Bridgerton Through the Rosiest Feminist Lens
How Hard Should We Look at the Fluff?
Romance novels are not inherently feminist. Yes, they are created and consumed primarily by women. But the genre also has a history of furthering anti-feminist themes, like “the abortion that ruined my life” and “the evil ex-wife/girlfriend,” and portraying situations that romanticize abusive men and non-consensual sex. Even feminine storytellers can work against feminism.
This is something I think a lot about when I read romance novels, especially older ones like Julia Quinn’s Bridgerton series. And I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately because there’s a new season of the Netflix Bridgerton show out. Fans who spend too much time online will know that this has been an especially controversial season.
The show, which is produced by Shonda Rhimes, is perhaps best known for bucking historical accuracy by putting people of color in the whitest of roles, like the Queen of England. I personally think this is fabulous. I like seeing people who are different from me in all aspects of life, especially art. And I can see real value in people—women, girls—seeing people who look like them in shows, movies, books, everything. I want everyone to have artistic vehicles for imagining themselves in ornate wigs and fancy dresses.
But as a white lady, my open acceptance of representation in art should be questioned. Earlier this year, a New York Times Magazine essay by Kabir Chibber described reimagining history in this way as a Magical Multiracial Past that allows viewers like me to imagine a better world without having to think uncomfortable thoughts. He’s not wrong—accepting a black woman as a European queen or a black man as a duke or an Indian woman as a duchess doesn’t really make sense when I hate what those titles stand for and that they exist at all. And we should have more movies and shows and books that tell non-white stories. But I also think, in terms of fantasies like Bridgerton, that Shonda Rhimes should be allowed to make the queen and duke and duchess whatever color she wants. Storytellers and artists should be allowed to reimagine whatever they want.
Bridgerton is a comedic fictional universe not unlike the Marvel universe. Instead of exploring violence and destruction and good versus evil, Bridgerton explores love, sex, and social relationships. Romance novels—and the movies and shows made from them—share some similarities to reality. But Bridgerton is a fantasy that requires a willful suspension of disbelief. Fantasy. And I think people are especially hard on Bridgerton, and the romance genre in general, because it’s written primarily by women for women.
Instead of women being held in place by patriarchy, Bridgerton gives them agency to fall in love and write gossip columns and make trouble. It gives the queen control, rather than the king. The dowagers and widows are powerful forces in society, rather than ignored. By focusing on women’s spheres, it elevates these matters in importance. And isn’t love important? Doesn’t it affect our whole lives?
Bridgerton in many ways can be read (and viewed—I’m kind of using them interchangeably here) as a reaction to the patriarchy. Objectification is one example, in the show especially. Rather than seeing men objectify women, we see women objectifying men. Obviously, we shouldn’t talk about people’s bodies. And objectification is toxic. But it’s also kind of funny, isn’t it? After so many jokes about women’s appearance all these years, to make a joke about the men? Aren’t we all mature enough to take a joke? I’m being facetious, but aren’t we?
The sex scenes are another example. Regardless of how you feel about sex scenes in books or movies, the way they are portrayed in Bridgerton is strikingly different from the way sex is usually portrayed in other genres. If I look at my Netflix queue right now, for example, there are several shows and movies that portray violence, sexual or otherwise, against women. And in any literary genre outside of romance, you’re more likely to find a woman being hit on the page than a woman having an orgasm. Rather than objectifying women or beating them up, Bridgerton is about sexual satisfaction and happiness for women.
And Bridgerton fans, which includes people who’ve read the books and people who’ve only watched the show, have lost their minds over the sex scenes. Not just because it’s there, but because its portrayal is so unlike sex scenes in less feminist works, which is most works.
This brings me to perhaps the most controversial moment in both the books and the show. In the first book, The Duke and I, which corresponds to season one, the heroine is the eldest Bridgerton daughter, Daphne. She is a twenty-one-year-old virgin in her debut season in society, which means she’s officially looking for a husband. Her eldest brother, the family patriarch, wants her to marry someone she doesn’t love because he thinks it would be a good match. She has to marry someone because that’s where a woman’s value is placed. Daphne and the handsome Duke of Hastings agree to pretend they are engaged so that she has time to find someone else and he can avoid the attention that comes with being society’s most eligible bachelor. When they are caught in a compromising position, they have to marry. Otherwise, Daphne will become a damaged woman. Among other plot threads, Daphne’s naivety around sex develops throughout and comes to a crisis point when her husband refuses to get her pregnant. Basically, Daphne, who finally figures out how it all works, gets on top so he can’t pull out, forcing him to finish where he doesn’t want to and potentially causing pregnancy. It’s non-consensual sex; rape. And critics have berated the way this scene was not treated as a rape scene with Daphne receiving all the consequences that one deserves for doing something like that.
I am not defending what Daphne, the fictional character, did to her fictional husband. It was a terrible thing to do. But, against my better judgment, I want to defend the portrayal of that terrible thing.
Daphne’s story is about a woman with little agency who takes control. First, she takes it by faking her engagement with the duke to avoid her brother’s machinations. And then, despite being a naive virgin who doesn’t know the first thing about sex, she takes control of her husband and their future in the bedroom. The results aren’t good. It drives him away rather than bring him closer to her, which is ultimately what she wants. She’s in love with him by this point. And so she isn’t let off the hook completely, even if she doesn’t face the stiffest of consequences.
Sexual violence is never okay. But we don’t read stories about characters because they behave themselves. We read stories and watch them because the characters make terrible decisions and mess up their lives.
Coming back to the idea that romance novels can be read as a reaction to the patriarchy: how many books and movies portray non-consensual sex acts against women and don’t treat them like rape? Between husbands and wives, this sort of thing happens all the time, in real life and in art, without anyone going to jail. So why are we asking for more when it’s portrayed as the wife doing it to the husband in a fantasy?
Rape isn’t funny ever. But there is something subversive and ironic about an idiot virgin bringing down an idiot duke with sex. It was a bold choice for Julia Quinn when the book was published back in 2000, and it was perhaps an even bolder choice for Shonda Rhimes when season one aired in 2020. I love that they made it because it forced me to think all of this through to some level of understanding. And I’m excited for the choices they’ll make in future seasons, including making Francesca Bridgerton queer. This change from the book already has people on the internet in a tizzy. Supposedly the outrage and vitriol were so despicable that Julia Quinn shut down comments on her Instagram. Quinn later posted a statement that reinforces the goals for the show and reveals just how much thought and care have gone into these decisions.
Romance novels can (and should, like any other literary work) be read and critiqued through a feminist, intersectional lens. While researching this essay and trawling through Reddit threads, I got the impression that some readers (me too, once upon a time) worry that they’re bad feminists for liking this kind of fluffy fantasy. And works that center on emotions and traditionally feminine topics are easy to dismiss. We all want to be taken seriously. We choose serious books as our favorites and offer our thoughtful opinions about the prestige television shows we watch. And when something lighter and wildly feminine like Bridgerton comes along, we can easily dismiss it or look at it so hard that the simple, comedic beauty of what it’s doing is completely lost. Yes, it’s silly and shallow. Nothing is ever perfect, and maybe my feminist lens isn’t as rigorous as the better feminists. But if we stop picking apart Bridgerton for not doing enough, we can see the remarkable work it actually does.
Thank you for reading!
Melinda
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