We Gave Pop Culture Too Much Power

For the month of January, Bonded is reading and discussing Bad Feminist by Roxane Gay. We’ll be posting response articles throughout the month, and ending the month (Jan. 31st) with a video discussion of some of our favorite essays or passages. Please join us in the comments section that day, but until then, enjoy some preliminary thoughts we’re having as we work through the book right alongside you.

“We put a lot of responsibility on popular culture, particularly when some pop artifact somehow distinguishes itself as not terrible. In the months and weeks leading up to the release of Bridesmaids, for example, there was a great deal of breathless talk about the new ground the movie was breaking, how yes, indeed, women are funny. Can you believe it? . . . Why do we put so much responsibility on movies like Bridesmaids? How do we get to a place where a movie, one movie, can be considered revolutionary for women?” from Girls, Girls Girls essay, pages 53-54.

Remember that one movie you watched over and over again as a kid? I had a few of those: Sleeping Beauty, The Little Mermaid, A Little Princess, Passport to Paris (a delightfully-awful Marykate and Ashley film), Now and Then, and Practical Magic. My childhood girlfriend and I spent hours -- probably days or weeks of our lives -- watching these exact movies. Sometimes, after going through all the VHS tapes at her parents' house, we’d walk (next door) to my parents’ house to look through their tapes just to be sure we’d picked the perfect movie. (And had the best snacks. That was crucial.) But usually, we’d end up rewatching one of our favorites.

We’d flop on her wooden-framed bed with its purple-checkered comforter, her cats lounging nearby, or between us, and she would slide a clunky, slate-colored rectangle into a big, square box. The TV would light up, and we were off -- lost in another time, another reality. Since we tended to watch movies where women were the stars, inevitably, the question would arise: “So, which one are you?” Meaning: which character is your favorite, or who is the most like you? Even as little girls, we sought to find relatability in the characters we spent so much time with. For example: she was Ashley and I was Marykate. Ashley was seemingly mature, experienced, slightly older, full of wisdom and stories -- her. Marykate was the wild child, the younger, less experienced, silly, always-on-the-edge-of-getting-into trouble counterpart -- me. We’d do it with every movie. In Practical Magic, she was Sally. I was Jillian. Now and Then: she was Sam and I was Chrissy, although not by choice. If there was only one woman in the movie, we were both her or we’d trade off (“You’re going to be Ariel this time, because Jasmine is my favorite.”).

It was ritualistic activity we partook in. We wanted to see ourselves in the characters on TV -- however flawed and unrealistic they were. Part of us knew that we’d never actually become princesses, or solve a town murder, or fly off rooftops with umbrellas, or move to Paris, but the possibility, however small, was there, and that was enough for us to want to envision ourselves in the character’s shoes. Sure, a lot of TV and movies are wish-fulfillment. But a lot is also relatability. Seeing someone like you, in whatever way that is, is validating. You feel wonderfully understood.

Roxane Gay’s take on this phenomena -- that is, giving power to the movies and TV we watch -- is spot on. According to Gay, we put too much responsibility on movies, actors, actresses, and producers to communicate many, varied, and authentic stories. Our expectations are too high, she says.

As a product of the television generation, I found this a little hard to read. Rarely have I contemplated how much power I’ve given movies to dictate: how and on what terms I should live my life, what the world should look look, and who should have a voice. Sprawled out on my couch at 9 pm, after a long day, with a bowl of popcorn, a glass of wine, and another episode of House of Cards on the TV, it rarely (read: never) crosses that mind that I'm engaging in a power struggle. I’m just there to escape, for an hour or two. At least I think I am. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve heard the old adage: don’t let the media affect you; rise above it; it’s just the movies -- it’s not real life. But that narrative implies that Hollywood already holds the power, and that I, as a consumer, as a woman, am at its every whim. Gay reminds us that we hold the power, and we determine who gets our time, efforts, energy, and thoughts (our power).

And while it could be asserted that Gay is really asking us to lower the bar or give up on Hollywood altogether, I don’t read the Girls, Girls, Girls essay to say that that all. Rather than saying we need to throw out our flatscreens and give up entirely, Gay dives headfirst into the world of entertainment, making mental notes as she goes, taking in the good and the bad, and refusing to put Hollywood on a pedestal. That’s where we go wrong, she says, placing actors, actresses, movies, and TV shows on pedestals, only for them fall short of our copious expectations. Gay reminds us that while we indulge in movies, to not simultaneously give movies the luxury of speaking for us, or the power to be revolutionary. We need to speak for us. We need to be revolutionary. As much as we want Hollywood to do it for us, it isn’t going to happen. And waiting for them to start the revolution will only result in waiting.