Strong in the Real Way: ‘Steven Universe’ and the Shape of Masculinity to Come

Steven, the title character, isn’t the troublemaking, reckless, pain-in-the-butt Boy-with-a-capital-B I feared I’d have to watch around to get to the powerful women and loving queer folk I really wanted to see. He’s unreserved, adventurous, and confident – all good traits that are fairly typical for boy leads in kids’ shows – but he is also affectionate, selfless, very prone to crying, and just plain effin’ adorable.


This guest post by Ashley Gallagher appears as part of our theme week on Masculinity.


I wasn’t very fond of boys growing up. Boys were agents of terror on my young life: my very first memory of body shame is from a summer school sprinkler day, when a 7-year-old boy chased me relentlessly around the courtyard trying to pull my bikini. (Next week, and every week thereafter that summer, I wore a one-piece to sprinkler day.) Even worse, the adults in my life – particularly men – often excused behavior like this as something natural and intrinsic to boyhood. When I’d complain of a boy at school teasing me, they’d tease me back, insisting that not only was this a boy’s way of expressing affection for me, but also that I must be crushing back, if I was so fixated on it. After that, I was far less likely to tell the adults in my life when, say, another group of boys chased me around my neighborhood on bikes, demanding that I admit to liking one of their friends, and scaring me so badly that I hid in a neighbor’s yard until they went away, instinctively feeling that I didn’t want them to know where I really lived. Boyhood as it’s commonly understood and treated is toxic: on the theater of the playground where children are trying on identities to see what fits, many boys are already skilled at assuming the sexist behaviors that will seem so harmless to them as adult men, because that’s how they were treated when they were children.

That’s a big part of the reason why I fell in love with Steven Universe almost as soon as I started watching it. Steven, the title character, isn’t the troublemaking, reckless, pain-in-the-butt Boy-with-a-capital-B I feared I’d have to watch around to get to the powerful women and loving queer folk I really wanted to see. He’s unreserved, adventurous, and confident – all good traits that are fairly typical for boy leads in kids’ shows – but he is also affectionate, selfless, very prone to crying, and just plain effin’ adorable. I mean, look at this clip from the first episode–how could I resist the charm of that plump little kid reciting the bizarrely detailed hip-hop ad jingle for his favorite novelty ice cream treat, all without an ounce of self-consciousness? I smiled and laughed like he and the Crystal Gems do in that moment, refreshed and entertained by the genuine joy that Steven seems to radiate.

Steven is truly the beating heart of the show, but it’s not because he’s a boy. In fact, many of his defining characteristics are distinctly un-boyish, as far as popular media tropes are concerned. Empathy and kindness, for example, are often depicted as especially feminine, and therefore less powerful traits than traditionally masculine ones like ambition or courage, but in the world of Steven Universe, not only are they not at all treated as weaknesses or internal conflicts, they are also frequently the source of his greatest powers.

Unlike most boy “chosen ones,” Steven’s magical abilities are distinctly defensive: the very first weapon that Steven is able to summon in the first episode, “Gem Glow,” is not an offensive weapon at all, but an impenetrable shield – bright pink and adorned with a rose emblem, no less. (Which gendered toy aisle would an action figure like that end up in, I wonder?) He can form a pink glassy bubble to protect himself and others around him. And, perhaps most subversively of all, he has healing abilities. While that is obviously a very handy power to have, folks well-acquainted with fantasy genres in a number of forms, particularly video game RPGs, will also probably be aware of the ubiquitous idea that healing is for support characters, usually women, and therefore has the reputation of being a relatively uncool, even “useless” power. Not only is Steven – the only boy Gem that exists, as far as we know – the first Gem since his mother, Rose Quartz, to have these healing powers, the show treats this frequently feminized ability as the extremely vital asset that it is. Several of the first season’s episodes center on Steven’s healing abilities, including a very important two-parter, “Mirror Gem” and “Ocean Gem,” in which Steven heals a character named Lapis Lazuli who has been deeply injured both physically and emotionally, even though the Crystal Gems initially insist that he should fear and reject her. Partially due to this kindness, Lapis is later in a position to help Steven and the Crystal Gems in some very unexpected ways. In another episode, “Monster Buddies,” Steven attempts to befriend a baby monster that the Crystal Gems would normally destroy. In fact, it’s the infant form of a monster that once attacked Steven himself and his home – but despite that history, Steven is still determined to heal it, not with his powers (which he actually doesn’t discover until an episode or two later), but with his caring, a feat that even his legendary mother could never accomplish.

Steven’s kind personality is just as powerful in regular human contexts as it is in magical ones. Indeed, Steven reminds me of no other fictional character more than Usagi Tsukino, aka Sailor Moon, whose ultra-famous superpower is her ability to befriend literally anyone, and heal the world with the power of that love. (Even some of Steven’s poses are strongly reminiscent of magical girl moves.)

“Steven has a magical girl moment.”
“Steven has a magical girl moment.”

 

Case in point: no one seems to notice the quiet, solitary Connie, but after Steven becomes best friends with her, she reveals herself to be a whip-smart, multi-talented, delightfully nerdy, wonderful kid. They clearly have more-than-friendship feelings for each other, but those feelings are allowed to comfortably coexist with their close friendship, and the show gracefully resists treating their crush as a source of conflict.

Honestly, Steven and Connie’s relationship is one of the best things about the show, because it is such a breath of fresh air. The twisted narratives of young love, whether in fiction or real-life, are so gut-wrenchingly familiar: they hate each other, but they’re secretly drawn to one another; or, he’s cruel to her because he doesn’t know how to express how he really feels. Not so in Steven Universe. From the very start, Steven treats Connie as a person who is interesting and dear to him as an individual, and whose well-being is vitally important to him, rather than as some sort of ideal love interest that he needs to maintain distance from to attain. There’s mystery and miscommunication, sure, but no fear, no hatred of oneself or the other, and lots of joy and discovery. In one of my favorite episodes, “Alone Together,” Connie tells Steven that she can’t dance around other people because she’s afraid of them staring at her. Steven invites Connie to dance with him, doing his best to help her feel comfortable: he holds out his hand to her, but steps back to give her space to make the decision, and even covers his eyes so that she doesn’t feel him staring. When they start dancing, they coordinate naturally and easily, resulting in some very special magic that makes them fuse into one beautiful, confident, genderqueer and very dance-y being: Stevonnie, the physical manifestation of Steven and Connie’s mutual affection and, most importantly, trust.

“Connie catches Steven in a dip right before they fuse.”
“Connie catches Steven in a dip right before they fuse.”

 

Lest you think that maybe all of Steven’s goodness, all of his sweetness and caring, is made possible solely by the naiveté of his youth, consider his family. Aside from the three ancient feminine aliens who raise him full time, Steven also has a great dad, Greg Universe, who is just as responsible for Steven’s strength of character. At first blush, Greg – kind of a Homer Simpson lookalike, in my opinion – seems to fit solidly into the “bad dad” type: not only does he not live with Steven as a primary caregiver, he’s also a pretty unambitious, aging, small-time ex-musician who lives in his van. However, Greg is very present in Steven’s life, offering unconditional support and love even when Steven is going through experiences that Greg both fears and doesn’t fully understand. In “Catfingers,” Greg watches over Steven through a scary incident of shape-shifting magic gone horribly wrong, and manages to help him get his son’s powers under control, despite his aversion to magic in general and shape-shifting magic particularly. On a couple of other occasions, Greg gives Steven the space (albeit reluctantly), to take on magical missions that only Steven can accomplish, but always makes sure to stay as close by as possible to offer help, or even just to welcome him home when he returns.

“Steven and Greg sing about their relationship.”
“Steven and Greg sing about their relationship.”

 

Greg isn’t perfect; even his possibly-soon-to-be-tattooed-on-my-body catchphrase says so. (“If every pork chop were perfect, we wouldn’t have hot dogs.”) But he loves himself, and he loves Steven, and he’s absolutely uninterested in making Steven or anyone else feel bad for his own flaws, for the absence of Steven’s mom, or for any of the personality traits and abilities that make Steven uniquely him. As a gentle, nurturing father who does his best despite often pretty crummy circumstances – including being homeless, a widower (for all intents and purposes), and having a hoarding problem – Greg Universe not only provides an excellent role model for his son, but also an interesting complement to the equally trope-bucking Crystal Gems.

Rebecca Sugar has said that her inspiration for the character of Steven is her own brother, which sheds a little light on the loving care that is put into creating him. (Steven Sugar is, notably, a background artist on the show, and boy, are those intimately detailed, fantastically colored backgrounds a delight to behold.) It’s easier to witness how bad people can be to each other in real life than ever before, and to be personally on the receiving end of much of it; sometimes it can feel like I’m barely surviving in a world full of suffering and ugliness. I admit that, at those times, I frequently expect to find fault in everything around me. I was concerned, before watching Steven Universe, that it would disappoint me – that a show about a little boy at the center of his own universe would end up following the familiar frightening paths and byways toward a narrow and troubling version of masculinity. Instead, I’ve found that Steven Universe is a show dedicated to showing that our lives don’t have to be ruled by rigid hetero- and cis-normative gender roles. Steven reminds me that not only can people in general, and men specifically, be good and kind and powerfully loving, and not only should expect I that from them, but that goodness is also right in front of me and all around me. I’m extremely fortunate to have many people in my life, including men, who are as caring and supportive and gentle as any of the literal light beings from space in this cartoon.

In “Lion 3 Straight to Video,” Steven finds an old VHS tape that his mom leaves for him to find, knowing that she will have to give up her physical form once he’s born. In it, she tells him that he is loved, that he is extraordinary, and that his planet and his people are special to her because of how full of possibilities they are. To me, Steven Universe is a boy who embodies the possibilities for masculinities that are rooted in love and pride rather than domination, and for a way of life where all gender expressions can be freed, little by little, from the oppressive baggage that so often tie them down.

 


Recommended reading: Steven Universe and the Importance of All-Ages Queer Representation” by Mey Rude


Ashley Gallagher is an aspiring adult magical girl who lives and writes in Austin, Texas. She co-hosts Moon Podcast Power MAKE UP!!, a feminist Sailor Moon Crystal podcast, and tweets @womyn_ebooks.

 

How Should a Show About Witches Be?

It seems in Hollywood, you can’t talk about women without talking about witches.


This is a guest post by Kaitlyn Soligan.


If “Women in Television” has a unifying theme of the moment, it is this: Everybody Wants a Witch. American Horror Story, Witches of East End, Salem, and HBO’s new Jenji Kohan project The Devil You Know are only the latest instances in recent years of television venturing deeply into witchy woods, with decidedly mixed results. Besides a litany of recent shows devoted solely to Magical Women and Where to Find Them, witches also play various parts in the plethora of supernatural and fantasy shows on television right now; witches are featured in main or recurring roles on Supernatural, The Vampire Diaries, and Grimm, among recent others. More general mainstream fare, including Outlander, Pixar’s Brave, and even the upcoming Avengers: Age of Ultron have fantastical elements and crucial plot points that include or revolve entirely around witchy women. It seems in Hollywood, you can’t talk about women without talking about witches.

Historically, witches have been everything from women who speak their mind to women who own property. Witches have been men who supported women or wouldn’t back down from an argument; witches have been those with a more fluid gender expression or characteristics that failed to fit neatly into an acceptable box on medical forms. Witches have been those with a race or ethnicity that differed in any way from that of those around them, particularly when they occupied the space they did as a result of forceful intervention and colonization. Witches have been the poor and disenfranchised and unlucky. Witches have been sexually powerful and enviable, wealthy and confident; occasionally, witches have been anyone who accused someone else of being a witch, when the tides quickly turned and luck was unsettlingly re-distributed. Witches have those with a faith that differed even slightly from the dominant one of the place and time, including, at intervals, Jews, Pagans, Wiccans, practicers of Hoodoo, and those with basic medical knowledge or an interest in science, among others.

Witches are in the very fabric and nature of gender and queerness and the margins we live in. So if “the season of the witch” just won’t end, how, exactly, should a show about witches be? How about this: Womyn-centric. Gender queering. Aware of race and ethnicity and faith and their role and lived reality in any particular time and space. Deeply intersectional and examining of those aforementioned spaces in the context of that intersectionality. And, without reservation and above all else: totally, joyfully bonkers.

Recent attempts to bring witches to the mainstream have succeeded and failed in almost equal measure. American Horror Story: Coven, created by an out gay man, had a sense of camp about it that harkened back to The Witches; it had something of the horrible feminine in those early images of Kathy Bates smearing her face with blood, of what women will do for power when power is ferociously limited by age and desire; it had some notion to examine race and its implications in magic and magical portrayals. Unfortunately, it also had an abhorrently mishandled rape scene in the first episode, and, whether for fear or incompetence, neither asked the right questions about race nor answered any at all.

Salem, while certainly a missed opportunity to examine the actual Salem witch trials, which were consumed by all of these questions and more, also has camp, gore, and a gleefully nuts sexuality going for it. Witches – both men and women – are everywhere among the good townspeople, who are painfully repressed and not particularly good. The devil is real and holding massive orgies in the woods. Two witches seduce a man, pin him down, and force-feed him a frog. One witch feeds the frog nightly from an extra nipple. Pure insanity abounds.

Also, Salem is pretty gross.
Also, Salem is pretty gross.

 

What Salem and so many other shows that feature witches gets painfully wrong is race. The character of Tituba is weak and jealous, and, as one of the only characters with implications of queerness, leaves us with a jealous almost-lesbian who practices a weirdly racialized magic as the sole character of color on the show. While plenty of other characters are similarly messy or even mishandled, having the entire diversity of the cast rest on that one token portrayal makes Tituba’s mismanagement unconscionable as well as flat-out uncomfortable. Moreover, Tituba actually is a fascinating historical figure, and deserves some of the dignity of the woman herself, whose story is one of dislocation and survival in an extraordinarily dangerous time.

Surprisingly, Lifetime’s Witches of East End’s sometimes diverse cast handled the intersection of race and magic well – to a point. One early character was an African American librarian who thought magic was a fun game of pretend and was the incidental victim of real magic gone wrong, as was a brief romantic lead who became a ghost (obviously). A later romantic interest for one of the main characters was a badass warrior witch that resulted in a few episodes that explored a magical, interracial same-sex relationship of equals, making those traits incidental and the relationship itself about commitment and ego and family. The cast on the whole was diverse in a laid-back way that really worked, until a storyline about an ostensibly Caribbean witch fell into a trap earlier laid by historical misrepresentation, AHS: Coven, Beautiful Creatures, and many others: magic was suddenly racialized, with the Caribbean witch doing dark “blood magic” with bones and powders that was nothing like the ostensibly “better” or cleaner magic practiced by the white leads.

You can feel the sexual tension radiating off of this photo, and these two weren’t even the ones sleeping together.
You can feel the sexual tension radiating off of this photo, and these two weren’t even the ones sleeping together.

 

Aside from the sadly typical mishandling of representation, Witches of East End had some of the things one would hope for; certainly bonkers, sexual, funny, community and family oriented, it also had a messy, sometimes defiantly non-existent narrative structure that in and of itself queered television – if only by making it almost unfollowable, requiring the viewer to give up on the notion of neat boundaries and control.

It’s this new Jenji Kohan HBO vehicle that shows the most promise and gives audiences the most to hope for in terms of what genre-bending things a show about witches could bring to TV. Kohan has headed the excellently written and extremely diverse Orange Is the New Black, proving that she gets women and deliberately women-centric spaces in television. That show also did some cool things with narrative structure, partly as a way to bring an audience in through a typical white-girl-fish-out-of-water point of entry and then go to different, much more interesting places. That cast gave us the unbelievably fabulous Uzo AdubaThe Devil You Know offers similar cause for excitement. It’s full of less-knowns who’ve shown enormous potential, particularly Zawe Ashton, who was part of the weird and moving Dreams of a Life, a queer kind of cinematic endeavor in and of itself, and better-knowns like Karen Gillan, a movie star and genre favorite in her own right as well as a badass action star who shaved her head for a role. Most significantly, the cast includes Eddie Izzard, simultaneously a seriously phenomenal dramatic actor and one of the greatest stand-up comedians in the world, who once explained to a reporter, “Drag means costume. What I do is just wearing a dress.” And all of these moving pieces will be on HBO, the venue that brought us True Blood, which was, for all its problems, queer, dark, funny, extremely sexual, and absolutely, joyfully, bonkers.

Witches are an energetic reality; like ghosts, monsters, and loneliness, they wouldn’t have such a deep psychological pull if they weren’t. We examine these things because they obsess us and keep us awake at night; we examine these things because they are an unquantifiable, intangible, undefinable reality, but a reality all the same. Witches have been terrified victims, sexual beings, rich women trapped in penthouse apartments and more; all of this is so. But what witches do has been and is another matter entirely. Witches upend: dreams, homes, lives, whole villages and cities. They make us uneasy. They steal outright: babies from cradles, men from beds; they take quietly in the night: crops, a sense of security; they give: love potions, stories, endless wonder. They pervert and fascinate beyond measure.

Witches have been wild and untamable for all of recorded human history, and for as long as we’ve had the written word, from The Brothers Grimm to Arthur Miller to Bewitched to Buffy, hardly a storyteller hasn’t tried to tame them. It’s time to stop trying. Let loose the beasts. They won’t promise not to hurt you, but if rumors or true, they will show you a hell of a good time.

 


Kaitlyn Soligan is a writer and editor from Boston living in Louisville, Kentucky. She writes about that, and bourbon, at www.ivehadworseideas.com. You can follow her on twitter @ksoligan.

 

Five Films (and TV shows) Where Women All Want To Be Witches

Since paganism revolves around the ideas of female and male deities, with special emphasis placed upon the role of women’s bodies and their natural connection to the earth, its accessible and inspiring.

In the end, most of these films and shows end up being a tangled dichotomy of supernatural darkness and violence, contrasted with very standard aspects of career and love; also, usually a lot of “girl talk” about boys and shoes.

Therefore, it begs the question, do women ask for these shows? Or are they merely consuming what media executives think they want?

Written by Rachel Redfern

A poor example of witches from Famke Janssen in Hansel and gretel
A poor example of witches from Famke Janssen in Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters

With the recent season finale of The Witches of East End, the start-up of The Vampire Diaries, and then a whole slew of 90s rerun watching, the realization came: the occult is overwhelming the province of women. TV shows and films about the supernatural are always marketed to women—it’s one genre in fact where female characters have the lead and outnumber their male counterparts.

For some reason women seem indelibly drawn to representations of the cult, but within the context of wicca and paganism. Either that or they have been marketed as the exclusive province of women. Why is that?

Since paganism revolves around the ideas of female and male deities, with special emphasis placed upon the role of women’s bodies and their natural connection to the earth, its accessible and inspiring.

In the end, most of these films and shows end up being a tangled dichotomy of supernatural darkness and violence, contrasted with very standard aspects of career and love; also, usually a lot of “girl talk” about boys and shoes.

Therefore, it begs the question, do women ask for these shows? Or are they merely consuming what media executives think they want?

Probably both. And that’s not to put down such shows because in reality there’s been some beautiful acting and surprising plotlines and characters: the harried, independent woman, saving the world from evil while also trying to pay her bills and get a decent haircut is apparently an image that resonates deeply for female viewers.

But more than that, these shows of the supernatural aren’t action dramas of heroism, but rather, a discovery and exploration of female growth and power outside of physical strength.

[youtube_sc url=”http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XgncLPRLd2E”]

Bewitched (1964-72)

Beautiful Elizabeth Montgomery was a trickster domestic goddess. She was elegant and all-knowing while always in some crazy family shenanigans, but not the ditzy shenanigans of I Dream of Jeannie (which no one is knocking). Bewitched occupied the number two spot in American television and ran for a total of eight season, but its popularity never really died and its been a staple of middle-American reruns ever since. And its longevity is deserved, within Bewitched we find a mysterious and powerful woman, otherworldly even, accessing a magic her adorable, albeit frazzled husband can’t even begin to understand. Within all of that, Montgomery struggled to mold into her suburban housewife role, making her infinitely relatable as well as fascinating.

[youtube_sc url=”http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QnA77dF47TI”]

The Witches of Eastwick (1987)

In The Witches of Eastwick, John Updike’s novel of the same name isn’t perhaps done justice with the offbeat, camp of the 80s in this film, despite the efforts of Jack Nicholson, Cher, Susan Sarandon, and Michelle Pfeiffer.

These witches are not sisters, but what they do have is a far more naughty, realistic sort of paganism than the other (slightly goody-goody) witches used. Here, the witches are powerful, but also bitter, petty, lonely, silly, smart, independent, sexy, and seduce-able. Unfortunately, in the film version, the delightfully real woman aren’t aware of their supernatural powers until they basically start sleeping with the devil and have a sexual awakening and a threesome (Hollywood really decided to play around with the original plot).

Either way though, there’s fierceness and female connection, again the standard themes for female self-discovery (albeit couched within desire and lust).

[youtube_sc url=”http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Ihb6FLSh64″]

Practical Magic (1998)

The Sandra Bullock and Nicole Kidman remake of the classic Alice Hoffman novel, Practical Magic, repeated again the overwhelming wiccan theme of sisters, although this time there are three sets of sisters, rather than just two: the wise and ancient aunts, the bickering, bitter adults, and the bickering, hopeful youth. These women are grounded in their very normal, strained, familial relationships and in trying to repair it, but in this version they are also outcasts seeking acceptance from the town’s women.

There’s also a strain of dark violence running through the film, and it is this, a sort of communal fear, and a desire for safety and control, even for power, that brings all of the town’s women together as a supernatural shelter for a battered woman.

[youtube_sc url=”http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T_zd2cAcOJg”]

Charmed (1998 – 2006)

Charmed followed the “everyday woman with extraordinary life” formula with great success for an entire eight-season run: three sisters battled the forces evil and transitioned from young 20-somethings to successful 30-somethings. Each sister had her bout with her own dark side and an obligatory date with a demon, but hidden within a pretty fun, entertaining, often silly show, was the story of three women growing up and transitioning into confident, generous women who actually did have it all: career, family, money, good sex and great hair, and magical powers.

Perhaps most notable, aside from the early seasons special effects, was that Charmed really did manage to portray the growing pains of adulthood for women in the 21st century, dealing with job-hunting, career changes, dating, infertility, divorce, marriage, death, all bound together through the ties of family: grandmother, daughter, sisters, motherhood.

[youtube_sc url=”http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XjsWC61GnMM”]

Witches of East End (2013 -)

Witches of East End is less of an East Coast Charmed (Charmed took place in San Francisco and had a distinct West-coast vibe) and seems more like a Practical Magic TV show. It features two sets of sisters, the older played by the incomparable Julia Ormond and Madchen Amick, and the younger by Jenna Dewan Tatum and Rachel Boston. The sisters are forever cursed to die young and be constantly reborn to their powerful mother (Ormond) and witness the antics of fun-loving wild, cat transforming aunt (Amick). The show’s plot settles on the witchy powers of the women and the events of their past lives and the men who wander in and out of them; but Witches of East End finds its center in the up-and down relationships of the two sisters, especially Joanna (Ormond) and Wendy (Amick), whose interactions are fantastic.

Because these women live hundreds of year together, their lives completely entwined, Witches of East End highlights the bonds of sisterhood beyond just blood relation.

There are other examples of the female witch story, a substantial portion of which are geared for younger audiences: Sabrina the Teenage Witch, The Craft, The Vampire Diaries, The Secret Circle, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Beautiful Creatures, Wizards of Waverly Place and a whole slew of Disney films (Hocus Pocus must be mentioned here). Overwhelming, the characters are female as are the audiences who watch them; many of these stories were first bestselling novels and series with incredibly active fan bases.

Through so many variations of the powerful female witch arising to power and self-realization, these shows are also showing generally relatable women struggling to balance intense power with their personal lives of love, family and career. It’s a theme that seems to echo the ongoing debate surrounding women; “Can we have it all?”

In these shows, she can, and more.

 

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Rachel is a traveler and teacher who spent the last few years living in Asia. Now back in her native California, she focuses on writing about media, culture, and feminism. While a big fan of campy 80s movies and eccentric sci-fi, she’s become a cable acolyte, spending most of her time watching HBO, AMC, and Showtime. For good stories about lions and bungee jumping, as well as rants about sexism and slow drivers, follow her on Twitter at @RachelRedfern2