The Many Faces of the Strong Female Character
The much-requested, positive counterpart to my classic “Female Characters to Avoid in Your Writing” and it’s much-later sequel.
Here, I will discuss some of my favorite fictional ladies and what makes them work so well; given my rapturous love of women, there will probably be a sequel! In the meantime, I talk more about portraying female characters here.
Happy writing, everybody! <3
When most people hear “strong female character,” they picture the most popular definition of the term: a stony-faced, emotionally shallow, conventionally attractive broad who punches and kicks stuff. She may occasionally shout things like, “I DON’T NEED NO MAN,” while perhaps punching a small baby.
I decided to start with my wife Diana, because she is the perfect antithesis of this trope. She isn’t stony, she’s courageous. She’s unabashed about showing her doubts, hopes, affections, and optimism. Her love interest never steals her spotlight, but she feels no need to shun romance to appear “strong.” She’s beautiful, but not sexualized or objectified.
And while most Strong Female Characters™ are ironically reduced to damsels in distress at some point in their own narratives, Diana consistently takes the lead, totally autonomous over her own story.
You can kick ass AND love babies, people. Joss Whedon, please take notes.
Other examples: Okoye from Black Panther, Furiosa from Mad Max: Fury Road, Rey from Star Wars, and Ser Brienne of Tarth from Game of Thrones.
If you haven’t watched Chewing Gum on Netflix, stop whatever you’re doing and watch it right now. Its relatively simple premise – a twenty-four-year-old from a fundamentalist Christian household struggles to lose her virginity – is a segway into a hilarious, genuine exploration of human sexuality, relationships, and how we forge our identities.
Brilliantly portrayed by the series’ creator, Michaela Coel, Tracy is essentially that one friend who knows exactly what you’ve been thinking and isn’t afraid to say so. She is never relegated to a single trope or stereotype. She’s stumbling, clumsily but enthusiastically, through the life experiences that shape us. Most importantly, she is allowed to be sexually curious, awkward, aggressive, insecure, and – I can’t stress this enough – hilarious. The dialogue is infinitely quotable, and endlessly relatable.
Watching shows like Chewing Gum makes me realize how few female characters – and even fe wer Black female characters – are portrayed as truly human. Typically, they’re allowed to be sexy, but not sexual. They’re allowed to be awkward, but only if it’s cute. They can be insecure, but only if that insecurity can easily be solved by the affirmations of a male love interest. And they’re rarely allowed to be the main source of a series’ comedy.
So remember: let your female characters be human. Let them be awkward, funny, sexual philosophers. It’s easier than you think.
Other examples: Abbi and Ilan from Broad City, Leslie from Parks and Rec, Tina from Bob’s Burgers.
Watching Riverdale is like hurtling along on a structurally unstable rollercoaster. It’s utterly insane, a lot of fun, and once you’re on, you can’t stop.
But amidst the explosions of batshit crazy plot points, killer cults, and the existential perplexity of finding yourself attracted to emo Jughead, there are some real gems. One of these is Cheryl Blossom, and pretty much every plot line surrounding her.
Cheryl is introduced as a fairly one-dimensional, catty mean girl, though the Regina George-esque charisma with which she’s portrayed makes her instantly likable. Initially, we expect her to be a character we’ll love to hate.
And yet, within the first few episodes, I was impressed by how layered and complex her motivations were. Much of contempt towards others was misdirected rage from an upbringing of extreme emotional abuse, and grief over her dead brother – all portrayed without a Snape-style condonation of said behavior. By the end of season one, my thoughts were generally, “Oh, crap, I don’t think I can claim to be watching this ‘ironically’ anymore,” and “MORE CHERYL.”
Season two answered my wish, and then some. Cheryl was saved from an (impressively conscientiously portrayed) attempt at sexual assault by a pack of her female friends, and her attacker got the shit beat out of him in one of the most cathartic moments of modern television.
To the exaltation of my queer heart, she also came out as a lesbian, in a deeply moving story arc that I never would have expected from this show. Without spoiling too much, she and her new love interest kissing in front of anti-gay propaganda footage was legitimately one of the most powerful moments I have ever witnessed.
Before the season was over, she viciously threatened her abusive, homophobic mother while covered in blood, shot a serial killer with a bow and arrow, and joined a gang. If that’s not gay culture, I don’t know what is.
Oh, how I wish this show was just about her.
Other examples: Alexis from Schitt’s Creek.
Ah, The Good Place. I have never experienced such a breath of comedic fresh air. A new philosophical principle each episode, examined and applied in hilarious and thought-provoking ways. A complete absence of harmful stereotypes. Incredibly lovable, three-dimensional, and ever-evolving characters.
I was considering using my queen Tahani for this list, who externally larger-than-life and internally vulnerable after emotional abuse by her parents. Also, she’s hilarious. Everyone and everything in The Good Place is hilarious. And I also thought about talking about Janet, who is the best character in anything ever, but of course:
Instead, I’ll be talking about bisexual icon Eleanor, who is something very few female characters get to be: the lovable bastard.
Eleanor, when we first meet her, is not traditionally good in any sense of the word. She turned down a high-paying job because she was expected to be nice to people. She sold placebos to the elderly, and was great at it. She was drunken, slovenly, hedonistic, and selfish. And she’s instantly incredibly likable.
Why and how Eleanor is so enjoyable, even at her very worst, merits an essay all its own. But in a nutshell:
We empathize with her. We are introduced to “The Good Place” completely through her eyes. We are in her shoes.
The stakes are high. When we discover that her entry into the good place was a mistake, we want her to be okay.
We come to understand her, and how her terrible childhood shaped her destructive behavior.
She wants to be a better person, and with time, effort, and character development, we watch her become one.
Not only is this an amazing lesson in how to endear audiences to your character, it is also infinitely refreshing. The most famous lovable bastards are all men – Han Solo, Dr. House, Captain Jack Sparrow, the Man With No Name, et cetera – but women are rarely afforded the same moral complexity. If a woman in fiction has done bad things, she’s not usually a lovable bastard. She’s usually a bitch.
Eleanor isn’t just a great character. She conveys an important lesson: women are people. People with the same capacity for mistakes, growth, redemption, and love as anyone else.
Other examples: Chloe from Don’t Trust the B*tch in Apartment 23
Yep. I said it. Cinderella is a strong female character.
My girl not only survived in an abusive household, she persistently stayed positive. She worked each day to make the best of an impossible situation, from which she had no means of escape. That takes an insane amount of courage and tenacity.
But Caff, I hear you scream, she needed help to escape!! Well, my imaginary counterargument, so the fuck what? MOST people need help to escape their abusive situations, and there’s no shame in that. Accepting help from someone you trust is the best thing you can do in a situation such as that, and implying otherwise is horribly damaging to victims of abuse.
But she married the prince, you more feebly protest. Yes! She did! She found love and happiness and a great life in a socially influential position! And that’s an amazing message!
So in the flurry of female warriors, let’s not forget Cinderella, who tells people that their terrible circumstances won’t last forever, to stay hopeful and kind, and that accepting help from a trusted friend can lead to a happy life.
Cinderella is a bad bitch, and she deserves her happily ever after.
Other examples: For some reason, I’m thinking of Sansa from Game of Thrones. When people try to discredit her as a strong character, they often make similar complaints. But both, quite fittingly, end up as queens.
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