I vividly recall my first time watching the film ‘High School Musical’. As a typical ‘girly-girl’, I was in awe of the antagonist Sharpay Evans – her glamorous and chic outfits, complete with glittering accoutrements, fabulous, oversized sunglasses, and endearing tiaras. I adored her richly luxurious and lavish locker, which stood out amongst the monotonous sea of white locker doors as defiantly hot pink, and was adorned with pink decorations, a rack to hang clothes, a mirror for applying makeup, numerous perfume bottles and other plush items. I admired her unapologetic commitment to her ostentatious and extravagant style, her perpetual panache, and her confident flair. I loved that she loved who she was, and that she was not afraid to act like it.
However, as the film proceeded, I began to dislike Sharpay more and more. Her motivation to sabotage other female characters’ romantic relationships through humiliation, rumour-spreading and gossiping; her ceaseless desire to consume the spotlight; and her manipulation of circumstances to subjugate her competitors in the school play, rendered her a repugnant personality. How could a confident, assertive, and independent female character – in stark contrast to the often moderated, timid, and needy female typecast – have such a spiteful and villainous temperament?
That was my introduction to the ‘girl world’.
Through ubiquitous representations of the ‘hot, popular girl’, which pervade popular culture, I learnt that embodying a ‘girly’ and hyper-feminine persona is equated with being vapid, high maintenance, narcissistic and self-serving. Murnen and Byrne define ‘hyper-femininity’ as ‘an exaggerated adherence to a feminine gender role as it relates to heterosexual relationships’. [1] It is from this definition that I will challenge the representation of hyper-femininity as mutually constitutive with a malicious and superficial identity – the notion, cemented in popular culture, that attractive and successful women are inevitably cold-hearted.
This is perfectly exemplified by the hot, blonde, and legendary character of Regina George, depicted in the film ‘Mean Girls’. As another example of this hyper-feminine she-devil, Regina’s social power emanates from her attractive physical appearance, of which she is highly preoccupied with, and her wealthy family. Nevertheless, it is how she uses this power – to intimidate, persecute and humiliate other female classmates, spread rumours, emotionally manipulate men, cheat on her boyfriend, exclude any unattractive female from joining her ‘clan’, and degrade her female classmates due to their weight, fashion choices, and other shallow aspects of their appearance – that posits Regina George as the notorious, hyper-feminine villain. Since Regina’s power stems from her appearance and money, young women watching this film and idolising Regina’s alluring looks, and untouchable social status, are simultaneously being taught that social power is obtained from one’s looks and wealth, and that it is maintained by degrading the women around them. Not only does this situate women in perpetual competition with each other, but it fosters a culture in which shaming other women to preserve one’s position atop the social hierarchy becomes the norm. If you want to be the ‘Queen Bee’ – the popular, unattainable, powerful, and highly feminine persona – you must keep all your worker bees subordinated.
Taylor Swift depicts her own version of the infamous ‘Queen Bee’ in her iconic hit ‘You Belong with Me’. Most of us would have belted out the song’s lyrics:
‘But she wears short skirts
I wear T-shirts
She's Cheer Captain, and I'm on the bleachers…
She wears high heels
I wear sneakers
She's Cheer Captain, and I'm on the bleachers…’
But, when you consider these lyrics more deeply, it is clear that they epitomise this hot-and-popular, yet extremely one-dimensional female stereotype. The ‘short-skirt’ and ‘high-heel-wearing’ schoolgirl, who also happens to be the ‘cheerleader captain’, is depicted as the she-devil, who is undeserving of a genuine and kind boyfriend. She inevitably becomes the girl who ‘brought’ the kind-hearted boy ‘down’.
In fact, there is not one positive representation of the hyper-feminine ‘popular girl’ that I can recall in popular culture. I am sure that these representations do exist; however, they are so greatly outweighed by the Sharpay Evans’, the Regina George’s and Taylor Swift’s ‘cheerleader captain’ nemesis, that they are rendered immaterial. The Sharpay Evans’ and Regina George’s become the salient image of hyper-femininity, and the dominant paradigm through which we conceptualise alluring, empowered and stereotypically feminine women.
Many women’s identity is premised off of embodying a highly feminine persona. And some girls just love the colour pink, dressing in a typically feminine manner, applying makeup, shopping and enjoy investing time and energy into their appearance. With increasing acceptance of all forms of female self-expression, including those which are stereotypically ‘masculine’, it is important to recognise that hyper-femininity is just another way to articulate one’s identity. Popular culture has positioned this hyper-feminine identity as villainous and debased. However, this does not mean we should accept this stereotype at face value. Rather, we should interrogate why attractive, empowered females, who choose to unapologetically express themselves through typically feminine characteristics, are consistently denigrated through popular culture representations. Why does the media endeavour to demonise hyper-femininity? Is it perhaps interlinked with an inability to accept a woman who is confident and comfortable with her identity, seeking to disempower ‘her’ through positing ‘her’ as malicious, superficial, and ultimately lacking any depth? Or does it pertain to women’s continued sexualisation in the media, rendering her intellect and distinctive personality unimportant?
[1] Melannie Matschiner and Sarah K Murnen, ‘Hyperfemininity and Influence’ (2006) 23(3) Psychology of Women Quarterly 631, 631.
Written by Paris Spennato and edited by Jessie Liu