I hope to be a terrible person next year

my thoughts on unlikeable female characters of the past decades

Note: spoilers for Nobody Wants This ahead, tread with caution.

This weekend, I decided to treat myself to a day of full-binging by watching Netflix’s “new” hit series Nobody Wants This. “New” because I somewhat feel late to the trend, especially when I texted my mom about it and she replied “already seen it. very good.” to my text recommending the show. It’s one thing to be late to trends according to the internet, but late according to my mom is quite a different league.

Anyways, I now know exactly what the hype is about - and it’s well deserved. While a lot of the online discourse revolves around appreciating the healthy relationship dynamics and communication between Noah and Joanne, the main couple, I wanted to talk about Joanne specifically.

I was originally going to write this essay before watching the show, but my thoughts have become even more clearer after my binge fest. Because it seems to me that Joanne is like every other mean girl, train wreck, pick-me Hollywood has been shoving down our throats for the past decades. Let me explain…

Female characters have long been held to a different standard, expected to possess both a strong moral compass and a strong likability. Anyone who dares to be messy, imperfect or erratic was seen as a cautionary tale. These so-called unlikeable female characters have had to be humbled, rejected and often humiliated so as to appear redeemable.

But more recently, as seen with Joanne from Nobody Wants This (or even Devi from Never Have I Ever), these women are finally being accepted and celebrated, instead of punished for their occasionally questionable (and highly amusing) behaviours.

Few female character has ever been so disliked as Carrie Bradshaw, our favourite-not-so-favourite New Yorker, who is best hated for her decades long on and off again relationship with John Preston, aka Mr. Big. And while I have my fair share of criticism towards her, Sex and the City is the perfect example of women being punished to increase likability through relatability.

Carrie Bradshaw wrote for Vogue, Charlotte York was an art dealer, Miranda Hobbes was a corporate lawyer, and Samantha Jones a public relations executive. Already in the first episode we are given successful career driven women who have achieved success worthy of celebration, and are instead presented as desperate sulking single girls. I mean it’s in their descriptions:

Name, career, and lonesome relationship status: Unmarried woman. They’re not even being referred to as single, it’s not about what they have, but what they don’t have.

Apart from Samantha who managed to escape a worth fate (patricianly due to the actress quitting the franchise), each of the women are humbled, rejected and somewhat humiliated, just so they can appear redeemable to the viewers. To sum up the show (without referring to the movies or the newest spin-off):

Miranda Hobbes end up in her “over my dead body” neighbourhood, married to a man who feels emasculated by her success, and a child she primarily had because she was afraid she’d miss another window of opportunity later on due to her age. But viewers are meant to believe that Miranda improved from the uptight, head-strong woman she used to be.

Charlotte York converts to Judaism to marry her husband Goldenblatt and struggles with fertility, happily ending with two daughters. But before she is worthy of her happy ending, she must go through a painful first marriage and a frustrating divorce with her mother in law. Viewers are meant to rejoice at her realising that things aren’t meant to always be so perfect. Who cares if she cries every other episode? Sex and misery sells.

As for Carrie Bradshaw, the series finale ends with her rushing out of a hotel room after being slapped by her Russian lover, only to run into her one true love Mr. Big. After a decade of humiliations endured at his hands, viewers are meant to bathe in their bliss because… he hasn’t laid a hand on her? A saint.

Essentially, whatever messy, imperfect or erratic behaviour viewers are meant to criticise, is often simply self-centred behaviour: Miranda wants to move up professionally, Charlotte wants to make her Pinterest board a reality, and Carrie wants to emulate black and white romance movies. What should be relatable is instead condemnable, as the behaviours they display opens the door for their cautionary tales: Careful ladies, you won’t find a man with that behaviour.

Enters now Joanne from Nobody Wants This. Joanne owns a sex podcast with her sister, openly admits that her biggest fear in the world is a bad facelift and that teenage girls’ opinions matter most to her. She is messy, imperfect and self-centred. She essentially hits the trifecta every episode, and is met time and time again with understanding and acceptance.

And with her behaviour not being punished by humiliation or rejection from her partner, she is able to better herself and become “redeemable” all on her own. While I held my breath the entire last episode after she let Noah know she’d convert, it felt like I was releasing a breath of fresh air (pun intended) when she admitted she wasn’t ready to make such an important decision yet, especially because she’d only considered converting to please him (I’m looking at you Charlotte).

What I aim to say with all of this, is that essentially, all these women are similar in so many ways, yet they’ve been treated so differently in terms of how they’ve been perceived and treated. The crazy woman on TV isn’t pointed out in the crowd for being crazy anymore!!

While Sex and the City seemed to be suggesting that happy endings were given to the girls who underwent major changes, with Charlotte York going through the hoops of faith to achieve the Mrs. status, Nobody Wants This tells us that Joanne can let Noah (A RABI) know that she won’t convert, and he will still end up running faster than a shuttle bus to her car to declare that her loves her one more time.

Safe to say, the days of cautionary tales against single women are over. So in the spirit my upcoming birthday (and a new year), I am officially declaring that I no longer simply aim to be the women who were burnt for witchcraft in the 1800s, but more so the female characters severely criticised in the past decades for showing unappealing, erratic, self-centred behaviour. Because let’s face it, they’re always the ones with the better apartments (and closets) anyways.

I want to highlight that in no way am I claiming I have previously been a saint, as I have been guilty of displaying certain questionably erratic behaviours - but instead of letting them keep me up at night or hijack my brain during the day, I’m not going to let my internal male gaze (aka my non-existent Hollywood audience) punish me any longer. So let’s celebrate.

For my part, I’ll start with celebrating being asked “what kind of art do you like?” and spending an hour talking about how colonialism has tarnished art by stealing and destroying numerous art forms and art pieces. An hour. During an interview to volunteer at a gallery. Celebrating all the way to my first meeting with the others volunteers because I’m in!

So what are you celebrating?

Love,

Anastasia