“Bridgerton” & Female Sexuality
By: Bailey Griffen
Picture this. You’re snuggled up on the couch, letting lavish 19-century costumes and sumptuous Hollywood scenery whisk you away from the unease of the modern-day. But soon, the camera leaves the revelry behind in favor of a dark bedroom, the scene of a young woman masturbating.
This is exactly what Bridgerton’s 83 million viewers had in store when they sat down to watch the new television series’ third episode. As the most-watched Netflix show to date, Shonda Rhime’s much anticipated work promised a reprieve from a year riddled with adversity in all walks of life, from pandemic to politics. But Bridgerton is not mere escapism. Beyond its Austenesque fashion and setting, it encourages those it entertains to grapple with themes often regarded as taboo, namely sexual pleasure.
While the plot revolves around the trials and tribulations the protagonist Daphne faces after her debut into society and as she searches for a suitable husband, at its essence, the show is a critique of traditional notions of female sexuality in heterosexual relationships. At first glance, it seems like the antithesis of this: Daphne is lauded for her beauty and fragile demeanor, qualities she is assured will help her to find a partner. But this classic trope is sardonic, and its presence used to highlight the flaws in the ways we have conceived of females desire and continue to do so.
This is first apparent when Simon, Daphne’s feigned love interest, conveys shock when he discovers she has never touched herself: “I’m laughing at the absurdity of how little mothers tell their daughters.” With the acknowledgement that Daphne’s sex education has been lacking, Simon takes it upon himself to enlighten her to the physical manifestations of desire. Despite his eloquent explanation of masturbation, the fact that he is the one explaining the female body creates up a perverse dynamic between the two. This follows Daphne and Simon through the remainder of their courtship and into their marriage. One of the biggest conflicts during the latter is his assertion that he “can’t” sire any children for her. Daphne begins to suspect that he “won’t” have them, not that he is physically inept. She realizes that by pulling out each time they have intercourse, he safeguards his wish to prevent procreation. Not only does this showcase Daphne’s shocking ignorance of human biology, but also the manipulation this naivety allows. By keeping young women like Daphne in the dark, a patriarchal society is perpetuated.
Although Georgian England seems like the distant past, this remains a relevant message. According to Planned Parenthood, only 24 states and the District of Columbia mandate sex education in schools. What’s more, they report that only half of adolescents had received information about birth control before they had sex for the first time. Beyond the statistics, our societal reluctance to talk about sexuality, whether it be how to practice safe sex or acknowledging sexual gratification and pleasure, creates a breeding-ground of shame. This is especially true of females. After all, it is hard to avoid feelings of guilt for engaging in sex when society tells you that men perceive women through the binary Madonna-whore complex. Defined by Sigmund Frued, men see women as saints or whores. The former they love and the latter they desire. The two are mutually exclusive. The debutante balls depicted in Bridgerton were predicated upon this: men hunt for an innocent bride while, in the meantime, keeping sexual relations alive and well behind closed doors.
As Rhimes alludes to, this system abuses women and necessitates reform. She postulates that education is the vehicle necessary for this change. And she starts this conversation by openly addressing sexual pleasure on the big screen. After watching the first season, viewers will have seen Daphne and Simon orgasm on numerous occasions. In these moments, Simon is at least somewhat attuned to Daphne’s enjoyment of their interactions. Here, Rhimes tries to normalize the conception of desire and the notion that men should care about that of their female partner.
For taking on such a progressive stance, Rhime’s show has notable shortcomings. Perhaps the most glaring is that she herself preserves misinformation about sex that feeds into existing societal stigmas. The most obvious example is her depiction of Daphne and Simon’s orgasms. Not only do they routinely come within seconds, but more fantastical is the idea that Daphne can and does climax the first time she masturbates and again the first time she has sex. This neglects the experience of the majority of women who, oftentimes, have a harder time than their male partners in reaching an orgasm. The numbers reflect this — as only around half of females will climax from penetration — so the media should too. Bridgerton’s continuation of misinformed media portrayals feels out of place given the show’s critique of the lack of knowledge around female sexuality. While we can appreciate the strides it makes on some fronts, it is also important to notice how it feeds into the very dynamics it seeks to reject.