‘Person of Interest’s Sameen Shaw Stamps Her Place in TV’s Bisexual Landscape

She is a victor, a fighter, and a survivor. Shaw is a queer, neurodivergent, woman of color, and she was allowed to be all of these things without ever being judged or punished for them. Though ‘Person of Interest’ never used the label, and Shaw herself is not likely to ever use such labels, she is unmistakably a bisexual character, and her status as such is treated by the narrative with matter-of-factness, but also with respect and compassion.

Person of Interest

This guest post written by Sophie Willard appears as part of our theme week on Bisexual Representation. | Spoilers ahead for all 5 seasons.


Bisexual people are familiar with erasure, vilification, and demonization. We live in a world where most people think Freddie Mercury was gay and Lady Gaga is straight; where Amber Heard’s bisexuality is held to blame for the abuse she suffered from her husband, Johnny Depp. There is an ever-present need for positive bisexual representation within media, be it found in film / book / television characters, pop stars, actors, writers, or other media makers. The continued scarcity of such representation only renders what is out there even more important. Every instance of bisexual representation, intentionally or not, serves to combat misconceptions and dismantle myopic attitudes towards bisexuality. Of course, not every example of bisexual representation is favorable, and certainly there exist characterizations that reinforce toxic stereotypes and a harmful misunderstanding of what it means to be bisexual.

Nonetheless, there is an increasing number of positive portrayals that we can look to for inspiration, comfort, strength, and affirmation. Sameen Shaw of the CBS television series Person of Interest is one of those portrayals. Sameen (more commonly referred to by her surname) is played by Iranian-American actress Sarah Shahi, originally familiar to many queer female fans for her recurring guest role on The L WordShahi herself has spoken of her pride in providing representation for lesbian and bisexual fans with her characters, and brought with her to Person of Interest an earnest maturity and an awareness of the struggles faced by members of the LGBTQ community.

Yet, interestingly, when her character was first introduced on the show, there had been no specific intention for her to be queer. Fans are more than familiar with this story, but for those unaware, it’s helpful to first know a little about the character of Shaw. A government operative when she first appears in the show’s second season, Shaw tracked down and killed terrorists. Her partner in these operations, Michael Cole, was carrying out his own off-the-books investigation into a prior mission of theirs, having reservations about the culpability of the target they had killed. When his findings suggest a government cover-up, his and Shaw’s employers decide they must be dealt with — permanently. Cole was killed but Shaw escaped, and — seeking revenge — resumes his investigation. This leads her to a chance meeting that has serious repercussions for the rest of the series. Though she thought she was meeting with Cole’s CIA contact, Veronica Sinclair, Shaw was in fact meeting with a woman who had taken Veronica hostage and interrogated her. This woman was Root (portrayed by Amy Acker), who had already been established within the show as an antagonist to the heroes. Shaw, however, was none the wiser and conversed with who she thought to be Veronica, until Root took her by surprise, tasered her, tied her to a chair, and threatened to burn her with a hot iron. Thus followed a now infamous exchange between the two women:

Shaw: One of the things I left out of my file … I kind of enjoy this sort of thing.
Root: [smiling] I am so glad you said that. I do too.

Person of Interest

Both actresses at this point were only guest stars on the show, with the future still uncertain for Shahi’s character in particular. But the chemistry between them when filming this scene proved undeniable, and was picked up on by those writing and producing the show. Though nothing in the script or direction hinted at a sexual tension between the two characters, it nonetheless sparked in that scene, and the foundations of subtext were laid in that moment. Both actresses were subsequently promoted to series regulars, and the writing team took advantage of their chemistry to craft a relationship that forever changed both characters. It was a refreshing decision; few TV series take care to develop relationships that were not originally planned for, particularly those involving queer characters.

Nonetheless, the relationship between Shaw and Root took its time to develop, and was by no means conventional. This was a show that did not prioritize romantic sub-plots or sexual escapades. On Person of Interest, platonic friendships were always regarded with as much importance as romantic and/or sexual relationships. While series lead, John Reese (Jim Caviezel), had lost the woman he loved before the events of the show began, his new employer, Harold Finch (Michael Emerson) was still grappling with the loss of his best friend, Nathan. The way the show portrays their sense of loss and pain is equal — no more weight is given to one personal connection than the other. While over the course of the series, Reese enjoys a casual sexual relationship with a woman they sometimes enlist the help of, Zoe, their rendezvous are only ever hinted at subtextually, with not even a kiss shared between them on-screen.

With this in mind, it is even more remarkable that Root and Shaw’s relationship was allowed to flourish as it did. Certainly there was animosity between them to begin with, and Shaw was eager to exact her revenge for almost being tortured, but Root was clearly quite smitten from early on and soon began to unabashedly flirt with Shaw. For a long time, Shaw would roll her eyes and brush off Root’s advances, though her own attraction to Root could be inferred from the occasional comment. There came a point, however, when Root’s come-ons belied deeper feelings for Shaw, beyond simple attraction. Sameen Shaw, with a self-diagnosed personality disorder, experienced a limited range of emotions, and at a much lower potency than most people. As Root began to express her feelings for Shaw more frequently and honestly, Shaw recognizes that Root would have an expectation for a connection that went beyond the physical. It was something that she thought she could not offer, yet as she later learned, Root appreciates Shaw exactly for who she is.

Person of Interest

Though Shaw is unable to express emotionally what Root means to her, she conveys enough through her actions. In the season three finale, when Root embarks on a solo mission into what was deemed the belly of the beast, Shaw cycles into the next state in the middle of a blackout to help her. “Root’s going to get herself killed,” she tells John, though when she eventually catches up with the other woman, she instead tries to suggest that she was worried about the mission more than anything else.

In the show’s fourth season, unspoken words between these two finally bubble up to the surface, and Root tries to convince Shaw that they would be perfect together. Shaw admits that she’s undeniably attracted to Root, but again brushes her off. Moments later, however, she makes the decision to sacrifice herself to save her teammates, and when Root tries to dissuade her, Shaw pulls the other woman in for a brief kiss, partly to give Root some sort of confirmation of her own feelings, partly to distract Root, and no doubt partly for herself. Though her departure from the show was for practical reasons (Shahi was pregnant with twins), Shaw remained alive and Root searched furiously for her whereabouts.

It was not until the fourth episode of the show’s fifth and final season that we were finally gifted with Shaw’s return, in an episode that proved to be not only dark, action-packed, and heart-breaking, but also conveyed to audiences that Shaw truly feels deeply about Root too, despite her inability to express as much. The entire episode places her within a virtual reality simulation crafted by the malevolent Artificial Super Intelligence that held her captive. Within the simulation, Shaw seeks comfort in small ways, despite the simulation mandate to kill her teammates and locate their base of operations. One way she comforts herself is through finding a taxi driver who’s a fellow Persian. Though Shaw’s Persian heritage had been established on the show, and she had spoken before of her mother’s immigration from Iran and early experiences in New York City, the only time that she spoke Farsi was within this simulation. This small interaction seems to speak to a subconscious desire to find something safe and familiar, while feeling an intense pressure to carry out a task she didn’t want to do.

Person of Interest

The other way in which she sought comfort within the simulation was to have Root find and rescue her. In the simulation, Root calls her numerous pet names. Root gives Shaw her jacket when Shaw feels cold. Root takes Shaw back to her ‘apartment,’ and though none of it was real, we saw them consummate their relationship — quite explosively. Later in the episode, Shaw ends the simulation by shooting herself in the head, but not before admitting to Root that the other woman was her “safe place,” and that Shaw always thought of her whenever the psychological torture grew too difficult to bear. We learn in the episode’s closing moments, that Shaw had actually undergone 6,741 of these simulations, all with the same outcome: rather than shoot Root and betray her friends, she killed herself every time.

“It was all a dream” is an oft-ridiculed and rather dated trope in storytelling, and certainly had this episode focused on any other character, it would have been a waste of time. But with Sameen Shaw — a character who rarely emotes, who’s difficult to read, and up until this point, had not been especially clear on whether or not Root meant much to her — this episode was invaluable in opening up her mind. It allowed us to see that, yes, Shaw did reciprocate Root’s feelings, certainly just as intensely, even if they were all internalized. After nine months of capture and torture, Shaw longed to be with Root again, to feel safe in her arms.

Root and Shaw were eventually reunited, and though the reunion was sadly short-lived, Root did get a chance to open up to Shaw, and Shaw let her in. They held hands for a brief moment — no doubt the first time Sameen Shaw had ever allowed anybody to hold her hand — and Root shared that what they had between them was good enough for her, and better than anything she had ever hoped to experience in life.

Person of Interest

Shaw had expressed physical attraction to men before on the show, and there was certainly enough subtext to suggest that she was attracted to women other than Root, but Root was the person she was tethered to, and certainly the only person we ever saw her intimately involved with. Root provided action, excitement, and unpredictability — elements that sustained Shaw. Yet, at the same time, it is important to remember that queer people are not defined solely by their relationships, and Shaw certainly has enough personality to go around. She’s often terse, frequently blunt, and exercises a moral flexibility, but she also has a strong sense of wrong and right; she is highly capable, protective, intelligent, and heroic. She ended the series as a one-woman team, accompanied solely by her dog, Bear. She is a victor, a fighter, and a survivor. She is a queer, neurodivergent, woman of color, and she was allowed to be all of these things without ever being judged or punished for them.

Though Person of Interest never used the label, and Shaw herself is not likely to ever use such labels, she is unmistakably a bisexual character, and her status as such is treated by the narrative with matter-of-factness, but also with respect and compassion. She is a source of strength for queer viewers, and a solid, positive representation of how bisexuality can be expressed by some people. Everyone wants a hero they can identify with — queer women no less — and Sameen Shaw is one of our very own.


Sophie Willard is a 20-something gal currently residing in the East of England. She has a BA in English Language with Creative Writing. You can follow her on Twitter @cake_emu where she discusses film, TV, current affairs, and more. She writes about TV and film from a queer, feminist perspective on her blog, The Television Will Be Revolutionised.

‘The O.C.’s Alex Kelly Deserved Better; All Bisexual Characters Do

I’ve had countless conversations with other queer women who had similar awakenings in 2004, when Alex Kelly burst onto our TV screens and shook up the Orange County. But upon subsequent re-watches, I’ve been forced to notice that Alex’s storyline isn’t the empowering queer narrative I remembered. For one thing, all of her romantic interests take advantage of her and use her for personal gain.

The O.C.

This guest post written by Kate Sloan appears as part of our theme week on Bisexual Representation.


The first time Olivia Wilde’s character Alex Kelly appears on-screen in The O.C., protagonist Seth (Adam Brody) creeps up behind her while she’s wearing headphones. Startled, she traps him in a headlock. “Touch me again, I’ll hurt you,” she promises. But actually, it’s Alex who ends up getting hurt, over and over again, by every character she gets close to. She enters the television show tough and fighting, and leaves it heartbroken and crying. She’s used, thrown aside, and objectified. I want better for Alex, because she deserves it, and I want better for every other bisexual character, too.

Alex is introduced in season two of The O.C. as a love interest for Seth Cohen, the show’s awkward, geeky, self-absorbed antihero. Seth needs tickets to a sold-out concert to impress his ex-girlfriend Summer (Rachel Bilson), so he shows up at music venue the Bait Shop to try to weasel his way into the show. There, he finds Alex, the Bait Shop’s bartender and de facto manager. To get the tickets, he applies to work at the club as a janitor, and she hires him. But as is always the way with drama-soaked soap operas like The O.C., their professional relationship quickly becomes more than that.

Alex is everything the show’s spoiled protagonists are not (with the exception of “beautiful,” because everyone on this show is beautiful). Her blue-streaked blonde hair, tough tattoos, and rock-’n’-roll fashion sense make her stick out like a cactus spike amongst all the wealthy girl-next-door types in the cast. By the age of 17, we learn, Alex has been expelled from three different high schools for misbehaving, and her parents kicked her out when they discovered she was dating a girl. But she petitioned the court for emancipation, successfully escaped her parents, got the Bait Shop job, and moved into her own apartment. She’s doing well; she’s happy. At least, until Seth and his friends enter her life.

The O.C.

I’m enormously sentimental about The O.C. It was formative viewing for me at the tender age of 12, when the openly bisexual Alex made me realize that I, too, might be queer. I devoured each new episode with rabid enthusiasm, and pored over Alex-related fanfiction, LiveJournal discussions, and screencaps. She was tenacious and bold, but also feminine and sweet. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to make out with her, be her best friend, or be her. I’ve had countless conversations with other queer women who had similar awakenings in 2004, when Alex Kelly burst onto our TV screens and shook up the Orange County.

But upon subsequent re-watches, I’ve been forced to notice that Alex’s storyline isn’t the empowering queer narrative I remembered.

For one thing, all of her romantic interests take advantage of her and use her for personal gain. Seth, the cute dweeb she starts dating shortly after she hires him to clean her club’s toilets, just wants her so he can make his ex-girlfriend jealous: he brags about her in front of Summer. He consistently fetishizes her rebelliousness and queerness, talking about her like her tattoos, underage alcohol consumption, and sexual encounters with other girls are the most interesting things about her. He eventually breaks up with her because he says her too-cool persona is an “act,” a “crutch,” when in fact it seems to be the only thing that drew him to her in the first place.

From the ashes of her romance with Seth, Alex falls into a fling with Marissa (Mischa Barton), the show’s beautiful, rich, vapid female lead. Marissa’s spent the entire series rebelling against her mom, whom she hates. Earlier in the season, Marissa dates her family’s hot gardener, intentionally inciting her mother’s classist rage by mingling with such an undesirable person. “I’m not saying you didn’t like me,” he says when he breaks up with her, “just not as much as you hate [your mom].” But just a few episodes later, Marissa’s pulling the exact same trick again, by dating someone who’s not only working-class but also (gasp!) a girl.

The O.C.

To the credit of actors Olivia Wilde and Mischa Barton, their courtship is portrayed with an authenticity and vulnerability that the writing lacks. There’s one memorable episode where Alex’s vindictive ex makes off with her favorite heart-shaped necklace and Marissa accompanies her on a road trip to recover it. “You can’t let her steal your heart,” Marissa says, and the look they share is meant to be smoldering but comes across as sweet. It’s an emotional closeness I recognize from my own exciting initial forays into queer romance.

It’s heartbreaking for both Alex and the viewer, then, when Marissa gets overwhelmed by the social stigma of dating a girl and runs back into the arms of her safe ex-boyfriend. “I didn’t ask you to give up your life,” Alex pleads during their break-up scene, “All I ever wanted was to be a part of it.” For the remainder of the show’s four-season run, there were no further indications that Marissa actually liked women or identified as anything other than straight. She tried on bisexuality, and Alex, like a Marc Jacobs trench coat, before deciding it was so last season and she didn’t want it after all. And Alex disappeared from the show, just a footnote in the lives of the characters who had walked all over her.

The O.C.

Because of the sweet and brave way Olivia Wilde played her, I love Alex. I want a different outcome for her every time I rewatch her plot arc, but she always gets pigeonholed and mistreated in the end. I want her to be more than a “sweeps-week lesbian”; I want the other characters to appreciate her for qualities other than her aesthetic and her sex life; I want the show’s creator to have thought of her as more than just a punchline for the male lead. Josh Schwartz has written other queer characters whose storylines were meaningful and defied stereotypes: Eric van der Woodsen and Jonathan Whitney in Gossip Girl, and even another character from earlier in The O.C.’s run: Carson Ward. Why can’t he seem to craft a female queer character who isn’t a mishmash of stereotypes, objectification, and sad endings?

Call me a sap if you will, but I want a better outcome for Marissa, too. Actual queer women know how life-changing it is to fall for another woman for the first time. You don’t just dust yourself off and go back to a fancy-free life of shopping, lounging by the pool, and dating exclusively boys after a breakthrough like that. I want a Marissa whose queer identity matters to her, informs her decisions, or at least brings up some big questions for her. I don’t want it swept under the rug as soon as the “lesbian storyline” is wrapped up.

Bisexual characters shouldn’t be props, caricatures, or Manic Pixie Dream Girls. They deserve better than that. Bisexual people deserve better than that.


Kate Sloan’s writing on sex, kink, and feminism has appeared in The Establishment, The Plaid Zebra, Maisonneuve, Herizons, and her blog. You can follow her on Twitter @Girly_Juice and Instagram, and subscribe to her podcast for sex nerds, The Dildorks, on iTunes. Kate lives in Toronto and spends her free time playing the ukulele, curating her impeccable sex toy collection, and swooning over Olivia Wilde.

If It Were, We’d be Dating: The Tale of Brittany and Bisexuality on ‘Glee’

Brittany’s sexuality, while never explicitly stated by the character as bisexual, goes unconcealed for the most part because the ‘Glee’ audience is led to believe that she doesn’t have much agency over her own personal life. … Sure, ‘Glee’ might be one of the only shows on television to use the word bisexual to describe a character, but all the biphobia it exhibits sort of nullifies that progress.

Glee 
This guest post written by Shira Feder appears as part of our theme week on Bisexual Representation.


“Sex is not dating,” Santana Lopez (Naya Rivera), the outspoken Latina cheerleader, announces. It is season one, episode thirteen of Glee, the newest hit teen show to grace America’s television sets, and millions of people are watching.

“If it were, Santana and I would be dating,” parries Brittany S. Pierce (Heather Morris). An unquantifiable number of interested audiences lean forward, crane their heads. Did she really just say that? Yes, Brittany did, and thus the romance between goofy, purportedly bisexual Brittany Pierce and self-proclaimed “bitch” with a heart of gold, Latina lesbian Santana Lopez would go on to catalyze some of Glee’s highest highs and lowest lows.

TV isn’t created in a vacuum. Today more than ever, fan influence has planted itself inside the writers room. Brittany’s throwaway joke inspired interested fans in what was potentially Glee’s first Sapphic coupling. Fans rallied themselves in endorsement of the couple, but had to wait until season two, episode four, to see any intimacy between the two, presented in the form of neck nuzzling because on-camera kissing may have been “too scandalous” for a family show.

“Bisexual’s a term that gay guys in high school use when they wanna hold hands with girls and feel like a normal person for a change,” Kurt tells the undecided Blaine in season two, episode fourteen. While Kurt’s comment could have been further explored, it’s not; it’s a stance of bi erasure, and one that remains firmly in place amongst the series’ ideologies, right between “The show must go on!” and “80% of screen time is reserved for heterosexual couples.”

Glee

Brittany’s sexuality, while never explicitly stated by the character as bisexual, goes unconcealed for the most part because the Glee audience is led to believe that she doesn’t have much agency over her own personal life. The folks behind Glee, Ryan Murphy and company, have never known quite what to do with Brittany. Her character fluctuates from being an infantilized teen who believes in magic combs and allows Santana to manipulate her into sex — which reinforces rape culture and plays into the ugly underpinnings of stereotypes, all of them involving the myth of the voracious lesbian who preys on innocent straight girls — to a Mensa-accepted mathematical genius. The implication that Brittany is flighty or vapid thus “excuses” her bisexuality by the show’s terms because she is not fully aware of what she is doing, bouncing from one person to the next. Various writers and critics have even questioned her ability to even consent to sex after exhibiting such childlike tendencies. So, the only known bisexual character on Glee is not exactly drowning in self-awareness, making this already lukewarm support of bisexuality even less encouraging than it could (or should) be. Then again, this is Glee; if you’re not insulted by something the series does, you aren’t paying attention.

In season four, episode nine, Brittany tells Sam she cannot date him because she is worried the lesbians of the nation will harass him:

“It’s like, all the lesbians of the nation, and I don’t know how they found out about Santana and I dating, but once they did, they started sending me, like, tweets and Facebook messages on Lord Tubbington’s wall. I think it means a lot to them to see two super hot, popular girls in love, and I worry if they find out about you and I dating that they’ll turn on you and get really violent and hurt your beautiful face and mouth.”

In trying to prevent fan backlash by acknowledging it, the writers instead managed to alienate a diverse fanbase, by refusing to even mention bisexuality. The preemptive assumption in these lines, that Brittany and Santana’s relationship is only for the “lesbians of the nation,” thereby excluding any other sexualities, ignores the variety of different “Brittana” fans who exist that might have been proud to see a fellow bisexual person on-screen. The writers should’ve known better than to alienate their fanbase by defensively accusing them of caring too much, immediately followed by the threat of violence. Brittany’s confusing response, where she doesn’t mention her own sexual orientation and instead speaks in vague terms about lesbians, presents Glee’s lack of clarity on sexual fluidity.

Glee

The other narrow-minded conjecture here is that lesbians in the audience will be actively upset that Brittany is not dating another girl because of the television fallacy that bisexual people “become straight” when they are dating someone of the opposite gender. The so called “lesbians of the nation” were not angry about Sam; they were concerned about the possibility of Glee reinventing Brittany’s character as someone who experimented in high school, as character continuity was never Glee’s strong suit. They’re angry about being insulted in a tossed off meta-reference reducing their valid emotions and opinions about representation into a punchline. There is definitely an interesting argument to make against fan entitlement, but it doesn’t belong here.

The lesbian anger that erupted because of Brittany’s line seemed to be less about Brit moving on with Sam and more about the fact that their new relationship was given more airtime than Brittany and Santana’s relationship ever was. Brittany being with Sam doesn’t dilute her bisexuality, yet by the narrow binary Glee created, it does. “But she was bi!” protests Sam about Brittany in this same episode, as though being bisexual precludes him from ever being able to think of Brittany romantically. When Brittany finally decides Sam is too hilarious to let go, Brittany tells a worried Sam that the lesbian blogger community is “not gonna like it, but the way I figure is that, they know they’re my sisters, and love is love.”

Using the phrase “love is love” is a pretty interesting word choice here, considering that exact phrase was used as a campaign tool during the marriage equality fight to legalize same-sex marriages in the U.S. The phrase was used to appeal to the straight majority of Americans by showing them how “normal” LGBTQ people are, that queer people are capable of love and monogamy just like straight people and they wanted access to the same rights as everyone else. Using this queer-coded terminology here, after railing against the lesbian blogger community, is an odd choice to defend a relationship that passes as heterosexual.

Glee

In season five, episode two, long after the couple has broken up, Santana says about her new lesbian girlfriend:

“Isn’t it amazing how life seems so easy when you just don’t give a fart? I mean, look at this: Hummel is getting married, Berry is just full of confidence, and I finally have a girlfriend who I don’t have to worry about straying for penis.”

Now, this is Brittany who Santana is referencing. This is the girl who worshiped and protected Santana, who took awhile to even think about another person after Santana broke up with her. This biphobic line furthers the trope of the promiscuous bisexual. Santana says this in front of people who knew her and Brittany in high school and were aware of how sacred Brittany saw their relationship. Santana’s “hilarious” zinger goes unchallenged, even though it flies in the face of every minute of character development we’ve previously seen from both Brittany and Santana, painting Brittany as sexually rapacious and Santana as the self righteous, biphobic lesbian. Sure, Glee might be one of the only shows on television to use the word bisexual to describe a character, but all the biphobia it exhibits sort of nullifies that progress.

It wasn’t just the show’s writing that confused viewers; its personal politics were often drawn into question as well. The actors involved ventured into perilous territory when discussing the two girls. Chris Colfer, who played Kurt Hummel, said in an AfterEllen interview: “Maybe Brittany and Santana are just so sexual they don’t know how to have a relationship with anyone that isn’t sexual.” This is an unfortunate statement that pushes the damaging stereotype of the predatory, promiscuous bisexual.

When asked in an interview with The Advocate about the possibility of an on-screen kiss between the girls, Heather Morris said, “I don’t think so. I asked Ryan [Murphy] about that and he said there was no way. He said that since we’re a prime-time television show, he didn’t want to do that.” Brittany had already been filmed kissing a member of the opposite sex. The abundance of screen time Brittany was given when in a heterosexually passing relationship (with Sam and Artie) only complicates the fraught relationship Glee has with representation, walking a fine line between being a “family-friendly show” (as if somehow LGBTQ characters and their relationships aren’t family-friendly) and a television series that is a safe haven for the misunderstood and marginalized.

Glee

In season six of Glee, Brittany and Santana reunite. They get their own happily ever after episode, complete with two wedding dresses and talks of forever. They shared more on-screen kisses in season six than any other season, which perhaps has something to do with the fact that this is the disgraced Glee’s final swan song, in a last ditch attempt to cement its legacy as an LGBTQ-friendly prime-time television show. Brittany seems to have forgotten she ever dated Sam, which can be generously viewed as Brittany wanting to commit to her future without thinking of the past, rather than the writers again not knowing how to handle Brittany’s sexual orientation.

Amid the murky mire of Glee’s personal politics, a path to a blissful conclusion has been carved out for the fan favorites. “The world seemed so scary and confusing. It was just too fast. It made me feel dumb, just because my brain worked differently,” says Brittany in her vows. “I would’ve suffered it all just for the tiny chance to be standing up here marrying you.” Next to her, Santana beams. Bisexuality is irrelevant when there is monogamy to think about. While it’s great to see a happy ending for two queer women characters (one a woman of color), it’s frustrating it occurred amidst bi erasure and biphobia.


See also at Bitch Flicks:

Queer Women as Sexual Beings: The L Word and More
Glee and Trans Men
Becky, Adelaide, and Nan: Women with Down Syndrome on Glee and American Horror Story
Glee‘s Not So Gleeful Representation of Women with Disabilities
Women and Gender in Musicals Week: Glee


Recommended Reading:

The Most Random Fandom | A well curated blog with brilliant analysis of Brittany and Santana that handles each Glee episode individually.
13 TV Shows with Lesbian and Bisexual Female Characters Who Are Getting It Right via Autostraddle


Shira Feder is a writer from New York who can be found at http://shirafeder.tumblr.com/ if she ever figures out how to use it.

‘Firefly’: Mixed Messages on Inara’s Sexuality

In ‘Firefly,’ women can be strong, they can be independent, they can be respected, but they are still fetishized for their sexual choices. Inara’s queerness is less a way to incorporate diverse sexuality into the show and more to stoke a fantasy of women for the consumption of heterosexual men.

Firefly

This guest post written by A Little Tiefling appears as part of our theme week on Bisexual Representation.


Previous articles have discussed the less-than-egalitarian portrayal of Inara Serra on Joss Whedon’s cult television series, Firefly, in her role as respected sex worker. But the framing of her sexuality is also far more traditionally heteronormative than it first appears.

Inara Serra (Morena Baccarin) is a Companion: more than a high-class escort, she has been trained in Tantric mysticism, the arts, etiquette etc. Companions are so respected that they can select their clients and command huge sums. They can also afford to reject clients, unlike their lower class counterparts who have far less freedom to turn down income. All this suggests Companions choose clients based on personal preferences, including sexual ones.

Inara selects patrons with whom she shares chemistry. In the episode “Shindig,” she rejects a timid male suitor and selects Atherton Wing (Edward Atterton), a confident and attractive man. Thus the show establishes Inara exercising control over her partners. It should be noted that in the same episode, two women can be seen among Inara’s potential clients, but she has no further interactions with them and even rejects one before speaking to her.

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TKVqNcRj_sY”]

Inara’s clients are overwhelmingly male. She says it herself to her one on-screen female client. This can only partly be chalked up to the seediness of Serenity’s crew and shipping routes. Inara has a large measure of freedom, being able to pilot her shuttle to more cosmopolitan ports than what her traveling companions can access. And yet, the female client with whom Inara seems to have a strong affection is never seen again. She’s never mentioned again. Their brief sexual encounter lasts a short time, but there are many lingering moments of heterosexual sex. Inara never interacts with another woman in the same intimate and sexual manner, though in theory she has the complete freedom to. She’s even portrayed to have a close platonic friendship with engineer Kaylee (Jewel Staite).

The show could have evolved their friendship into something more romantic or at least give the women time to discuss their closeness. There is some subtextual support that Kaylee has romantic feelings for Inara. They spend at least one scene grooming each other’s hair and discussing love and sex. However, Kaylee, who is just as openly sexual as Inara, pines for a man, while Inara has conflicted feelings for Captain Malcolm Reynolds (Nathan Fillion). This is where the show undercuts Inara’s sexual freedom further. Inara’s interactions with other women, whether openly sexual or hinted, are used primarily to antagonize Mal into more open declarations of his own feelings.

Firefly

In the episode “War Stories,” there’s a scene of Inara engaging with a female client whom she clearly deeply likes. She spends time worrying about the state of Serenity and discusses the woman in intimate terms, as “a very private person.” The scene suggests friendship as well as desire, based on the women’s body language and interactions. They hold a lingering smile and walk side by side, rather than The Councilor (Katherine Kendall) leading Inara. This isn’t a client Inara considers a one-off, but someone she’s met before and enjoys the company of.

A later intimate scene shows Inara giving the woman a massage, helping her to relax and in turn relaxing herself. Inara’s sexuality is clear from the way she is at ease around the councilor. She sought out a female client, alone, not as part of an MFF threesome or because she needed the money. This should have demonstrated Inara acting on her sexual preferences. However, the scene is undercut by the heteronormative tone of the bulk of the show.

Upon learning that Inara has been engaged by a female client, Jayne (Adam Baldwin), Mal, and Kaylee all express some form of arousal, and in Book (Ron Glass)’s case, shock. This grossly inappropriate behavior serves to fetishize Inara’s relationship with a woman. To rub salt in the wound, rather than behave as the flashy Atherton, who flaunts his assignations with Inara, the female client is “private” and desires to meet Inara in secret; as though she is ashamed.

Inara is not a queer woman with the autonomy to choose her clients, as the show tells us. Inara’s requests for respect and privacy with the female councillor go ignored. Instead, the show fetishizes her relationship, mirroring the in-universe delight demonstrated by the observers. Inara’s behavior isn’t her private choice, but meant to be publicly consumed for the titillation of both Mal and Jayne and the audience of the show.

Firefly

In the episode “Our Mrs. Reynolds,” Mal is both fascinated and smug about Inara’s supposed kiss with Saffron (Christina Hendricks). Inara herself recognizes Saffron’s strategy of seduction and tries to turn it back on her, unsuccessfully. It’s Saffron’s open seduction that makes Inara suspect the con-artist had Companion training. This suggests less that Companions are allowed and encouraged to pursue same-sex relationships and more that they are trained for same-sex flirtation, that all Companions are “gay for pay” and not queer because they follow the human spectrum of sexualities. “War Stories” demonstrates that “gay for pay” attitude extends to the crew. The music of the scene, the over-the-top shock and delight expressed by the observers, all suggest that Inara’s taking a female client is new, faintly ridiculous, or something to be fantasized about but not pursued in depth.

This fetishization of Inara’s (and Kaylee’s, and Saffron’s) queerness further undermines the supposed egalitarian nature of Whedon’s universe. Women can be strong, they can be independent, they can be respected, but they are still fetishized for their sexual choices. Inara’s queerness is less a way to incorporate diverse sexuality into the show and more to stoke a fantasy of women for the consumption of heterosexual men. This is not a progressive view, especially of bisexuality, which is one of the least-portrayed of human sexualities in film and television, while one of the most misrepresented and fetishized. Firefly did not have the time to develop human relationships as fully as it could have, had it not been cancelled after one season. But the relationships that are developed are overwhelmingly heterosexual or heteronormative. Inara may be bisexual, but her queerness is fleeting and fetishized. Her primary role on the show is of teasing love interest. Even her queerness is less about her own autonomy and more about her objectification and sexualized image.


See also at Bitch Flicks:

Inara Serra and the Future of Sex Work
The Strong, Intelligent and Diverse Women of Firefly and Serenity


A Little Tiefling is a mild-mannered library worker by day and tarantula-loving guinea pig herder by night. Like all tieflings, this one is interested in writing on matters of sex, desire and the odder things in life.

‘Lost Girl’: Breaking the Mold For Bisexual Representation on TV

Series creator and season one’s co-showrunner, Michelle Lovretta structured the idea of a bisexual female superhero around being a succubus: “a mythological being who uses sex to feed, heal, and kill” — a traditionally vilified female role that used sex as a weapon. … Awareness of the unique challenges of bisexual representation allowed Bo to be a genuinely complex heroine, instead of just a problematic stereotype. She was carefully crafted to be sex positive, while being defined by her relationships, instead of her sexuality.

Lost Girl

This guest post written by Laura LaVertu appears as part of our theme week on Bisexual Representation.


The Canadian fantasy television series, Lost Girl, had a complex and intimate relationship with bisexual representation. Like most shows, years of development had to occur before it appeared on television. During this time, there was a deliberate attempt to counter negative perceptions of bisexual characters in its writing. It also had a rather fraught path to the small screen, one that producer Jay Firestone laid squarely at the feet of its “bisexual element.” He described how he first thought of the idea, in a 2012 Comic-Con interview:

“A couple of my friends and I were talking about what sort of Buffy would be like today versus when Buffy was out. And I made a joke at one point and said Buffy would be bisexual, and everyone said what a cool idea! So we started developing it from there.”

But the production team had a hard time finding a workable script. Series creator and season one’s co-showrunner, Michelle Lovretta, eventually landed it for them, structuring the idea of a bisexual female superhero around being a succubus: “a mythological being who uses sex to feed, heal, and kill” — a traditionally vilified female role that used sex as a weapon. Both Lovretta and Firestone expressed the difficulties they had in managing a television series around Bo (Anna Silk), such a sexually powerful, bisexual lead character:

“I went and sold it, tried to sell it, to everybody… and they were all scared of it a bit… They were nervous about the bisexual element,” Firestone said. “That’s what scared everybody.”

Lovretta relates her own anxiety about the show in this Watercooler Journal interview:

“But after that initial excitement came trepidation – it is so, so incredibly easy with a template like that to create something mind-numbingly insulting, anti-female, and exploitative. I wouldn’t want my name on that. And, as someone who respects both the straight and queer communities, I was afraid of alienating either of them in the process… or, of just making neutered, boring TV by overthinking it and being too PC. Gah!! The challenge was to create a fun, sex-positive world that celebrates provocative cheesecake for everyone, without falling into base stereotypes or misogynistic (or misandristic) exploitation along the way.”

Lost Girl

She set up a series of rules in her writers’ room to address the problems:

  1. “Sexual orientation is not discussed, and never an issue;
  2. “No slut shaming – Bo is allowed to have sex outside of relationships
  3. “Bo’s male and female partners are equally viable;
  4. “Bo is capable of monogamy, when desired;
  5. “Both genders are to be (adoringly!) objectified — equal opportunity eye candy FTW.”

Lovretta admitted they could not always adhere to all of the rules in the “thick of production,” but they always “tried.” She was not fond of anything “too prurient;” and although she said she wrote with no specific themes in mind, she had a desire to “defend the bisexual community” against what she perceived as negative stereotypes. For this reason, the character of Kenzi (Ksenia Solo) was allowed to state she was straight in the first episode. This was to “represent female friendships that [were] not sexualized,” as well as to counter the “gay panic cliché that bisexual people sexualize everyone.”

This was rare and sympathetic handling for such a character. Awareness of the unique challenges of bisexual representation allowed Bo to be a genuinely complex heroine, instead of just a problematic stereotype. She was carefully crafted to be sex positive, while being defined by her relationships, instead of her sexuality. She was specifically designed to be a good person; such positive representation for bisexual people is important. Research has shown that biphobia, monosexism, and erasure and marginalization are major stressors for bisexual people. They “have higher rates of anxiety, depression, and other mood disorders, compared to heterosexuals, lesbians and gays.”

Lost Girl

But while the lead character was undoubtedly important, Lost Girl did not rely on Bo alone for its bisexual representation. By its final season, the show had a majority queer cast, many of whom were bisexual. Possibly the best example was the flip of an iconic season one villain, Vex, into a bisexual male ally. It not only snagged actor Paul Amos a Canadian Screen Award nomination for his portrayal, but it also gave the show its first main bisexual male character. Female characters tend to have much greater bisexual representation than male characters. Lost Girl was no exception to this stereotype, so the bisexual reveal of Vex was a great improvement. Even better was that the show allowed Vex a happy ending with his love interest during the series finale.

But the show possessed other weaknesses in bisexual representation. There was a failure to cast many actors of color, as well as to avoid the death trope. Lead actor Anna Silk has Turkish-Cyprian-British heritage. But the show had a poor record maintaining its characters of color. While the series killed its straight characters at about twice the rate of its queer characters (which is especially interesting given the preponderance of LGBTQ characters killed on television), it did not spare one of its main bisexual characters from a particularly egregious ending.

With all its strengths and weaknesses, Lost Girl was a defining property for bisexual representation on television. It provided a huge boost in both the quantity and quality of bisexual characters on-screen. It expanded significantly on the ground broken by its two predecessors, Sanctuary and Torchwood, and helped pave the way for the now many more leading bisexual characters found on television series such as Black Sails, Orange Is the New Black, The 100, and more. It remains on the short list of shows that provide happy endings to its queer couples; a short list of shows that even have queer couples in its main cast. It was the first television show I knew of with a heroic lead character in a same-sex relationship, and the first show with a majority queer and majority female main cast on mainstream television. May there be many more to follow.


See also at Bitch Flicks:

Friendship, Fandom, and Female Agency in Lost Girl
How Love Triangles Perpetuate Misogyny

The Problem with LGBT Representation in True Blood and Lost Girl


Laura LaVertu is a writer, caretaker, and TV trope analyzer in the southeastern United States, advocating for diversity in film and on television.

‘Game of Thrones’: Oberyn Martell, a Positive Portrayal of a Bisexual Man of Color

But even if Oberyn Martell isn’t your favorite, he is decidedly unique in one regard: a positively portrayed bisexual man of color on television. As if this weren’t enough, his character arc doesn’t center around his race or his sexual orientation. Like any other character on the show, he has his own convoluted political revenge plot.

Game of Thrones

This guest post written by Lochlan Sudarshan appears as part of our theme week on Bisexual Representation. | Spoilers ahead.


Everyone thinks their favorite character on Game of Thrones is the most underrated. As a result, I won’t try to convince you to shift your allegiance. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from the TV series, it’s that it seldom turns out well. But even if Oberyn Martell (Pedro Pascal) isn’t your favorite, he is decidedly unique in one regard: a positively portrayed bisexual man of color on television. As if this weren’t enough, his character arc doesn’t center around his race or his sexual orientation. Like any other character on the show, he has his own convoluted political revenge plot.

Part of what makes Game of Thrones notable, namely the character deaths and the copious sex scenes, are precisely what help Oberyn blend in. By this, I mean the narrative is surprisingly egalitarian with its treatment of him. Sure, he faces a lot of horrific situations, but he’s not singled out because of his sexual identity. In Westeros, no matter who you like screwing, the universe always likes screwing you.

When we are introduced to Oberyn in the television series, it’s in Littlefinger’s brothel. On any other show, I’d see this as a harbinger of more harmful stereotypes about bisexual men to come. The thing about first impressions is, you can only make them once. On Game of Thrones specifically, however, this scene isn’t coded the same way, because the straight and queer characters are also shown having a lot of sex. This means the scene lacks the baggage it would in a series where Oberyn was the only one shown having sex with men. If he were the only character shown to indulge in explicit casual sex and having sex with sex workers, it would be difficult to separate out from his characterization as a bisexual man of color. However, since Game of Thrones shows people of multiple sexual orientations engaging in sex with sex workers, it’s robbed of its connotation as perpetuating harmful stereotypes about bisexual men.

Game of Thrones

A fan favorite, Oberyn is confident, bold, passionate, and fearless. He’s a prince, a warrior (nicknamed “The Red Viper”), a poet, and a father who loves his daughters. And he is candid about his bisexuality:

“Then everyone is missing half the world’s pleasure. The gods made that… and it delights me. The gods made this… and it delights me. When it comes to war, I fight for Dorne. When it comes to love — I don’t choose sides.”

Another unique aspect of Oberyn’s portrayal on the television series is the open nature of his relationship with his paramour, Ellaria Sand (Indira Varma). Like Oberyn, Ellaria is also bisexual. While Game of Thrones is often problematic in its depiction of race, gender, and people of color, it is great to see not one but two bi characters of color.

Game of Thrones

Unlike the plotline of Loras (Finn Jones) and Renly (Gethin Anthony), who are both gay characters, no drama ensues from Oberyn being queer. While Margaery (Natalie Dormer) was supportive of her brother Renly and Loras’ relationship, she had a vested interest in keeping quiet about their relationship: her silence enabled her to be the queen. There isn’t any hint of Ellaria being in a similar position with Oberyn. In fact, she says that people of both genders will “line up” to have sex with him. As Oberyn says later, this is the way things are done in Dorne.

Oberyn is very close with his large family. Unlike other characters, his sexuality isn’t something that comes between him and his family, causing rifts due to their disapproval. More importantly, his bisexuality also isn’t treated as a vice where he’s prevented from spending time with his children because he’s too busy being promiscuous. While he has lots of sex with both men and women, he’s not vilified for it either in or out of universe.

Oberyn’s treatment isn’t restricted to metatextual concerns from the narrative, it’s also shown in the in-universe attitudes of the characters themselves. Again, in contrast to Loras and Renly, no one ever makes homophobic jokes about Oberyn having sex with men behind his back or to his face. Even when Oberyn himself comments on it at the small council meeting, saying the Unsullied were “very impressive on the battlefield. Less so in the bedroom,” this is left untouched by the other sitting members. People don’t treat him with extra respect because they need him as a political ally. Game of Thrones is all about letting personal slights overcome what you and your country need, and the small council is the staging ground for all manner of petty fights, but not this time.

Game of Thrones

In the episode “The Lion and the Rose,” King Joffrey commissions a minstrel show of the various warring kings depicting the events of the last few seasons; Renly and Loras make an appearance. Renly was (nominally) Joffrey’s uncle, and a sizable contingent of Westeros regarded him as the rightful king. Loras, in addition to still being alive, is one of the scions to the powerful House Tyrell. At this stage in the television series, a lot of time has been spent talking about how important it is for House Lannister to secure House Tyrell as political allies. In spite of both of these factors in play, the open secret of the relationship between Renly and Loras means this kind of mockery can go on without any immediate complaint. But no one makes any jokes about who Oberyn’s been sleeping with, or for how many years.

Ultimately, Oberyn’s arc itself shows his egalitarian treatment as a bisexual man on the show. He transcends many tropes. He wants to get his Inigo Montoya on and avenge the rape and murder of his sister and the murder of her children. While he is grotesquely unsuccessful, and his death is extremely brutal — even by Game of Thrones standards — we should reconsider the knee jerk reaction to dismiss all his favorable (and even friendly) treatment by the narrative up until now since he’s killed off — sadly, a common fate for far too many LGBTQ characters on television, both queer men and queer women (especially queer women).

While this ending for his character is unfortunate and would definitely come with some reservations in a different show — much like his introduction in a brothel — its context is different on Game of Thrones. Despite his brief time on the show, he’s a character with surprising depth. What happens to secondary characters here, whether they’re straight, gay, or bi? In the end, they die horribly.

Overall, Game of Thrones treats Oberyn with equality, nuance, and complexity. And that’s pretty great.


Lochlan Sudarshan is a writer, teacher, and tabletop roleplaying enthusiast who excels at knowing the name of that one actor and talks about books, movies, and TV on Twitter. You can follow him on Twitter @Lochlan_S and on his blog.

Is ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer’s Willow Rosenberg a Lesbian or Bisexual?

So is Willow bi, or is she a lesbian? Well, I guess it’s your choice. I personally believe she’s bisexual; it makes more sense to me, a bisexual woman, that Willow is also a bisexual woman, just with a preference for women. But I have read that many lesbians connected with Willow’s story on such a fundamental way, and I can’t wholeheartedly take it away from them; they have just as much of a right to her as I do.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

This guest post written by Gail Wald appears as part of our theme week on Bisexual Representation.


For many people, labels matter. Humans put labels on everything, from gender to interest groups to clothing styles to sexuality. These labels define not just each individual person, but also our culture as a whole. We are the culmination of all of these groups: the groups we accept, the groups we detest.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer was, at its center, supposed to be about the groups we don’t accept. It centered on three unpopular geeks who hung out with a librarian. And sure, they were all very pretty – but everybody’s pretty on TV; at the end of the day, Buffy (Sarah Michelle Gellar) wasn’t winning any popularity contests, Willow (Alyson Hannigan) was a computer nerd, and Xander (Nicholas Brendon) seemed to spend all of his days watching every single movie in the history of Hollywood. This group – the Scoobies – were mocked by Cordelia (Charisma Carpenter) and the rest of the popular crowd; they were losers.

And so they were outsiders. Willow, especially, seemed to never really get over that outsider feeling, always eager to prove herself, to be better – her greatest fear: failure; her deepest secret: self-loathing. In this light, it makes so much sense that Willow was Gay All Along. After all – it fits with her character so well. Trying to hide herself away only to realize she never could.

Of course, the fact that Willow is attracted to women is hardly debatable – in fact, it’s hard canon. The relationship between Tara (Amber Benson) and Willow is nothing if not as genuine – definitely sweeter – than every other romantic relationship on Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Even though it took the series more than a season to have them share a kiss (one of the first lesbian kisses in prime-time television), the show was hardly ever hiding the relationship. While Kennedy (Iyari Limon) is controversial at best and openly despised at worst, Willow is definitely attracted to her – in a major way. Willow likes girls. End of story.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

The problem with this, of course, is that Willow spent more than three seasons forming romantic and sexual attachments to, well, men. First, Xander; then, Oz (Seth Green). And then she cheats on Oz with Xander, seemingly motivated for no reason other than lust. And she has sex with Oz, not divulging to us, the viewers, that she felt any discomfort with the act. These are definite signs of attraction to the male gender, after all.

So wait, what is going on here?

Well, as I said, labels are important. Willow calls herself a lesbian. And if a woman who had been with men stood in front of me in real life and called herself a lesbian, I would believe her. After all, there are several reasons why this could happen. She could be, in fact, a lesbian who experienced compulsory heterosexuality; she could have decided to try sex with guys but realized she didn’t want to do it again; she could be a woman who decided that she was only interested in relationships with women, and therefore identified with the label more than with any other label. And since she is a real human being with her own unique experiences, it isn’t my place to tell her she isn’t a lesbian because she had sex with a man, or a relationship with a man, or any other experiences with a man. She is a lesbian. End of story.

But Willow Rosenberg isn’t a real person. She’s a character, open for interpretation. And them’s the facts: Willow Rosenberg liked having sex with men and women.

But! Somebody screams. Willow seems to never experience attraction towards men after she starts dating Tara!

Not true. Even if we ignored the whole episode in which she shows she’s still attracted to Oz after his return, despite being with Tara at the time, there is still this scene in season 4, in which Giles sings “Behind Blue Eyes” and the gang are left in shock, each with their own unique reaction. “Now I remember why I used to have such a crush on him” seems to me at least to not be the most homosexual line ever.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

So is Willow bisexual then?

Well, the truth is, Willow does call herself a lesbian, and like I said twice already, labels matter, especially self-identified labels. But the thing is, she never dismisses the label of bisexual, either; she simply assumes she is a lesbian since she is interested in relationships with women. And as I said, Willow isn’t a real person – she was written by other people, imperfect people, people like Joss Whedon who might do good, positive work, and still be biphobic, whether intentionally or not.

Willow never brings up the possibility of being bi. Had she brought it up and dismissed it – well, firstly, the word “bisexual” would have been uttered on television, which seems to be a difficult feat to accomplish, and secondly, it would be a lot easier to accept that she was a lesbian for us bi folk. Because there are real bisexual people out there who experience bi erasure, who are told they’re gay or lesbian when they’re with a person of the same gender and heterosexual when they’re with a person of the opposite gender, who are told they’re confused, who are told they must choose. And it would be so easy to bring it up on the show, as well. It could go something like this:

Buffy: So, you’re gay now?
Willow: Yeah. I thought I might be bisexual, but I’m a lesbian.

See? So easy. These two lines turn Willow from bi erasure to pure lesbian representation.

So is Willow bi, or is she a lesbian?

Well, I guess it’s your choice. I personally believe she’s bisexual; it makes more sense to me, a bisexual woman, that Willow is also a bisexual woman, just with a preference for women. But I have read that many lesbians connected with Willow’s story on such a fundamental way, and I can’t wholeheartedly take it away from them; they have just as much of a right to her as I do.

She’s anything you want her to be, at least until we invent a machine that allows us to travel into fictional universes.


See also at Bitch Flicks:

Exploring Bisexual Tension in Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
: Joss Whedon’s Binary Excludes Bisexuality
Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Willow Rosenberg: Geek, Interrupted


Gail Wald is a recent high school graduate who has wished to become an author since the age of seven. In her spare time she writes books and essays about Buffy the Vampire Slayer (which she has been a fan of since seventh grade), complains about the patriarchy (in the newly opened Facebook page Gail Complains About the Patriarchy), and plays with her cat.

A Love Letter to Dr. Callie Torres on ‘Grey’s Anatomy’

Against a backdrop of a television landscape lacking in queer representation (especially queer women of color) emerged Callie Torres’ anxious and exciting adventure of self-discovery. … Callie Torres is a fully fleshed out resilient, sensitive, complex, and unapologetic bisexual Latina woman. … Callie’s journey was an iconic one that helped to not only change television, but to cement the oft forgotten notion that bisexuality is very real.

Grey's Anatomy

This guest post written by Cheyenne Matthews-Hoffman appears as part of our theme week on Bisexual Representation.


It’s no secret that bisexual characters are lacking on television. Even as queerness becomes more prevalent on-screen, the roles are sparse and often times showcase harmful generalizations and stereotypes. Shonda Rhimes’ television empire Shondaland is a powerful part of the changing landscape of entertainment. Her portrayal of people of color, women, and queer characters is nuanced and intricate. She doesn’t discriminate when it comes to drama and thrills; everyone is subject to the emotional roller coaster that is TGIT, no matter who they are.

Her portrayal of LGBTQ characters has been heralded by GLAAD, the most recent accolades coming from the inclusion of How to Get Away with Murder’s protagonist Annalise Keating’s bisexuality. And while the revelation resonated on social media in the weeks afterward, becoming yet another notch in the lineup’s belt of diversity, the best bisexual character lives in another corner of Shondaland.

The groundbreaking story of Dr. Calliope “Callie” Torres on Grey’s Anatomy has been one of the greatest journeys on television. Callie (Sara Ramirez) made her way into the OR in late season 2 in 2006 as a love interest for George O’Malley (T. R. Knight). One tumultuous relationship rocked by typical Grey’s Anatomy drama and an elopement later, the couple broke up. Later in season 4, Callie began realizing she was attracted to cardio surgeon Erica Hahn (Brooke Smith).

Grey's Anatomy

Grey's Anatomy

In 2008, Don’t Ask Don’t Tell was still in effect. Washington expanded its domestic partnership legislation and the California Supreme Court struck down the same-sex marriage ban, but states like Arizona and Florida passed amendments prohibiting it. On television, depictions of LGBTQ characters were incredibly sparse. Will & Grace was over, with The L Word soon to follow, and shows like Glee and Modern Family were more than a year away from premiering. GLAAD reported LGBT representation on scripted broadcast television that year at a measly 1.1%. Against a backdrop of a television landscape lacking in queer representation (especially queer women of color) emerged Callie Torres’ anxious and exciting adventure of self-discovery.

The trepidation Callie had about her budding feelings for her friend were clear, and oh so relatable to anyone discovering their own sexuality. She skirted around asking for advice on dating women from her friends and peers. She reverted to sleeping with her friend-with-benefits Mark Sloan (Eric Dane), in an effort to convince herself she was straight. And after having sex with Erica, she became even more confused because she couldn’t decide if she preferred sex with men or women better, ultimately coming to the conclusion that she likes both. Being dumped by her first girlfriend hurt her just as much as divorcing her first husband. The added sting of Erica telling her she “can’t kind of be a lesbian” tapped into the very real biphobia that bisexual people face from inside the LGBTQ community. Between the drama of stealing organs and patients dying of the hiccups, moments crafted around Callie’s sexuality often encapsulated incredibly genuine experiences.

Grey's Anatomy

Callie’s subsequent relationship with Arizona Robbins (Jessica Capshaw) quickly made them one of the most popular power couples in the show. Their drama ranged from silly to heartbreaking, just like the straight couples. They were given growth and hardship equitable to everyone else. The only way the relationship differed from the rest on the show were the storylines dealing explicitly with their sexuality. Arizona was sometimes insecure of Callie’s bisexuality, even going so far as to use it against her in the more heated moments of fights. Callie coming out to her father and being exiled by her family was an all too real display of the experiences many queer people have and fear. Her refusal to back down against her father, her iconic “you can’t pray away the gay” speech strengthened the resolve Callie had inside of her sexuality and affirmed to the audience that it was very real. Her emotional breakdown after the falling out with her family painted her as such a tangible, authentic character. Not only did the TV series depict the tough ortho surgeon as resolute and confident in her bisexuality, it showed her devastation when the people she loved didn’t approve of her.

The season 7 storyline regarding Callie getting pregnant by Mark after she and Arizona break up only to reconcile, and the ensuing decision to co-parent the child was criticized when it aired. Some felt the storyline stereotyped bisexuality and watered down the importance of Callie and Arizona’s relationship. Arizona even somewhat lampshaded the situation in an argument, saying it’s “some kind of bi dream come true… you get the woman that you love and the guy best friend who’s also a great lay,” in season 7, episode 16. It was hardly writer negligence, however. Mark had already been established as a thorn in Arizona’s side and an unwanted addition in her relationship; an annoying best friend to those he befriended. Callie sleeping with Mark after the break-up was a common situation we see in TV: characters hooking up with someone else to escape the pain of being dumped. It further served to show that Callie’s relationship with a woman didn’t negate her bisexuality or attraction to men. While convoluted and ridiculous, the The Kids Are Alright-esque plotline didn’t stray from the generally ridiculous Shondaland stories we’ve come to know and love (or hate).

Grey's Anatomy

Callie’s bisexuality is important because it never became stigmatized. She isn’t painted as a cheater or overtly sexual or greedy — common harmful tropes about bisexual people. She had the acceptance of her peers and the support of her friends and coworkers. While it took some time for her father to come around to acceptance, and the series made it clear that her mother never would, there existed a dichotomy of how sexuality is perceived, even within the same immediate family. Callie faced “normal” problems in her personal and professional life. Her relationships contained exciting highs and depressing lows. She was allowed to be vulnerable, even though she broke bones for a living. Callie Torres is a fully fleshed out resilient, sensitive, complex, and unapologetic bisexual Latina woman.

Callie’s story and the showcasing of her ability to enter into emotionally deep and complex relationships with both men and women is commendable. Her discovery that she’s attracted to women as an adult gives representation to people who also had latent realizations about their sexuality. Her relationship drama was just as heartbreaking and intense as the other couples on the show. Grey’s Anatomy and actor Sara Ramirez did an outstanding job at telling this story over the course of a decade.

Grey's Anatomy

In real life, Sara Ramirez is a prominent advocate for the LGBTQ community; she’s on the board of True Colors Fund, a nonprofit that aims to eradicate LGBTQ youth homelessness. In 2015, the Human Rights Campaign honored her with the Ally for Equity award. Just check out her Twitter feed and you’ll see how serious Ramirez is about supporting queer communities. Witnessing this real-life advocacy juxtaposed with how fantastic her Grey’s Anatomy character is written and portrayed is just the cherry on top.

Although Dr. Callie Torres may not be scrubbing into Grey Sloan Memorial anymore, the legacy she left at the hospital, and on television as a whole, is insurmountable. Her story was groundbreaking at its inception and continued breaking barriers as the years went on. She wasn’t afraid to own her bisexuality, reminding us that the B in LGBTQ didn’t just stand for “badass.” She managed to incite real change both on and off-screen. After Callie came out, more than 200 other lesbian and bisexual characters were introduced on TV. Callie’s journey was an iconic one that helped to not only change television, but to cement the oft forgotten notion that bisexuality is very real.

Update on 10/20/16:  Ramirez’s connection to the orthopedic surgeon she played is bone deep; the actress publicly came out as bisexual on October 8th at the True Colors Fund’s 40 to None Summit. In a speech on ending LGBT youth homelessness, she stressed the importance of recognizing intersectionality and mentioned her own intersections, including bisexual and queer, as reasons why she is invested in the cause.

Grey's Anatomy


See also at Bitch Flicks:

Interracial Relationships on Grey’s Anatomy
Being in the Sun — Women and Power in Grey’s Anatomy Season 11


Cheyenne Matthews-Hoffman is a freelance entertainment writer and digital content manager who is obsessed with an absurd amount of television shows. She is an advocate for accessible entertainment and sometimes develops websites. You can find her at @heycheyennehey on Twitter or cheyennecheyenne.com.

‘Orphan Black’ and the Breakdown of Tokenization

This scene, a scene in which an assumed-to-be heterosexual protagonist casually courts another woman, is significant because Sarah is one of three queer women – two of whom are bi – on a single television show, each of whom experiences their queerness differently. … Sarah, Cosima, and Delphine are three very different women with different narratives, inhabiting their queerness in three disparate ways.

Orphan Black

This guest post written by Alenka Figa appears as part of our theme week on Bisexual Representation.

[Trigger warning: Discussion of suicide and suicidal ideation]


When it comes to exciting portrayals of complex, realistic women on television, Orphan Black is a stand out. The entire premise focuses on how women are often portrayed as one-note and interchangeable, and flips that concept on its head. Similarly, the show places several exceptional queer characters front and center. Whether it’s Felix (Jordan Gavaris) painting phallus-filled murals while doing mountains of emotional labor to hold Clone Club together, Cosima (Tatiana Maslany) doing science to solve complex genetic mysteries, Tony (Tatiana Maslany) committing crimes hardcore enough to involve bullets, or Delphine (Évelyne Brochu) attempting corporate takeovers and doing even more science on the side, each queer person has a story arc and personality outside of their sexualities. In its most recent season, Orphan Black again upped the ante: they revealed that Sarah Manning (Tatiana Maslany), the clone who first introduced us to this whole, glorious mess, is also bisexual.

Orphan Black is not a perfect example of bisexual representation done right; as Erin Tatum noted in her article, season one delivered a Delphine with all the markings of the Duplicitous Bisexual trope. However, outside of her romance with Cosima, Delphine is a layered and interesting character. Her storylines are exciting; as a scientist who has been connected to Neolution from the get-go, she had the leverage to become a political player, and while she values power, she also strives to maintain her moral code. Personally, I have more of a soft spot for Cosima – dear Orphan Black writers, please know that whenever Cosima cries, I lose it – but I found the non-romantic aspects of her and Delphine’s intertwined storylines more compelling.

Orphan Black

“The Antisocialism of Sex,” an episode from season 4 in which everyone fell apart, did away with all those “Romance? Meh,” feelings. At the beginning of the episode, it’s clear that Sarah has hit rock bottom. Her plan to barter with Evie Cho (Jessalyn Wanlim) and secure a cure backfired, resulting in Kendall (Alison Steadman)’s death and the loss of Cosima’s research data – which could mean losing Cosima and all her sisters to the illness built into their DNA. Haunted by visions of Beth (Tatiana Maslany), Sarah embarks on a reckless bender that seems to be leading her to suicide. However, as she drowns her emotions in whiskey shots, she searches for another way to drown, or perhaps to cling onto life: sex, specifically a hook-up that involves another woman.

There are several possible, trope-ridden errors that the writers could have made in this scene. At this point in the series, it would be easy to write this encounter off as a straight woman engaging in a threesome, or as writers pandering to an audience who have come to expect Sarah to have some sexy scenes. However, the entire hook-up is crafted to emphasize that Sarah’s primary interest is in Elle (Brooke Palsson), the woman. When Sarah first scans the crowd she briefly spies Tito (James Cade) – who Elle refers to as “my man” – but the camera quickly pans over to Elle, who bites her lower lip at Sarah. The camera then pulls back to give us a full body shot of Elle before cutting to Sarah, whose gaze has ceased to wander and is clearly focused on this new woman. Sarah puts her arm around Elle first, takes her hand to pull her to the dance floor, touches Elle’s hips, and even gives Tito a dark look when he breaks up their initial smooch fest. While she’s clearly invested in a threesome, her distinct attraction to Elle is distinctly present.

orphan-black_sarah-three

Orphan Black

This scene, a scene in which an assumed-to-be heterosexual protagonist casually courts another woman, is significant because Sarah is one of three queer women – two of whom are bi – on a single television show, each of whom experiences their queerness differently.

Anyone fortunate enough to have many queer-identified friends will confirm that queer – and bi, pan, fluid, and gay – women are real, complex human beings with diverse personalities. As real human beings do, queer women carry their experiences differently. Some have been so comfortable with their identities for so long that it doesn’t occur to them to disclose, while others purposefully avoid labels because no label feels quite right, or because they hope to challenge assumed heterosexuality, and for myriad other reasons. Others bear the burden of internalized biphobia, anxiety, and other mental health issues tied to having a stigmatized identity. Some want to share their pride in their sexuality by discussing it loudly. However, if you look to television or film, what you generally get are bisexual characters whose main personality trait is being a Bisexual Trope. Tokenization narrows the world’s view of bisexual people, and it is so commonplace that each one-dimensional, denigrating portrayal is another kick against a bi fighter already down.

Orphan Black

A pleasant side effect of placing multiple and unique queer women on the same screen is that tropes and stereotypes have less weight. When it clicked in my mind that Sarah is also bisexual, I immediately felt more invested in Cosima and Delphine. These are three very different women with different narratives, inhabiting their queerness in three disparate ways. Rather than seeing myself represented in a single character, I felt seen because I knew that my unique experience of my own identity was just as valid as those on the screen. I am queer and I am bi, but my queerness is not your queerness, and that is beautiful.

The only way we will reach a tipping point for bisexual representation is to put multidimensional bi characters on-screen at the same time — Orphan Black has given us a taste of the excitement and joy such representation offers. It’s time for everyone else to try harder, and do better.


See also at Bitch Flicks:

Feminism in Orphan Black
Why We Need to Stop Worshipping the Elusive Heteroflexible Femme
Trans Men on TV: Orphan Black and Tony the Trans Bandit
Orphan Black: It’s All About the Ladies


Alenka Figa is a queer, feminist, wannabe librarian. She spends her days teaching people how to attach things to their email, watching Steven Universe, and twittering nonstop about comics and her cat at @alenkafiga.

Exploring Bisexual Tension in ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer’

The possibility existed to use season 3 to explore the sexual identity of three very central female characters in this show. Buffy could have been questioning; Faith could have been explicitly bisexual rather than simply implying as much through very sexually-charged dialogue with Buffy; Willow could have started exploring her sexuality earlier to arrive at a more self-aware place, whether that was as a bisexual woman or a lesbian.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

This guest post written by Audrey T. Carroll appears as part of our theme week on Bisexual Representation.


Nearly twenty years have passed since the beginning of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and we’re still having conversations about this TV show. The conversations range from the creepiest monsters to the most empowering moments of feminism the series has to offer. One of the staying discussions regarding Buffy the Vampire Slayer has been the queer identities of its characters. Certainly, the series invites this as it centralizes a same-sex romance in season 4 with Willow (Alyson Hannigan) and Tara (Amber Benson). The couple wasn’t even allowed to kiss until the season 5 episode “The Body.” There’s no doubt that having a same-sex couple was trail-blazing for a television series to tackle.

That said, we now have the benefit of a retrospective view of both the series and the fifteen intervening years of LGBTQ rights progress since “The Body” first aired. Viewers can now easily recognize that bisexuality is never overtly represented in the series, and is in fact never even brought up as a possibility. But the groundwork for bisexual/queer interpretation is present. This especially comes into play when people bring up the idea of bi erasure and Willow. The possibility of bisexuality in season 3 in particular could have enhanced an already tense triangle of Buffy (Sarah Michelle Gellar), Faith (Eliza Dushku), and Willow. In addition to the scrutiny of Willow’s sexuality in recent years, the obvious sexual tension between Buffy and Faith, especially originating from Faith, is never outright articulated in a consequential way. There’s, of course, the platonic friendship aspect to the tension of this triangle where Willow feels like she’s losing her best friend to Faith.

But these women present three angles on potential queerness that many viewers would have connected with:

1)  Buffy must be “good” at all times, which includes being virginal (see: Angelus becoming a monster after they have sex). Potentially, this expectation of being the “good” slayer could include heteronormativity. But, in the comics, the slayer is willing to explore her sexuality.

2) Faith, in part, defines herself by using and ditching men as nothing more important than the sex they give her and the sense of power she feels with them.

3) At this stage in her life, Willow is in a committed relationship with Oz (Seth Green), but she clearly possessed an attraction to women that she had yet to discover.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

While she’s otherwise dated, Buffy only had sexual experience with one person by season 3: Angel (David Boreanaz). In season 2, they had sex once, Angel turned into a soulless monster, and she eventually had to kill him. He’s resurrected, but they know they can’t fully be together. This sexual tension with Angel runs parallel to Buffy’s sexual tension with Faith. Buffy acknowledges, in season 3 and beyond, that her relationship with Faith can be perceived as more than simple friendship or fellow slayer-hood. In the season 3 episode “Revelations,” Buffy even draws attention to the fact that she “wouldn’t use the word ‘dating,’” for who she has plans with that night and, when Faith shows up as her partner for the evening, goes on to say, “Really, we’re just good friends.” In that same vein, Buffy claims in the season 7 episode “End of Days,” that “I am tired of defensiveness and — and weird mixed signals… I have Faith for that.”

In the comics, Buffy is, to quote creator Joss Whedon, “young and experimenting and… open-minded.” Even if this is a questioning moment of her sexuality, rather than an actual declaration of bisexuality, the possibility of this exploration earlier in the series could have ramped up the tension even further between Buffy and Faith and Willow, making the stakes all the more intense. It could also show that being the “good” slayer didn’t come with the implication of celibacy or heteronormativity as a requirement. If Buffy, the hero, the one who many girls aspired to be, could question her sexuality and explore her sexuality, that could create a connection to her, and a comfort for viewers who are inclined to do the same. It would, of course, have to be handled delicately, but if executed well it could have been a really revolutionary examination of identity and a fascinating aspect for the hero.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

On Faith’s end, she infuses a lot of her words and actions with sexual innuendo. Often, her sexuality is tied to extracting from men what she wants — power, physical satisfaction, etc. The season 3 episode “Bad Girls” opens with Faith insisting that Buffy must have had sex with her friend Xander (Nicholas Brendon): “What are friends for? … It’s just, all this sweating nightly, side-by-side action, and you never put in for a little after-hours…” Faith insinuates that slaying together leads to sex, in the midst of her and Buffy slaying vampires together. One look at any number of Faith’s lines of dialogue with Buffy shows possibility for sexual interpretation (“Give us a kiss.”) if not outright mentions of sexual acts (“Bondage looks good on you, B.” or “So let’s have another go at it. See who lands on top.”). And this isn’t even to mention the very provocative dance scene the pair of slayers share at The Bronze during “Bad Girls.”

If Faith’s bisexuality were actively articulated, it could underscore an interesting layer to the eventual deterioration of their relationship. It seems that the path Buffy toys with in “Bad Girls” is not only one of (mostly harmless) rule-breaking. Buffy appears to be entertaining a very flirtatious and charged relationship with Faith. Faith is very lonely and wants acceptance and friendship. If you add to the pot that both of them were pursuing each other in a romantic or sexual sense, then Faith’s feeling of rejection (from the Scoobies in general, but Buffy in particular) feels like a more pointed one. In this framing, there’s even greater motivation for Faith to later hurt Buffy romantically by going after Angel and engaging in a twisted relationship with him merely to taunt the “good” slayer.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

As mentioned already, Willow is often brought up in terms of bi erasure. If the possibility of her queerness is brought up in season 3, it lengthens the exploration of her sexuality and allows for her to deepen her understanding of it. By season 3, she’s only been sexually interested in Xander and her boyfriend Oz. If it were introduced that she may be sexually attracted to women, it would allow for a more fully fleshed-out representation of her sexuality over the course of the series. In fact, in the season 3 episode “Doppelgangland,” Willow thinks that the vampire alternate-dimension version of herself is “kinda gay.” Buffy assures her the vampire version of a person is nothing like the real person. Angel starts to correct her, but stops. All of this implies that, from at least season 3, Willow has her “kinda gay” self bubbling under the surface.

One of two things could’ve happened here: 1) Willow could have discovered she was bisexual, and maybe even been afraid this would cause Oz to reject her. That’s a fear that bisexual people in hetero relationships might be able to relate to. 2) Alternatively, Willow could have discovered that she was, in fact, a lesbian. This explicit exploration would have made how she self-identifies feel more genuine. Otherwise, her season five “Triangle” declaration of “gay now” feels like a tight clinging to a label rather than a genuine expression of her sexuality. If that exploration and determination happens earlier and more clearly, then the viewer can feel that conclusion is natural. It gives opportunity to address her sexuality in a more fully realized way.

One potential discrimination against bisexual people is the idea that they can’t be in a long-term committed relationship, rooted in the idea that they’ll pursue the opposite type of relationship than the one that they’re currently in (either same-sex or opposite-sex). If Willow is bisexual, and clearly so in the show, then the fight that she and Tara have in the season 5 episode “Tough Love” has more context. It’s possible, with a lesbian-identifying Willow, that Tara fears Willow may “turn straight” again. But a review of their history makes this implication during their fight feel strange. (Willow, after all, turned down Oz when he returned to town toward the end of season 4, actively choosing Tara over her first boyfriend.) But, with the idea that Willow is bisexual in mind, this fight with Tara could have tapped into an anxiety in the queer community — that bi people are more sexually deviant or less romantically loyal because they’re not monosexual.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

This sexual identity questioning would also lend more tension to the whole Buffy/Faith/Willow triangle. In addition to the platonic threads there, Buffy and Faith already have an established, if not candidly articulated, sexual tension. Adding Willow’s sexual identity to the mix, she could have questioned whether her jealousy of the Buffy/Faith dynamic was platonic or romantic on her part. Buffy is her closest friend, except for maybe Xander, the latter of which she had a crush on for years and cheated on Oz with. Willow could reasonably fear that an attraction or possibility of attraction toward Buffy (akin to what she once felt for Xander) could jeopardize their friendship. On the other side, Willow might have been confused or unnerved if she thought she might be attracted to Faith, who was her opposite in many ways and with whom she had a very contentious relationship. She might not have thought about Buffy or Faith that way, but the questioning and anxieties there might have resonated with certain queer viewers and enhanced Willow’s aversion to Faith even further.

Using the context of future seasons, the possibility existed to use season 3 to explore the sexual identity of three very central female characters in this show. Buffy could have been questioning; Faith could have been explicitly bisexual rather than simply implying as much through very sexually-charged dialogue with Buffy; Willow could have started exploring her sexuality earlier to arrive at a more self-aware place, whether that was as a bisexual woman or a lesbian.

This all at least highlights an opportunity for future fiction. Allowing characters to be bisexual or to entertain the idea of not being heterosexual can add innovative layers to otherwise developed and intriguing characters. In the end, whether these characters are bisexual or simply open to questioning their heterosexuality, representation helps people feel less alone in their experiences, and ultimately guides people toward empathy.


See also at Bitch Flicks:

Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Joss Whedon’s Binary Excludes Bisexuality
Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Willow Rosenberg: Geek, Interrupted
Buffy the Vampire Slayer and the Humanization of the Superheroine
Are You Ready to Be Strong? Power and Sisterhood in Buffy the Vampire Slayer


Audrey T. Carroll is a Queens, NYC native whose obsessions include kittens, coffee, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and the Rooster Teeth community. Her poetry collection, Queen of Pentacles, is available from Choose the Sword Press. She can be found on her site as well as Twitter and Facebook.

Why Meredith and Cristina Redefined Sisterhood on ‘Grey’s Anatomy’

Meredith and Cristina reach for each other consistently for 10 seasons, never allowing a male relationship to supersede their friendship. … Watching ‘Grey’s Anatomy’ depict such a powerful female friendship consistently inspires me to improve my own relationships with women, looking to Meredith and Cristina as a model for how sisterhood really should be.

Grey's Anatomy

This guest post written by Olivia Edmunds-Diez.


I am currently on my third rewatch of Grey’s Anatomy. It is a series to which I return when I need a good cry or when I need to feel inspired. With a dynamic and diverse cast that features a plethora of well-developed female characters, I am repeatedly drawn to Dr. Meredith Grey (Ellen Pompeo) and Dr. Cristina Yang (Sandra Oh). This time around, I can’t help but notice that the theme of sisterhood follows them consistently. I shouldn’t be entirely surprised that creator Shonda Rhimes would feature a prominent female friendship, given the nature of the show. Although Meredith and Cristina are not related, they might as well be. Dubbed the “Twisted Sisters,” they spend 10 seasons side by side and grow tremendously not just as individuals, but as a pair. Meredith and Cristina’s friendship withstands motherhood, men, and their careers.

Meredith and Cristina earned the nickname “Twisted Sisters” for good reason. Particularly in the early seasons of Grey’s Anatomy’s, both women experience and recount plenty of hardship. They each know what it’s like to pursue work over family, to have mixed and mostly negative feelings about their mothers, and they both have a tendency to assume the worst. But where others might find fault, Meredith and Cristina bond. After all, Grey’s Anatomy epitomized the definition of “my person.” Meredith and Cristina reach for each other consistently for 10 seasons, never allowing a male relationship to supersede their friendship. They can relate to each other in ways that their friends and boyfriends (and eventual husbands) never fully understand, which to me screams sisterhood. I know I can communicate with my sisters and anticipate their feelings in ways that even our parents never quite understood. Sisters know that going to “the dark place,” as Meredith calls it, is sometimes necessary. But it is far less scary when you’re not going alone.

Grey's Anatomy

Meredith and Cristina spend early seasons of Grey’s Anatomy with mixed feelings about children and motherhood. Cristina is consistent in her refusal to become a mother and Meredith eventually embraces her fear of turning in to her mother in order to start a family of her own. But even though these two women ultimately take different approaches to motherhood, each enthusiastically supports the other in her choice. Cristina supports Meredith emotionally and physically when Meredith and her husband adopt Zola and then later give birth. Meredith supports Cristina through two pregnancies, with the latter concluding in an abortion. As each woman exercises her right to choose, they affirm each other’s choices and provide them the support that their male partners do not always understand how to give, just as a sister would. In the show’s tenth season, Meredith feels conflicted about her dual roles as surgeon and mother. As Meredith begins to lash out, Cristina is the one to explain that neither of them are “better” for their life choices. But their choices are different and that will continue to lead them down different roads, which ultimately results in Cristina leaving the world of Grey-Sloan Memorial Hospital. And though it’s difficult for both Meredith and Cristina to separate, they can each understand that Cristina puts her career first and they are each supportive of these life choices, in ways that only sisters can be.

Meredith and Cristina also support each other through their relationships with men. Cristina is even the first to dub Derek Shepherd “McDreamy.” Whether dating men, marrying men, or having sex with men, Meredith and Cristina know not to judge each other’s choices. Meredith stands by Cristina throughout her almost first marriage and then again through her hasty actual first marriage. Cristina is sympathetic to Meredith’s on-again and off-again relationship with “McDreamy” and helped her emotionally be ready for their post-it marriage. A sister knows when to gossip about cute boys and when to hold her sister’s hand through a break-up; a sister knows when to encourage meeting someone new and when to suggest a quiet night at home.

Grey's Anatomy

Meredith and Cristina met as surgical interns and continue to work together as residents and attendings. They push each other, steal surgeries from each other, inspire ground-breaking research, and question each other’s judgments in operating rooms. For me, this is the most sibling-like that Meredith and Cristina can ever hope to be. Anyone with a sister knows that sisters know just how to push and prod your buttons. Sisters know when to tattle to mom or hold a grudge. But sisters also know how to celebrate your accomplishments, and that is exactly why Meredith and Cristina are so amazing. They are just as likely to be seen fighting over a case as they are “dancing it out” or drinking to celebrate.

Through Grey’s Anatomy, Shonda Rhimes teaches us that our sisters are not always related to us. Sometimes we marry into a family and discover a sister-in-law and sometimes we start a new job and find a new best friend. ‘Sister’ is so much more than a genetic link. ‘Sister’ is a job description, a kinship, a love, and a friend. Watching Grey’s Anatomy depict such a powerful female friendship consistently inspires me to improve my own relationships with women, looking to Meredith and Cristina as a model for how sisterhood really should be.


See also at Bitch Flicks: ‘Grey’s Anatomy and Assertive Sisters; Leaning In to ‘Grey’s Anatomy’Meredith Grey’s Woman Problem; Women, Professional Ambition and ‘Grey’s Anatomy’Cristina Yang as Feminist; ‘Grey’s Anatomy’ Advocates Abortion and Reproductive Rights


Olivia Edmunds-Diez is a Northwestern graduate, where she studied theatre and gender and sexuality studies. Her current favorite finds are Stranger Things, Big Little Lies, and the Waitress cast recording. You can follow her on Instagram, Twitter, and Tumblr.

Sisters in ‘Downton Abbey’ and ‘Fiddler on the Roof’ and the Slow March Toward Equality

The narratives surrounding the television series ‘Downton Abbey’ and the musical film ‘Fiddler on the Roof’ are about change and more specifically, how the daughters within both families represent the small, but important contributions that these characters make to modern feminist narratives. … In both ‘Downton Abbey’ and ‘Fiddler on the Roof,’ each trio of sisters takes a step in determining her own fate.

'Downton Abbey'Fiddler on the Roof

This guest post written by Adina Bernstein appears as part of our theme week on Sisterhood. | Spoilers ahead.


Progression, especially for women, is often a slow march toward equality. It’s easy for this generation of women to take for granted some of the rights we have: K-12 education, the opportunities for a fulfilling career, and — for cis straight people — the right to marry or not marry and choose a spouse. Although we still have a long way to go as we still contend with barriers to justice, such as abortion restrictions, wage inequality, police brutality, lack of healthcare for trans people, and only last year did the government pass nationwide marriage equality for same-sex couples.

While many modern women don’t think twice about some of these rights, there was a time in history, not too long ago, when these questions coming from women were unthinkable. Women were supposed to marry by a certain age, bring children (and by children, I mean boys) into the world, take care of the home, and ensure that their husband was happy; that was the extent of a woman’s life (except for poor women and women of color who worked outside the home).

Modern feminism often refers to the term “glass ceiling,” which represents the barriers and boundaries that have prohibited women (as well as people of color, LGBTQ people, and people with disabilities) from advancing in their careers the same as men have. It’s sometimes easier to see the larger cracks in the glass ceiling (represented by Hillary Clinton accepting the Democratic nomination for President, for example). But while we cheer on the larger victories, we must also pay attention to the smaller achievements as well.

In the early 20th century, some women may have been content to live out the lives pre-planned for them, fulfilling the traditional roles of marriage and motherhood. But some women did question if it was right or fair that a woman was forced to live a life with rigid parameters while her husband or brother was given freedoms that seemed out of reach.

'Downton Abbey''Fiddler on the Roof'

The storylines and themes in the television series Downton Abbey and the musical film Fiddler on the Roof are about change and more specifically, how the daughters within both families represent the small, but important contributions that these characters make to modern feminist narratives.

Downton Abbey starts in 1912 in an aristocratic estate in Yorkshire, England. Robert Crawley (Hugh Bonneville), the Earl of Grantham and his American-born wife, Cora (Elizabeth McGovern), the Countess of Grantham, have three daughters: Mary, Edith, and Sybil. As they have no son, this poses a problem as the title and Robert’s fortune will not pass to his daughters. An unbreakable entail was set up years ago. Without a son, the title of the Earl of Grantham and the money tied to the estate must go to the closest male relative. Robert’s cousin and heir is dead, he is among those who did not survive the sinking of the Titanic. The closest living male relative is a distant cousin, Matthew Crawley (Dan Stevens), a middle-class lawyer who is shocked to find out that he will one day be a member of the aristocracy.

Adapted from the Broadway musical, Fiddler on the Roof is set in 1905 during the Russian Empire. Tevye (Chaim Topol), a poor Jewish milkman and his wife, Golde (Norma Crane), have five daughters — three of whom push the narrative forward: Tzeitel, Hodel, and Chava — and no sons. In that community at that time, young people did not choose their spouse. A match was arranged by the town matchmaker and if the marriage was agreeable to the parents (and the father, specifically), then the couple would wed. Tevye agreed to betroth his eldest daughter, Tzeitel (Rosalind Harris) to the town butcher, Lazar Wolf (Paul Mann). But there is a major hitch to the plan: Tzeitel wants to marry her childhood sweetheart, Motel (Leonard Frey), the tailor.

In both Downton Abbey and Fiddler on the Roof, each trio of sisters takes a step in determining her own fate. While the decisions these girls make may seem innocuous, these steps represent the larger cultural and societal fate that will impact future generations of women.

'Downton Abbey' Mary'Fiddler on the Roof' Tzeitel

Mary/Tzeitel: At the outset of both stories, the eldest of the sisters know what their lives will look like: marry, have children, and generally live out the same lives that their mothers and grandmothers lived. Mary (Michelle Dockery) understands her status and value as an earl’s daughter, but as she’s stubborn and opinionated, she will not take the first man that comes her way. Mary initially rejects Matthew as an interloper when he is announced as her father’s new heir; it’s not the greatest start to what would become one of the great TV relationships of this era. But over time, Mary Crawley will prove herself to be much more capable than just being an earl’s daughter, as she eventually becomes a widow, a single mother, and a savvy agent of the estate.

Tzeitel is very much her mother’s daughter. Strong, outspoken, and very smart, she makes the world-shattering decision to ask her father for permission to marry Motel; not an easy feat in that community and time period. Her father balks, knowing that not only does her request break with tradition, but also fractures the verbal contract he already made with the much older butcher. Tevye finally agrees, putting his daughter’s happiness above the accepted practice of allowing the matchmaker to present a future spouse to the young person’s parents. Not only do Tzeitel’s actions pave the way for her sister’s choices, but they also encourage her future husband to achieve his goals.

'Downton Abbey' Edith'Fiddler on the Roof' Hodel

Edith/Hodel: Lady Edith (Laura Carmichael) is the classic middle child and creator Julian Fellowes’ answer to Jan Brady. Caught in between her beautiful elder sister and her independent younger sister, Edith starts out the series as a mean spirited, angry young woman, especially towards Mary as the two share a rivalry. She begins to find her purpose at the beginning of season two during the changes that World War I brings. After Edith is dumped at the alter by her fiancé, she finds her purpose in life in unconventional ways that would have been unthinkable for the daughter of the aristocracy a generation before. She becomes a journalist and a magazine editor. She starts a romantic relationship with her editor Michael Gregson (Charles Edwards), becoming pregnant. After finding out that Michael is dead and after many emotional hurdles, she eventually makes the decision to openly raise her child. Edith finally finds marital happiness with Bertie Pelham (Harry Hadden-Paton), the newly titled Marquess of Hexham. Surprising everyone, including herself, Edith now ranks above her father and her entire family in terms of aristocratic rank and social standing.

While Hodel (Michele Marsh) is not writer Sholem Aleichem’s answer to Jan Brady, Hodel experiences a similarly unconventional story arc to Edith. Like her older sister, Hodel knows that she must marry. Her choice of husband in the beginning of the film, if she had one, is the rabbi’s son. But like any society, there is a social hierarchy. The daughter of a poor milkman is unlikely to marry the rabbi’s son. Hodel will marry Perchik (Michael Glaser), a traveling teacher with radical ideas that do not sit well with the denizens of Anatevka. When Perchik is arrested in Kiev at a protest and sent to Siberia, Hodel makes the unconventional decision to follow her fiancé to Sibera. Traveling alone to meet up with her fiancé, Hodel makes the brave choice to leave her family and everything she knows behind, not knowing when she will see them again.

'Downton Abbey' Sybil'Fiddler on the Roof' Chava

Sybil/Chava: If one were to look the definition of rebellious in the dictionary, one might see a picture of Lady Sybil Crawley (Jessica Brown Findlay). The youngest of Robert and Cora’s three daughters, Sybil not only gets along with her two older sisters due to her kind spirit, but she’s also unafraid to step away from a traditional life. Whether she attends dinner wearing blue harem pants or her passionate political activism, she charts her own course. While attending a political rally, Sybil is knocked unconscious during a riot. Finally, she shocks her family with her marriage to Irish socialist chauffeur, Tom Branson (Allen Leech). Sybil dies in season three, leaving a grieving husband, a newborn daughter who would never know her mother, and a devastated family. In the end, Sybil’s legacy of love, independence, and acceptance that change was a good thing would forever leave a mark on her family.

If Tzeitel and Hodel made small steps outside of a traditional life, Chava (Neva Small) jumped across the boundary of tradition. Her marriage to Fyedka (Raymond Lovelock), a Christian boy, breaks all the rules. By marrying out of her faith and converting to her husband’s religion, she does not even think twice about asking for permission the way her elder sisters had; she just goes for it by eloping. Her parents and her father especially, are extremely upset and Tevye disowns her. In the end, Chava and Fyedka receive a reluctant blessing from Tevye as the Jewish denizens of Anatevka are forced out of their homes.

Looking back, the cracks in the glass ceiling that these women made may seem small and insignificant, but in the long run, the cracks are substantial. This generation, the great-granddaughters of the young women who lived in that era, owe a huge debt to our great-grandmothers who lived in the early 1900s. Without the bold and unconventional choices they made, we would not have the rights and opportunities that many of us take for granted today.


Adina Bernstein is a Brooklyn-born and raised writer who finds pleasure and release in writing. You can find her on Twitter @Writergurlny and on her blog at writergurlny.wordpress.com