PicoBlog

Last night, I tearfully tried to explain to my dad why Black Widow’s death was so monumental to me. It’s a moment permanently frozen in time, something I think I’ll remember forever. I was 17. I woke up early on Saturday morning to see Avengers Endgame at 10am in my local theatre, because I hadn’t been able to see it opening night. When the moment itself happened, I remember the way that the purple light flowed off the screen and into the theatre, reflecting onto my tears. I got home and cried the rest of the day. My poor mother, confused and most likely a bit distressed, firmly told me I wasn’t allowed to watch anymore Marvel movies because I was “too attached”. It sounds dramatic, but is it really? I mean considering the fact that she was the first (and sole for a long time) female main character in the MCU, a cinematic universe I had become so attached to, didn’t I have a right to be a little upset? Didn’t I have a right to mourn the first superhero I was able to see myself in?

In a similar vein, I remember the first time I watched the trailer for Captain Marvel. 16 years old, lying tummy first on my bed and thinking silently to myself, wow girls can kill it on their own too. She was my first look at a female superhero confident and un-sexualized. A woman capable of being strong without the need for men by her side. And when I watched the film in theatres and she firmly stated she had “nothing to prove to you”?? I was floored. Women can speak like that? were the immediate thoughts that formed in my head. Because, though it’d maybe happened on my screen a handful of times, I felt like I’d never seen it happen before. A woman, not demure, but cocky. I had no idea previously just how empowering superhero movies truly could be. Because I’d never fully seen myself and the experiences of my gender reflected in them.

Last year, when Wandavision came out, I was 19. As I was becoming more cognizant of the media I consumed, I realized how cool it was to get such an interesting portrayal of motherhood and womanhood in general through the eyes of one of the most powerful characters in the franchise. Then I realized the lead writer of the show was a woman, and so many things clicked into place.

The M"She"U is something that angry men on the internet have coined in the past few years as some of these projects have come out. They claim that Marvel Studios has become too “woke”, their projects have gone downhill, or (and this is my personal favourite), that the universe’s female characters have reached a sense of unlike-ability too difficult to stomach. These observations have amused me, considering the fact that I’ve found some of Marvel’s latest projects to be more thought-provoking and intriguing than anything put out before.

But perhaps that’s because not all of the latest projects have told the stories of the average white man. And they haven’t necessarily been geared towards them either. They’ve become closer to reflecting the diverse reality of our world. They’ve become inclusive of new stories and experiences, something most people (especially those attached to the superhero genre) aren’t particularly used to. This is something that I’ve felt for a while needs to change. Because when you only hear one side of the story, when do you learn that there’s more? That’s why I’m not particularly bothered by the fact that we have a new generation of outspoken women in Marvel for impressionable young girls (and boys) to look up to.

Over the years, I have grown with the women of the MCU, just as I have grown as a woman myself. I have watched them grow in development and numbers. I have started to see myself in more than just Natasha Romanoff, the girl whose strong and persistent attitude I initially found a love for. The one who started it all for my own love of the MCU.

It was a couple years ago the first time I picked up a comic series to really truly read it. I was 18. I had been long discouraged by the concept that comics were for boys, but as I had finally beaten the concept away, I looked for a series that intrigued me. It was Kelly Thompson’s Kate Bishop run. I fell in love because Kate was the first time I’d seen a female superhero who actually talked like me and acted like me. I understood her decisions because I felt I’d make the same ones. She drew me closer to Marvel than I had been before, because not only did her words sound like mine, but I could pretend I was her. We were both dark-haired women with a fascination for wardrobes filled with lavenders and violets. I could finally not only see myself reflected in the personality of a Marvel character, but in parts of the way they looked as well.

This is a phenomenon that will only become more powerful with the more diversity of characters introduced.

In 2022, we’ve been welcomed to multiple new female superheroes. 2 of these characters have gotten their own show. This is massive progress, but that doesn’t mean we should back away from continuing to change. Because, as you may have noticed with Ms. Marvel and She-Hulk’s initial receptions, there are still groups of people unused to and unwilling to listen to these stories.

Looking back, I wish I had more characters like Kamala Khan, Kate Bishop, Wanda Maximoff, and Monica Rambeau when I was growing up. I wish I got to see myself in a diversity of leading superhero women, to understand that there wasn’t one way that I could be. Because, unlike my male peers who got the opportunity to see themselves in the shyness of Bruce Banner, or the cockiness of Tony Stark, or the somewhat in between combination of Steve Rogers, I wasn’t able to see myself in a variety of women. So, although I’ll never truly understand the complexities of being a deaf Indigenous woman, I’ll always support Echo for the young girl who perhaps does. The woman who identifies with her story, the one who feels empowered to become the best version of herself.

I guess the real question is, what really makes representation so significant? Why does it matter that much? To see oneself reflected on screen is to feel like you are a part of society in a whole new way. It is to be acknowledged and it is extremely important, especially in films of heroism and action. These stories are encouraging, and in most cases made with the intent of empowering the viewer and making them feel super or capable of achieving great things. Characters such as Superman, Spiderman, and Captain America allow young white boys to see themselves in the shoes of a heroic person, giving them room to believe that they too are capable of fighting evil and helping their communities.

Now, this isn’t to say that people of colour, women, or other minorities don’t feel the same way while watching these stories unfold, but there certainly is a large barrier present that makes the stories feel less realistic or empowering. I feel like my favourite writer and director Greta Gerwig puts it best in saying that, “women have all kinds of practice imagining themselves as men…always projecting [themselves] into the headspace of a male protagonist…[but] on the flip side, men do not have quite as much practice imagining themselves as women”, and it’s true, not just in the case of women, but in other minority groups as well. People who are typically not as represented in film; such as women, people of colour or LGBTQ+ people, constantly put themselves into the shoes of those who are not quite like them, or who are not like them at all.

In saying that, if I’ve learned anything over my journey with media consumption, it’s that there is a powerful impact that representation has for individuals of marginalized groups. As a bisexual biracial woman, growing up, there was few times where I felt I actually saw myself in the media that I loved. And the moments that I felt that I did were life-changing. It’s something I think few people who have been represented their whole lives can understand. To be represented is to feel like you are finally seen by a world who has long ignored you. It’s perhaps the very reason so many of these individuals are so upset about Marvel going “woke”, when they’re really just showcasing individuals who’ve lived differently than them. If you are used to seeing yourself on screen, why does everyone who hasn’t make it such a big deal?

So, to the little girls who’ll now have more characters to choose when playing superheroes, to the girls who’ll now see their faces reflected on screen, the girls who’ll learn something about themselves, or learn something about someone else. For them, I’m a proponent of the mSHEu.

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