The Subversive Commentary on Gender in Netflix's Cheer

When I was around eleven years old, there was a period of time when my mom would get her nails done every week, and she would take my sister and me with her. Sometimes we'd just hang out in the salon, but other times we would get our nails done too, and I remember one of these instances vividly. The nail technician chose a shade of pink that I did not particularly like, and she selected some sparkles for me as well, which I also did not want. She was very confident in her color choice. Since I was conflict-averse and was not sure how to assert myself to this adult who thought she was doing something nice for me, I went along with it and then hated my nails. I was so embarrassed by them. When I remembered, I even curled my fingers in order to hide them.

The sparkly pink nail color wasn't my style and wasn't an accurate reflection of my taste and personality, but I also knew that it was the default for a girl, and I did not want to be a standard girl. I was embarrassed that my nails were indicating to everyone around me that my femininity was the regular kind. The sparkly pink nails did not belong on my hands; they belonged on the hands of a girl who wore bows and frills and did cheerleading. I was fearful and almost repulsed by that kind of femininity.

I cannot identify a source, but I picked up from somewhere that bows, frills, cheerleading, and the color pink were all to be avoided, and nobody swooped in to tell me otherwise. This continued into high school, when I witnessed my peers making fun of traditionally feminine fashion and activities, including cheerleading. Basically everyone I knew made fun of cheerleading, and I struggle to explain why, aside from the obvious misogyny. There is nothing objectively wrong with clapping, chanting, and executing choreography.

Generally, people believe that cheerleading is ornamental and frivolous. (People have trouble remembering that all sports are frivolous.) Cheerleading occurs on the literal margins of the game, and given its role and reputation as "the sport that girls do," this is sadly appropriate. It makes a lot of sense for a marginalized group of people to do their sport in the margins of the main attraction. But what if cheerleading were the main attraction? What if femininity were at the center? What if sparkly pink nails were universally celebrated? This concept is at the core of the Netflix documentary series Cheer, which follows the elite cheer team at Navarro College in Texas.

Little Women and the Limits of Mainstream Radicalism

Greta Gerwig's Lady Bird is one of my favorite movies in recent memory. Most things about it are perfect, from the pacing to the character development to the soundtrack. And on top of everything, it is on the front lines of the Rom Com Resistance. As romance comes in and out of Christine's life, you feel her excitement, and you feel the intimacy of these relationships, but Gerwig makes it abundantly clear that they are just one part of Christine's life. Her friendships, hobbies, dreams for her future, and relationships with family members balance out the plot, with its central focus, of course, on her relationship with her mother.

Lady Bird resists rom com tropes without being too in-your-face about how subversive it is, and without generating a media frenzy about it either. It is simply an excellent movie. Saoirse Ronan's performance as an expressive, audacious teen anchors the film, and I don't really know what directors do, but I'm sure Greta Gerwig played a pretty big role in making this movie as delightful and near-perfect as it is. That said, I was thrilled to hear that Ronan and Gerwig would be collaborating again, and when I saw the trailer for Little Women, I was even more excited.

The trailer made it seem like Gerwig, Ronan, and Co. would be blessing us with a bold and lively spinster manifesto. Or that was how I interpreted it, because I look for the spinster manifesto in everything. (You can find one anywhere if you believe in yourself.) In the trailer, Jo passionately articulates the value of women outside of romantic love, and she is trying to assert this notion through her writing as well, as we see when she negotiates with her publisher. The trailer's final shot, clearly meant as a gag to make us laugh, shows the publisher asking Jo when her protagonist is getting married. He sees marriage as a given for all women, and she is simply not interested in writing her novel that way. Impatiently, she looks away, implying that this is a ridiculous question. Of course her protagonist is not getting married. She has been very clear about this.

The Rom Com Resistance

Throughout my childhood, and beyond it, I learned from the people around me and from the media I consumed that a man and a woman falling in love constituted a happy ending. Falling in reciprocal love with a wonderful man was the absolute best thing that could happen to a woman. The "man + woman = happy ending" message was absolutely everywhere: in books, in movies, in commercials, on billboards. It was baked into the culture of my synagogue and Jewish summer camp, so much so that there was a dedicated wall in the cafeteria on which they hung plaques honoring heterosexual-presenting couples who met at camp and later got married.

As an adolescent and young adult who was never much interested in boys or romance, and who instead enjoyed having friends and hobbies, I always felt like my life had yet to truly begin. I felt shame and embarrassment, but even more so, I felt like I was living in a transitional moment between the innocence and triviality of childhood and the intensity and meaningfulness of adulthood. I wish I could have realized that I was living just as much of a life as all of the people around me who were going off at night and kissing in the bushes, or whatever it was that they did. Thinking about the messages I received from those around me along with the media that I consumed at the time, it makes sense that I felt the way I did. But if I had been able to access some of the media that is available today, I just might have realized the value of my romance-free existence. It thrills me to my core that pop culture is beginning to resist the rom com and its ideology.

My relationship with men: a story of rage, empathy, and hope

I am angry at men, and I've been this way long before the #MeToo movement, which has made me feel validated and vindicated and all the more angry. Sometimes I feel white hot rage toward them, and sometimes I feel more of a passive impatience. I just don't want to deal with them.

My anger stems from things like looking at the list of Oscar nominations for Best Director and realizing, year after year, that there is not a single woman on it. It stems from having been required to read Shakespeare and Hemingway and Fitzgerald and Eliot throughout my schooling but not even knowing what feminism was until I was well into my twenties. My anger stems from being told since childhood that I should be attracted to men. At age 26, I was finally able to proclaim that I am not. My anger stems from all the times men touched me without my consent.

In the #MeToo era, and in the age of Trumpism, so many women and nonbinary people are right here with me. We. Are. Pissed. And it shows. I've been noticing this especially in my reading. I read almost exclusively female and nonbinary authors, and I've observed that horrible, odious men keep on showing up, wreaking havoc on the characters' lives (and, in one case, centuries of women's lives), and fueling my misandry.

Lolly Willowes: My New Favorite Spinster Witch

**Disclaimer: This novel was written in 1926, and it's been sufficiently spoiled by many others who have discussed it. Regardless, I should warn you of the many spoilers in this post.**

I've had Lolly Willowes by Sylvia Townsend Warner, published in 1926, on my to-read list for three years now. Here's the oversimplified premise: An unmarried woman sells her soul to the devil. That was all I needed to know, and I was sold. I have trouble motivating myself to slog through classics, but this one sounded worth it; if Satan himself is a character in the novel, it's probably worth the trouble. I was also drawn to the novel because I love a spinster witch. I wish I could now provide you with a brief history of the spinster witch character in fiction, but I don't know enough, and a quick Google search landed me nowhere, aside from this t-shirt. What I know for sure is that witches/occultists and spinsters noticeably overlap with one another, both in fiction and nonfiction, and I also know for sure that I feel deeply connected to the spinster witch construct. I do find it a bit troubling, because I know that it is sometimes used to stigmatize unmarried women, but it is empowering when claimed or reclaimed or just framed in a positive light. (I should also mention that it's funny. I, a self-identified spinster and a single woman, am tempted to tell every person who asks me if I have a partner that I am in a committed relationship with Satan.)