as though they are in on it—as though they, too, are implicated in the countless murders of Madre Linda residents. This is for entertainment’s sake, but it also appeals to other “Joes” and their perspectives to make it feel as though the show is offering an astute critique of white masculinity. Joe is meant to give the audience a sense of superiority. You’s showrunner Sera Gamble states in an interview with New Musical Express Magazine that: 

Joe’s extremity offers viewers respite of knowing that we are not like him, that we don’t kill for love. 

“We’re just interested in being deeply in the point of view of this guy, because we’re trying to explore, whether in the misapprehensions that [viewers] detect, what are the things that he believes. Coupled with the unique propensity for crossing lines that are part of this particular character. A lot of us might be really screwed up about love, but most of us don’t go out and kill about it. So [Joe’s] just the most extreme example, which is what makes it interesting to explore.” 

Joe’s extremity offers viewers respite of knowing that we are not like him, that we don’t kill for love. 

The average viewer does not watch You because they sympathize with Joe. But his positioning as not only the protagonist but also as the narrator reproduces yet another fabled story. Cristina Escobar writes for Medium, “We get too much media from the white devil’s perspective—we don’t need more.”

The Danger of White Femininity 

Additionally, Joe’s white masculinity co-constructs something equally as harmful: the image of the delicate white woman. Escobar argues that love interest Beck (played by Elizabeth Lail) of Season 1 and Love capitalize on their fragility as white women, stating, “What these white girls have in common is the shared understanding of the preciousness of their femininity. They both see themselves as something to be protected, particularly by the men in their lives.” Beck allows Joe to protect her, and as Escobar puts it, ignores the mysteriously strange things occurring in her life to be loved. Love, on the other hand, uses “her femininity as a shield—both to avoid becoming a murder suspect as a teen and later to avoid Joe’s violence, thanks to the embryo growing inside her.” While Love proves to be Joe’s murderous match, her femininity allows for her to evade accountability. 

It is not until this third season that we are introduced to Joe’s first obsession of color. While he dated Karen Minty, a black woman, in Season 1, he never grew obsessed with her in the same way he violently stalked Beck, Candace, Love, and (briefly at the start of the new season) his white next-door neighbor Natalie. Then comes Marienne (portrayed by Tati Gabrielle): the sexy, haunted, intelligent, artist and head librarian at Madre Linda’s public library. To Joe and the audience, Marienne is a breath of fresh air in a white suburban nightmare. 

You Season 3’s Virtue Signaling 

The gimmicks deployed by You serve to distract the audience from the realities of Joe. They allow viewers to believe the show is making these vastly edgy social and political statements in the name of denouncing the very thing they’ve created: another white male narrative.

While each season of You grapples with issues such as selfishness, toxic masculinity, social media, consumer culture, and what it means to connect with someone in the 21st century, its third season uses its mass viewership to call out vaccine skeptics and the media’s “missing white woman syndrome.” In its third episode titled “Missing White Woman Syndrome,” Joe talks about the ‘missing’ Natalie with Marienne and coworker Dante (played by Ben Mehl). Dante comments “Madre Linda has her own missing white woman,” to which Marienne responds: “Missing white woman syndrome is America’s favorite pastime next to porn.” Joe asks what this syndrome is, and remarks “Well, the media has a thirst for anything salacious, right?” Both Marienne and Dante cringe at his comment, informing him that he completely misunderstands what the message of this syndrome sends to women of color. In the words of Marienne, “White ladies deserve to be rescued. The rest of us can fend for ourselves.”

While calling attention to how the media disproportionately cares for the lives of white women helps to engage the audience in a relevant social issue, You does so only to pat itself on the back. Rather than seriously confronting what Joe’s role is in perpetuating white masculinity’s violence and white femininity’s fragility, the show uses buzzwords as a “Get Out of Jail Free” card. 

In this same episode, Love and Joe’s baby develops measles due to an anti-vaxx family in the community. The father of the unvaccinated children (Gil) approaches Love to apologize for causing the outbreak. He ultimately tells her that they “don’t believe in subjecting [their] kids to toxic injections they don’t need.” Love retaliates by hitting him over the head with a rolling pin before locking him away in their basement cage for all their murder victims. Set in a post-COVID reality, this season attempts to bring light to the dangers of anti-vaxx beliefs but only as a plot point to advance the series. Gil eventually takes his own life in the holding cell, allowing Joe and Love to use his suicide as a way to cover up Love’s murder of Natalie.

The gimmicks deployed by You serve to distract the audience from the realities of Joe. They allow viewers to believe the show is making these vastly edgy social and political statements in the name of denouncing the very thing they’ve created: another white male narrative.

Final Sentiments

Netflix’s third season of You certainly lives up to the gory expectations of its preceding seasons. Should you watch it? Yes, if only to keep up with the influx of memes, Tik Toks, and Tweets about it. Should you also think critically about which voices and stories this show chooses to showcase? Yes.

Sex Education Season Three: Gendered Difference in Character Development

by No Rules Cornell, posted in Movies & TV, Pop Culture

by Hanna Carney //

The Netflix original Sex Education has been getting a lot of praise for its depiction of sex-positivity and its empowerment of teenagers and adults since Season One was released. Sex Education Season Three was recently released on September 17 2021, and its fan base remains enthusiastic about the series. The show revolves around Otis Milburn (Asa Butterfield) as he navigates high school, relationships, and sex. Otis, whose mother is a sex therapist (Gillian Anderson), forms a complicated friendship with Maeve Wiley. Together, they start a small business at their school, educating their peers (and the audience) on sex positivity, safe sex practices, and more. 

Although Otis and Maeve are the respectable main characters, the gems of this season were a few side characters: Adam Groff (Connor Swindells) and Ruby Matthews (Mimi Keene). It’s a running joke online that these two carried Sex Education this season. Adam, a bully-turned-sweetheart, is the boyfriend of Eric Effiong, Otis’ best friend. Ruby, one of the popular girls at Moordale Secondary School, is the fleeting love interest of Otis. We see these characters grow throughout Sex Education Season Three, and we come to forgive them for their shortcomings in earlier seasons. 

However, there is a key difference in the way these characters develop and “carry the season.” The directors give Adam more agency in his character arc, while the directors expect our sympathy for Ruby to draw from her relationships with men. Despite Sex Education’s feminist efforts to be inclusive of all identities, misogyny still pervades some of their plot lines—particularly Ruby’s.

However, there is a key difference in the way these characters develop and “carry the season.” The directors give Adam more agency in his character arc, while the directors expect our sympathy for Ruby to draw from her relationships with men. Despite Sex Education’s feminist efforts to be inclusive of all identities, misogyny still pervades some of their plot lines—particularly Ruby’s.

Adam’s Agency and Growth 

Adam starts out Season One as the school bully. He had an unhappy home life with a cold father. He would actually beat up his now-boyfriend Eric regularly until he realized and accepted his attraction for Eric. The directors offer up Adam’s complicated homelife and discomfort with his sexuality as an explanation for his outrage, and the directors hope we accept this explanation. Sex Education Season 3 was dangerously close to employing the toxic enemies-to-lovers trope and glorifying bullying. Remember Kurt Hummel and David Karofsky on Glee? Or, Mindy Krenshaw and Josh Nichols on Drake and Josh? But Sex Education’s deptiction of the bully turned romantic partner is slightly more thoughtful than these other shows. Alan Sepinwall writes in Rolling Stone,

 I’ve now mostly let go of my frustration that he [Eric] was paired off with Adam, who was introduced in Season One as a bully who relentlessly tormented Eric. Their stories this year, both together and apart, work very well. 

Overall, he overcomes his masculine outrage from Season One by accepting his identity as a gay man and working to grow as a person. Adam has our admiration, and we accept him with open arms. 

Fast forward two seasons later, and Adam comes across as an endearing young man with a kind heart. He cares deeply for his boyfriend Eric, writes him poetry, and tries harder in school. The fact that Eric forgives Adam helps us forgive him, too. And, if that doesn’t have audience members convinced, you can’t forget the scene where Eric does Adam’s makeup and Adam responds, “I look quite pretty.” Seeing Adam embrace femininity warms our hearts and seals the deal.

https://www.tiktok.com/@orenndaa/video/7009860869299391745?_d=secCgYIASAHKAESPgo8GdZDoe0SMGBEgZuG5agJ5YP1Ksu3cuvfKAhhBK0AH2WUBhI0Jw4JS%2Fgr0Og56Hkq%2FFV5fzERuAZwUZCxGgA%3D&checksum=e8e27a3d89fbfcfcfbff3bae689cefa10ade7c0082e4b6d0001c83bf72b2316a&language=en&preview_pb=0&sec_user_id=MS4wLjABAAAASxSFa7crZ5KemW4sElkBRlhFOJexCTh9h_4wqkZAkNK699ftTL8FmwbjKVGqGcDN&share_app_id=1233&share_item_id=7009860869299391745&share_link_id=BF9D53C4-02E7-436F-8904-1BC5A282B1D8&source=h5_m&timestamp=1634325947&tt_from=copy&u_code=dbeh9h56iejce5&user_id=6807594720920781830&utm_campaign=client_share&utm_medium=ios&utm_source=copy&_r=1

Like Sepinwall writes in Rolling Stone, the fact that Eric’s and Adam’s stories work “both together and apart” is a key element in Adam’s agency. He has a story outside of his boyfriend, and Adam puts in the effort to improve himself. He asks his teachers for help, practices sharing his feelings, etc. Overall, he overcomes his masculine outrage from Season One by accepting his identity as a gay man and working to grow as a person. Adam has our admiration, and we accept him with open arms. 

A Female Character’s Story Dependent on Men 

There’s another character that the directors clearly want us to sympathize with and accept—Ruby. Like Adam, Ruby also has a complex character arc. She’s one of the stereotypical popular, “mean girls” at school, and eventually the show presents her as an independent person that knows her worth. The directors want us to forgive Ruby like we did Adam. However, the directors don’t assign her agency as she grows as a character. Instead, her growth is contingent on her relationships with men.

Adam has a story “together and apart” from Eric. Ruby seems to only have a story “together” with Otis. The season opens by focusing on Otis and Ruby’s casual relationship. Ruby is embarrassed of her sexual relationship with him and spends much of Sex Education Season Three trying to change Otis—his behaviors, his clothing, etc. She is also standoffish about him going over to her house. The directors were purposeful in having the audience wait to find out why Ruby is acting this way.

“Tough Girl with a Soft Heart” Cliché 

Then, comes the “big reveal”—Ruby comes from a middle-class household, and her father has MS. How do the directors want us to feel about this? It seems like the directors are playing with a common trope: the beautiful, popular girl with a tough exterior has a secret to make us pity her—suddenly we see she has a heart. But in reality, living in a middle class household or having a close family member with an illness or disability is a normal thing. Why make her father’s experience central to her character? It seems like it should be more his story than hers. 

To make it worse, the directors seem to lose interest in Ruby’s character once Otis breaks up with her. She doesn’t really get a story of her own.

Immediately after this scene comes the vulnerable moment when Ruby tells Otis she loves him… and he doesn’t say it back. As much as we may feel for Ruby and her rejection, the directors over-emphasize her father’s role in this sympathy. They chose to place this scene directly after Otis meets Ruby’s father. As the directors imply, it is a big deal that she is sharing a secret part of her life with Otis, so we should feel even worse for Ruby. But I would argue that we should admire Ruby for other reasons—her confidence, her humor, and her ability to stand up to people. It’s a pity that the directors over-emphasize her relationships with men.

To make it worse, the directors seem to lose interest in Ruby’s character once Otis breaks up with her. She doesn’t really get a story of her own. We are expected to sympathize with her and move on. Her father’s disease and her relationship with Otis takes up too much space in her narrative.

Gender Differences in Character Arc 

@winterstxrk

best character development with them <3 #fyp #rubymatthews #adamgroff

♬ original sound – amber

It’s interesting that with Adam, we get to sympathize with his character for his personal struggles and his agency in overcoming them. For Ruby, the female character, we are expected to sympathize with her because of her association with men and their struggles. This pattern of giving male characters more agency than others is getting a bit old, don’t you think?

Sex Education did an amazing job in Season Three in its representation of all kinds of identities. We saw more non-binary representation, disabled individuals as love interests, and more. However, they fell a bit short when it came to Ruby’s character development. Let’s hope that if Season Four is in the works, the directors will give Ruby more space in the show’s narrative as she deserves.

Reminder: All Cosplayers Deserve Respect

by No Rules Cornell, posted in Nonfiction, Opinion, Pop Culture

by Aditi Hukerikar //

After transitioning to a virtual format due to the pandemic, comic conventions are finally returning to their former glory. October 7-10 of this year, droves of fans eagerly attended New York Comic-Con. Sadly, along with the return of Comic-Con comes another pre-pandemic occurrence: the criticism women face for cosplaying at conventions. Women who cosplay often face harassment if their outfits are deemed “too sexy” or are criticized for supposedly pretending to have interests in comics for attention. 

Cosplaying Is A Commitment

Clearly, people of all genders who cosplay are dedicated to their art

Women who cosplay spend a lot of time, money, and effort on their cosplays. The motivation for cosplay stems from passion, not a desire for attention. If they’re proud of their art and eager to wear and showcase their hard work, they should be respected. 

Why Should Women “Prove” Their Interests Are Real?

The belief that women’s interest in comics and other “nerdy” media is disingenuous isn’t a novel form of sexism.

For example, in 2012, YouTube user albinwonderland posted a video titled “Fake Geek Girls.” This post was a response to a Facebook post by a male comic book artist who was berating women who cosplay for “faking” their interest in comic books and “seeking male attention.”

Most of the content produced in this community is tailored towards an audience of men, which only fuels the cycle of men feeling that women aren’t allowed to occupy the same space they do within the comics community. 

Though this video was posted nearly a decade ago, albinwonderland does an incredible job of illustrating how women feel uncomfortable in nerd spaces due to the hostile, elitist communities that men create within them.

The fact that women in comic or geek spaces face this treatment can be partly attributed to how the creators themselves tend to be overwhelmingly male. According to The Beat, in the last six months of 2018, 83.7% of Marvel’s credited comic creators were men (with 16.3% representing women and non-binary creators) and 82.8% of DC’s credited creators were men (with 17.2% representing women and non-binary creators). Given these statistics, it’s unsurprising that most of the content produced in this community is tailored towards an audience of men, which only fuels the cycle of men feeling that women aren’t allowed to occupy the same space they do within the comics community. 

Not Everything is for Male Attention

In general, many are quick to label women and girls’ interests as means of seeking male attention: women who wear makeup are supposedly aiming to be more attractive to men, women who like sports are just trying to impress men, and so on. This false logic fosters the belief that unwanted attention from men is the woman’s fault. Just as a woman who is wearing makeup or a miniskirt does not want to be harassed as she walks down the street, women who cosplay do not want to be harassed based on the style of their costume.

Women’s interests in such media, regardless of how much they engage with interest-based communities, are valid, and it is no one’s place to tell a woman that her interest in something is fake.

Bottom Line: Respect Your Fellow Fans

Women who cosplay do so out of a passion for comics and geeky media, pouring time and effort into creating and perfecting their cosplay. Women’s interests in such media, regardless of how much they engage with interest-based communities, are valid, and it is no one’s place to tell a woman that her interest in something is fake. There is little more to say besides a final reminder: respect your fellow fans.

Returning to the Manic Pixie Dream Girl 10 Years Later

by No Rules Cornell, posted in Books, Opinion, Pop Culture

by Isa Meyers //

My middle and early high school years, like most teens growing up in the 2010s, were filled with cheesy YA romance novels. I flew through Suzanne Collins’ The Hunger Games in a matter of days. I became obsessed with The Perks of Being A Wallflower and its movie adaptation released in 2012 starring Harry Potter’s Emma Watson and Percy Jackson’s Logan Lerman. But we all know who transformed YA coming of age literature: John Green.

John Green is most commonly known for his books Looking For Alaska, Paper Towns, and The Fault in Our Stars (TFIOS). All three of these novels received major screen time as well. Most recently, Looking For Alaska was adapted into a Hulu mini-series, premiering in fall 2019. Even if you aren’t a Green reader, you know of him and you definitely could recognize the iconic blue and white jacket cover of TFIOS. John, and his brother Hank Green, still create content today for both YouTube and TikTok, continuing their legacy as “Vlogbrothers.” 

It’s been exactly a decade since my deep dive into many different YA fandoms. And while I wouldn’t change my romance-filled, dystopian-obsessed, YA-novel-centric adolescence, I now have come to terms that these books played a large role in how I constructed my own femininity. In short, Green’s characters, especially Alaska Young of Looking For Alaska and Margo Roth Spiegelman of Paper Towns, made me long to be the quirky sidekick and the romantic pursuit of a struggling young boy. 

During the time Green wrote these novels, this trope was not new by any means. Film critic Nathan Rabin coined the term “Manic Pixie Dream Girl” when writing about Kristen Dunst’s character in Elizabethtown (2005). He says that the stock character of “The Manic Pixie Dream Girl exists solely in the fevered imaginations of sensitive writer-directors to teach broodingly soulful young men to embrace life and its infinite mysteries and adventures.”

Green’s books made me wish I experienced tragedy in order to mark myself as different, as though my desirability relied on these outlandish (but also terribly clichéd) relationships between white, male protagonists and their alluring and mysterious love interests. I thought that you had to be quirky (and missing) like Margo to be noticed, or dark and perceptive like Alaska with her affinity for books (that I forced myself to try and read too) to be attractive. Because who doesn’t want to be the main love interest of a YA romance?

Green states that his book and film adaptation were meant to directly juxtapose this sexist trope: “Paper Towns is devoted in its entirety to destroying the lie of the Manic Pixie Dream Girl… I do not know how I could have been less ambiguous about this without calling the novel The Patriarchal Lie of the Manic Pixie Dream Girl Must Be Stabbed in the Heart and Killed.” The Manic Pixie Dream Girl, in Green’s words, is a patriarchal lie. And I agree. Female characters do not need to apologize for their femininity. But the reality is that nearly all of Green’s early protagonists and narrators are white, young men who are lost in this so-called adventure of life. Quentin (“Q”) Jacobsen of Paper Towns and Miles (“Pudge”) Halter of Looking For Alaska rely on their Manic Pixie Dream Girl counterparts to make them whole again.

In Paper Towns, after spending the entire novel trying to track Margo down, Q finally professes his love to her, in which she replies “You don’t even know me.” What Green is getting at is that Q built this ideal image of this girl in his head, only to realize that it was, indeed, idealized. In this sense, Green attempts to flip the Manic Pixie Dream Girl trope on its head to indicate Q’s shortcomings. In other words, no one can teach him how to live his own life. Only he can. Yet, journalist Anna Leszkiewicz writes: “When we leave the novel, Margo still isn’t given a voice. In the movie, Q acknowledges that Margo could be anywhere in the world by now, ‘but that’s her story to tell.’ Of course, the film finishes before she has the chance. We know less about her at the plot’s close than we did at the start, only, now, we know we know less.” While Q’s character arc aims to debunk his patriarchal notions regarding women, he still needs Margo to teach him this, to teach him that she doesn’t solely exist for him. And like Leszkiewicz says, Margo is still denied agency and an actual personality. 

Alaska, similarly, is the perfect embodiment of the phrase “she’s not like the other girls.” Because it’s true, she’s not. At Green’s fictional Culver Creek Academy, Alaska is an enigma who stuns Miles with her witticism, beauty, and complexity. She is marked by tragedy, something Miles knows nothing about until Green kills Alaska in order to teach Miles this lesson about love and loss. Student Phoebe Yates for The Tufts’s Daily argues: “Certainly, if she were a living, breathing person, Alaska would be complex and multi-faceted. Instead, she comes across as two-dimensional—all meaningful looks and wooden feminist one-liners.” Alaska actually had to die for him.

I do recognize that even naming this trope strips these female characters of any agency and that it is unfair to them. Rabin actually released a formal apology for creating a term that is itself a way to minimize femininity. Elle writer Meghan Friedman summarizes: “A character can be free-spirited and female simultaneously, without existing solely for a male. And that’s why Rabin is calling for the ‘erasure’ of the Manic Pixie Dream Girl. Instead, he says, ‘let’s all try to write better, more nuanced and multidimensional female characters.’” However, it’s hard for me to view Margo and Alaska in particular as multi-faceted when they were written by an adult male author whose main characters all seem to vaguely serve as a conduit for his past teenage self. Looking For Alaska’s plot is actually inspired and driven by Green’s boarding school experience at Indian Springs outside of Birmingham, Alabama. In short, even if Margo and Alaska are not Manic Pixie Dream Girls, their construction by Green is still rooted in unachievable standards of femininity inspired by, and designed for, the white, male gaze.

It’s naive to “blame” Green for my teenage insecurities. I could have taken the books at face value. Even without these novels, I probably would have had the same complexes and personality crises throughout puberty. It’s funny, in hindsight, to see how badly I wanted to be unique and complicated when I no longer need male validation for my personality and existence. 

Simply put, I wouldn’t change my childhood or it’s reading list. In fact, Looking For Alaska did provide comfort to me following the loss of a childhood friend at age 16. These books offered me the vocabulary to express notions of grief and loss in a way I might not have understood when communicating with adults alone. 

While, hopefully, the Manic Pixie Dream Girl is on her way out of white, straight, male authors’ imaginations and as vocabulary for the critique of film and literature, we still have to reckon with the institutional facilitation of femininity within the media. A start would be to recognize, support, and fund female authors, directors, and screenwriters, and especially queer female artists of color. 

To all female young adults out there, read. Read a lot. Read John Green if you wish. But know that you are more unique than any female love interest a middle-aged, white, straight man could possibly conceive of. You deserve more.

Hulu’s Normal People: A Refreshing Depiction of Sex and Consent

by No Rules Cornell, posted in Movies & TV, Pop Culture

by Hanna Carney //

A lot of the sex we watch on TV is unrealistic: it’s always impractical, equally mind-blowing for the characters, or even violent just for entertainment value. While it is true that shows such as Sex Education, a Netflix series that supports sex positivity, depicts endearingly awkward sex scenes, oftentimes this awkwardness is overemphasized for comedic effect. One thing that Hulu’s Normal People does well is that it demonstrates consent as something that doesn’t have to be an awkward formality, but something normal—sexy, even.

Normal People is the television adaptation of Salley Rooney’s novel of the same title. The story follows Marianne (Daisy Edgar-Jones) and Collen (Paul Mescal) as they navigate their relationship, sex, socio-economic boundaries, academia, and adulthood. The audience gets to see them progress from immature and lost high school students, unsure of how to love one another, to successful graduate students who become confident in their relationship. When I first watched the show last summer, I absolutely loved it. And not because I fell in love with Marianne’s intelligence or Connell’s gentle disposition. It was because it portrayed sex realistically and normalized consent, making me—the viewer—more comfortable with watching the show. 

When Connell and Marianne first have sex together, they keep an open dialogue to ensure that they both continuously consent to the interaction. Each step of the way, they ask each other, “is that good?” and “is that what you want?” and so on. Also, Marianne chooses to share with Connell that this will be her first time having sex, and he responds with an assuredness that “it won’t be awkward” if she wants to stop at any time. And I was convinced—it wouldn’t be awkward. Why do people discuss consent as if it’s a formality? A drag? An interruption? Normal People successfully normalizes consent by fluidly interlacing consent throughout sex scenes with the understanding that consent is ongoing and should be an integral part of sex. Some other scenes show how consent can be an enjoyable part of sex as well.

Later in the season when Marianne and Connel are well into their relationship, Marianne explicitly expresses to Connell that she would like it if he did whatever he wanted with her sexually. Marianne tells him that they can have sex “however [he wants]” and “whenever [he wants].” She asks, “Do you like hearing me say that?” and Connell responds, “Yeah, a lot.” This scene exemplifies how consent can be pleasurable. Marianne likes the idea of letting Connell do as he pleases, and he likes to hear her say it. However, Normal People is smart to represent how consent can be withdrawn at any moment. 

During this same scene, Marianne asks Connell if he would hit her, and Connell says, “I don’t think I want that. Is that okay?” When Marianne doesn’t respond, he asks if she wants to stop, and she nods her head, so they stop. Here, some of the nuances of consent are depicted. At one moment, Marianne consents to Connell doing “whatever,” but Connell does not consent to hitting her. Then, he asks if she would like to stop, and she withdraws her former consent. One thing I liked about this scene was it showed consent in a multifaceted way; consent must come from everyone involved, and there is not always a complete overlap in consent. In other words, we may not always consent to the same activities at the same time. Moreover, I appreciated that one of the people who did not feel comfortable consenting was a man. The media often only depicts women as the ones who refuse sex (if depicting consent at all), implying that men are sex-driven creatures who would simply be happy to fuck. But Normal People emphasizes consent as important for all parties involved.

In a post #METOO society where men are afraid of being accused of sexual assault, the concept of consent has been morphed by the patriarchy. All too often, men see it as a way to protect themselves, like a form of insurance, as if asking their sexual partner to sign a contract (i.e. if you give me an explicit yes, you can’t hold any of this against me). But consent should be about actively ensuring the safety and well-being of yourself and your partner(s) in a sexual encounter, which is what this show portrays so well. You’re going to want to watch Normal People on Hulu if you’re looking for a refreshingly real, heartbreaking, feminist, and honest story to binge and adore.

What the Fuck’s a FUPA?

by No Rules Cornell, posted in Health & Wellness, Opinion, Pop Culture

by Isa Meyers //

The term FUPA became popularized back in 2018 when Beyoncé’s fourth Vogue cover spread and story were published. The interview focused on her recent pregnancy from 2017 after she gave birth to her third child. In her interview, she begins to discuss her body postpartum. She said: “To this day my arms, shoulders, breasts, and thighs are fuller. I have a little mommy pouch, and I’m in no rush to get rid of it. I think it’s real. Whenever I’m ready to get a six-pack, I will go into beast zone and work my ass off until I have it. But right now, my little FUPA and I feel like we are meant to be.” Beyoncé is no stranger to empowerment; this sentiment of coming to terms with your own body is not new. But what this interview does not elaborate on is what exactly is a FUPA.

Beyoncé, in this one sentence, draws attention to an occurrence that even celebrities are incapable of avoiding: pregnancy changes your body.

FUPA, ie. fat upper pussy (or pubic) area is pretty self-explanatory: it refers to the layer of fat right above a woman’s pubic area. It is medically known as a panniculus. Fat in this area is very common for women, especially women who have had children. The fat serves as a protective layer and is often inevitable after having given birth or gaining weight in general. 

Beyoncé, in this one sentence, draws attention to an occurrence that even celebrities are incapable of avoiding: pregnancy changes your body. And this isn’t something to be ashamed of, as she states in her interview. And even if your FUPA is not a result of pregnancy (which is also incredibly common), it’s normal. 

The FUPA has been discussed on social media as well. While this Tweet (below) has since been debunked for its inaccuracy regarding anatomy and where the uterus is actually positioned in the body (it’s tucked behind the pelvis, not in front), the sentiment it contains is correct in pointing out that there is a general lack of information regarding female reproductive organs and how the body naturally stores fat. Further, it highlights that the problem is not just misinformation, but also beauty standards that require a flat abdomen, and often exclude postpartum bodies in their definition of beautiful. The person who wrote this Tweet mentions that she “almost killed” herself trying to obtain this standard of a flat, toned stomach. Body standards, social media, and diet culture have created a society that privileges skinny women: women without FUPAs. 

Male bodies also come with beauty standards, but these standards pale in comparison to the physical and emotional labor that women are expected to put into their appearance and especially into managing their weight postpartum.

Further, the coining of the term FUPA itself is gendered and reflects how the media treats women’s bodies—especially versus men’s. For example, women are expected to and praised for losing their pregnancy weight, and frequently complimented for getting their figure back. Yet when men gain weight due to aging, as well as becoming a parent, they are not considered less physically attractive. For example, in 2019 when photos of Nick Jonas showed that he had gained some weight, media outlets praised him for achieving an attractive “dad bod.” Buzzfeed writer Ryan Schocket’s article was even titled “Nick Jonas Is Currently Thicc And He Is Now My Father.” 

Male bodies also come with beauty standards, but these standards pale in comparison to the physical and emotional labor that women are expected to put into their appearance and especially into managing their weight postpartum. The female body is constantly a spectacle, even after something as intimate as childbirth. 

It’s about time we eliminate the stigma of postpartum bodies and having a FUPA. And this can only happen if we take the time to learn about our bodies and challenge how fat is weaponized in the media. 

Bridgerton: A Feminism Nightmare?

by No Rules Cornell, posted in Movies & TV, Pop Culture

by Leio Koga

*Warning: Spoilers Ahead*

Britain, 1813: It’s cuffing season, ladies.

Prudence Featherington is breathing shallowly, eyes scrunched in pain each time the corset of her empire waist dress is laced tighter and tighter around her body. Her mother, ignorant of her daughter’s obvious pain, exclaims “I was able to squeeze my waist into the size of an orange and a half when I was Prudence’s age!” For Prudence’s sake, I hope that they had some large oranges in 1800s British society. But on a more serious note, this opening scene in Bridgerton—a dazzling, steamy, and problematic Netflix show that has gained popularity since its release in December 2020—demonstrates the trajectory of what we see in the rest of the episodes: the objectification of women, traditional gender roles, blatant sexism, and an overall lack of diversity. 

The representation of intersectional feminism in the show is lacking, to say the least.

The representation of intersectional feminism in the show is lacking, to say the least. The female lead is a white, heterosexual woman named Daphne Bridgerton, who comes from a class family ranked very high in the social and economic ladder. The show throws characters of color, but their contextualization and story arch only seem to support the narrative of white characters. However, I do not want to completely disregard the fact that this show takes place in the early 1800s, where the values of intersectional feminism were not prominent in society to begin with. Typically, shows taking place during this particular era do not include characters of color, and thus Bridgerton’s inclusion of several black characters seems progressive. Which is strange, considering that the Regency Era was more diverse than you would think. The problem here is how the characters, particularly the black women, are once again being used to bolster white characters’ narratives that have been at the center of most films and TV shows. While Bridgerton may have sought to include more racial diversity by having several characters of color in their storyline, what is blatantly obvious is that all of these characters of color were consistently made the object of heartbreak, loss, and disappointment. Let me list some examples from the show: Marina’s lover, the father of her child, Sir George, dies and she is forced into marriage with his brother; Queen Charlotte’s loss of her child; and Simon’s mother dying in childbirth. Is it a coincidence that these characters all happen to be black women?

 I’m going to say no. 

This wouldn’t be a critique of the show if I didn’t point out the objectification of women and the patriarchy. Again, I recognize that this is the 1800s and society wasn’t as progressive as it is now (although modern society still has lots of work to do), but why did they have to portray women in such a demeaning way? Honestly, it’s tiring to watch women constantly being objects of oppression—of sex, inequality, and marriage. Let’s start with one of the most problematic themes: the objectification of the female reproductive system and function. Many of the young girls, including Daphne, don’t know what their period is; they don’t know how a woman becomes pregnant and they have no knowledge of sexual empowerment because it is expected only from women to abstain from sex until marriage. And we see what happens when a woman does have sex before marriage: Marina is depicted to have a “condition,” and this becomes a rather unnecessarily large part of her development as a character. Next, and arguably more problematic, was the scene where Daphne manipulated Simon into impregnating her, despite his vocal unwillingness to have children. These two contrasting scenes not only present a racial issue– a white, high-class woman raping a black man as punishment for his silence — but absolutely destroys the idea of feminism in terms of women’s sexuality. Daphne’s pregnancy is celebrated, but Marina’s causes her to be even more of an outcast than she already was. In other words, these scenes display that sexuality is only accepted in certain contexts.

Men in the show, and men today, are encouraged and praised for having as much sex as possible…

Ah, Miss Marina Thompson. I could write a whole separate article on her story and how many injustices she faces throughout the show. Her story is the only representation of a Black woman’s courting experience — and if you’ve seen the show, you know how it ends. If you haven’t seen the show, well, I’ll break it down for you in one sentence: she finds out she’s pregnant, tries to terminate her pregnancy, fails, and is compelled to enter a loveless marriage in order to protect herself and her baby. Marina understands what will happen to her if she doesn’t marry—it was one of the many oppressive standards built by patriarchy—but realizes early on in the show that if she doesn’t cuff a man, she’s basically doomed. Her storyline comments on double standards that have trickled down into modern-day society; namely, the way sex is viewed differently based on gender. Men in the show, and men today, are encouraged and praised for having as much sex as possible—Daphne’s brother, Anthony, sleeps around to his pleasure, and no one says anything or looks down on him for doing so. And yet, the women of Bridgerton literally don’t even know what sex is. Obviously, today, people are generally educated on this topic, but we still see women being put down for being sexy or having sex, while males having sex is associated with being cool. It is undeniable that there is still a negative stigma around women and sex, and we were reminded of that in Bridgerton. The show had high potential to include important discussions about race and gender, and I hope Season 2 provokes more conversations and reflections about the backdrop of society in the 1800s, whether that’s from a modern perspective or reflecting on what the Regency Era was like in terms of race and gender. Speaking of race and gender, the race-baiting and queer-baiting needs to be addressed: to the writers of the show, if you’re going to claim and portray the show as diverse, then we expect you to fulfill that promise! Let’s consider using characters from all different backgrounds—whether that’s physical or something more internal—and allowing viewers to educate ourselves about the historical context of society during this time.