Five Things Wonder Woman Taught Me
When the absolute trash that was Batman vs. Superman hit screens worldwide, it seemed like several hours of depressed superheroes waiting for their Prozac prescriptions to be filled. The one sunny spot in it was a brief reveal of Wonder Woman, the only character in the narrative who seemed to remember that physical combat should come with a certain amount of adrenaline and endorphins. Her 30-second interlude was the best part of that film, and piqued the curiosities of audiences as to what her origin story might look like.
The Wonder Woman film — out in theaters the past week and a half — set the bar higher, not only for the status of DC comic-to-film storytelling, not only for superhero films, but for the depiction of women in film. There are many lessons one can pick up from this piece of cinema that has now broken barriers and made history, but here are some that stood out the most:
Physical beauty is not what defines you.
As an Amazon, Diana (aka Wonder Woman) is naturally beautiful. She’s sculpted in the image of the gods, with long, flowing hair, piercing eyes, unnaturally great bone structure that favors every angle, and a strong, graceful body the envy of every living female. Everywhere she goes, people are in awe of her countenance, and they feel the need to comment on it. Everyone’s initial reaction is “Wow,” but Diana seems largely unfazed by it. She doesn’t say thank you for the compliments, nor does she shy away from them; she simply isn’t bothered because she has more important things to worry about. And one could say that this is the luxury afforded to those whose beauty stands out so much that they don’t have to worry as much about appearance; but the opposing argument here is that when you are certain of your worth and of your purpose, the idea of outward beauty is not made unimportant, but is definitely put in its appropriate place. Take care of yourself, dress with dignity, but remember that your body has a greater natural intent than to delight the eyes of others.
Strength and femininity are not mutually exclusive.
When we first see Themiscyra, it is riddled with these gorgeous women of various shapes and sizes. They are all some version of strong, suspending themselves off of horses and jumping in the air and wielding weapons with terrifying proficiency. These women don’t mess around, but they are, at the same time, not trying to be masculine in their strength. They possess both tempered and soaring emotion; they dress as their needs require and not for the sexual delight of anyone else; they walk with sultry confidence as well as with honorable purpose; they speak elegantly but also without mincing words. They are intelligent, compassionate, and unmistakably female, which makes them the first real women in an action film that I can say feel familiar. They don’t have to choose to highlight certain aspects or be one-dimensional for the comfort of anyone else’s ego. They’re female and they kick ass, and that’s all there is to it.
A superhero is a superhero simply because they are super.
There is so much chatter about this being a superhero film with a woman at the center, given that there hasn’t been anything like it in decades. But if you’ve already seen this film, you’ll know how many little boys exited that theater saying they wanted to be Wonder Woman. You’d hear men saying, “I’m straight, and this is the first time I felt like I wanted to be a woman, if it’s a woman like that.” Superheroes are called such simply because they are super — because they are unable to walk away from what compels them to do the right thing. They will stand amidst gunfire, they will run toward danger, and they will risk their very lives if it means that other people will be safe. This is a quality that knows no gender and no color, and it’s only right that this selflessness should be depicted now among more women as it seems to have always been in men. We don’t have to tell these stories just because they’re stories of women, either; the point is not to shy away from them because of the lack of a male presence. In a world where there seems to be more Wonder Women than Supermen, it’s high time these stories are heard for no other reason than they are great and that this world could use many more tales of good and hope.
Fashion should serve the body, and not vice versa.
When Diana goes to try on “modern” clothing, she asks questions about why a girdle is of value, and how a woman can fight when wrapped in several petticoats. And while the purpose of the bustier cut of her armor admittedly eludes me, the rest of what she wears is largely utilitarian. Her diadem honors her past and serves as a warning to those she encounters that she isn’t just a babe that got lost in the woods in her leather girdle, but is, in fact, a warrior princess. The bottom half of her garment leaves her legs free to move and disarm the onslaught of bad guys. She has a hook for her lasso and a sheath for her sword. Her cuffs are not mere accessories but prove integral to how she is able to fight back as a force to be reckoned with. Diana is not at the mercy of anything she wears, and each aspect lives to serve her needs without necessarily having to sacrifice aesthetics. She marries form and function, and looks damn good doing it.
Cool comes naturally when you’re yourself.
Women are naturally raised to become apologetic. Media tells us it’s cooler to be a bro, that if we drink copiously or are bereft of emotion, we are acting like men. We are only allowed to be feminine when it comes to displaying our sexuality, but our softer edges are constantly mocked and alluded to as something undesirable. But here, in our midst, stands Diana, who is all parts fierce and feeling, an intelligent and capable warrior but also largely motivated by love. To her, it isn’t cheesy or saccharine. To her, it is the most pure truth and it is the thing that drives her to fight, to conquer, and to pursue past other battles. That’s the thing that makes her cool; not that she is a babe armed with all these abilities, but that she is so secure in herself and that she feels no need to adapt to anyone else’s comfort level. She goes into battle with a smile and she pierces unquestioning silence with her voice. That is the wonder in Diana: that in being entirely herself, she destroys all the other schisms we are expected to fit into. She is strength and vulnerability, she is intelligence and naiveté, she is wrath and love. And in making it all look so impossibly cool, she manages to create a space for women to explore what might happen if we give ourselves permission to unapologetically be who we really are.
