Netflix has produced a steady stream of original series, many of which have reaped critical acclaim and enthusiasm from binge-viewing audiences. Netflix does not, however, have the Midas touch when it comes to content, as some of their offerings, including the disappointing
— starring Britt Robertson as flaky fashionista Sophia Marlowe — fall short of expectations. While the title may draw viewers who think the show is a journey through feminist theory in practice,
’s premise of millennial hipster Sophia’s evolution from unlikeable loser to even-more-unlikeable purveyor of vintage fashion focuses less on feminist action and more on how one bored, privileged twenty-something, through luck and divine providence, falls up into niche business success based on a skill set of knowing little and demanding everything.
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Billed as a comedy, the biggest laughs come from the well-cast supporting characters, whose roles as quirky friends and acquaintances color Sophia’s experience as a broke girl in tech-boom San Francisco. Actors such as RuPaul, Norm MacDonald, Jim Rash, and Melanie Lynskey shine as Sophia’s sassy neighbor, former boss, weird coworker, and perpetually put-out retail competition, respectively. The principal characters, however, are bland at best and unforgivably obnoxious at worst. But where a slicker satire might use the disagreeable aspects of these characters to illustrate a viewpoint on millennial culture,
Uses hackneyed concepts and staid responses (Is it a date? Is it not a date? Oh no!) to force conflict rather than allowing the characters to knead through hardships based on a model either absurd or realistic. Annie, Sophia’s bestie, is a pouty, daft minion; Shane, Sophia’s boy-toy, is a noncommittal doormat; and Sophia is so unpleasant and lacking in redeeming self-awareness that it’s difficult to imagine any viewers of any demographic rooting for her to succeed.
, Sophia Amoruso’s best-selling autobiography. Yet the potential charm of a coming-of-age story about a young woman who finds purpose (and income) in an online vintage clothing retail business based in San Francisco is undercut by the flavorless illustration of a vibrant city and its eccentric residents. In
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, San Francisco could be Anytown, U.S.A. And the vintage fashion, which could be a unique aspect of the show, is barely treated as anything more than a basket of props to make Sophia look busy based on the amount of product bloat she’s stuffed into her apartment, demanding the question of what this show is about if it isn’t about the main character’s relationship with her job. In place of narrative about a driven, albeit abusive, young woman pushing her vintage fashion brand,
Has plenty of moments in which Sophia complains about how much it sucks to be an adult. When the character cannot find the motivation to invest in her own journey (other than
Has been cancelled after one 13-episode cycle. With a lackluster depiction of fashion and a lazy representation of the lean-around generation and millennial culture,
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Is neither about a girl nor a boss — it’s about a full-grown woman who figures out a way to work for herself, which seems less like an earned perk of inventing her own career and more of a general necessity given that Sophia’s lack of work ethic, shoddy social skills, and broad-spectrum sense of malaise and entitlement render her incapable of holding down a job working for anyone else.The phrase “#Girlboss, ” like “Girl Power!” and “Fearless Girl, ” seems scientifically constructed for a toothless kind of empowerment. It’s noncontroversial, one-size-fits-all feminism, Ivanka feminism, designed to appeal to all and offend nobody. Women aren’t women—with body hair and bloody tampons, who need abortions and child support. We are
. You should be imagining an elementary school student who says she wants to become an astronaut someday. Yes! You go, girl! Achieve your dreams! Who is going to say that that little girl shouldn’t become an astronaut? No one, that’s who, and that’s why we’re all feminists.
There is nothing wrong with characters on television being unlikable, especially if those characters are women. And, “Sophia Marlowe” from Girlboss should be incredibly, incredibly unlikable. In the first episode, she embodies every stereotype for millennials that an uncle has ever loudly decried over dinner: she’s late to work and unrepentant, she steals (first her boss’s sandwich, then an actual full-sized oriental rug), she doesn’t pay rent, swears excessively, and shows no respect for anybody else’s time. She is a selfish narcissist who doesn’t know the meaning of a hard day’s work. Discussing her character forces you to become an angry octogenarian on a porch.
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The show plays off those vices as quirky and charming, even though most of them—namely an inability to hold down a job and a completely unrepentant attitude towards theft—indicate far more serious personality issues.
But, as I said, there is nothing wrong with a television character being unlikable. In fact, in a protagonist, “unlikeable” is oftentimes far more interesting than a Mary Sue character.
Hadn’t been based on the memoir and business guide from Nasty Gal founder Sophia Amoruso, it might have been a better TV show. It was created by
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Alum Kay Cannon, and stars an electric-charged Britt Robertson; there are some funny lines and delightful moments (usually whenever RuPaul is onscreen).
But the show is in the shadow of the real-life Sophia from the cover of her book: hands on her hips like a superhero in shoulder pads. The character Sophia, the show insists, is a role model and a feminist hero, a woman who will go on to be a multi-millionaire and the CEO of a major business who will charge girls in the L.A. area hundreds of dollars to hear her speak at a millennial-pink-colored seminar.
Never lets Sophia become the villain. The Social Network portrayed Mark as someone brilliant but insecure and egotistical, a status-hungry control freak.
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Presents a shoplifting narcissist and then gaslights the audience by insisting that she’s sassy and empowered, a cool and quirky badass #girlboss to-be.
And real-life Sophia means that the audience is privy to an unseen epilogue in the distant future for the show’s character: Nasty Gal declaring bankruptcy and Amoruso stepping down as CEO; claims about Amoruso creating a toxic work environment, and illegally firing employees once they became pregnant.
That real-life controversy, especially the lack of job protection for pregnant women, just contributes to the secret truth that runs through Girlboss, hidden but still pulsing like a telltale heart beneath the floorboards: Sophia isn’t a feminist.
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Feminism is trickier than a hashtag and the word “girl, ” but at its core, it’s a movement to empower all women in the fight for equality.
Protagonist is only looking to empower one person: herself, and she would probably have no qualms about that if you were to ask her. Over the course of the show’s entire season, Sophia does nothing to help other women. In fact, it seems she often views girls, including her customer base with contempt. “These girls are going to claw each other’s eyeballs out just to get in on the ground floor of a new trend, ” she says.
Yes, she’s smart and creative, and yes, her business becomes successful, but “making money” is not the same as being a feminist. Only in our capitalist system does being rich entitle someone to the status of role model when they spent the past 13 episodes acting like a self-absorbed trash monster to everyone who loves them.
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. “Just call me a bitch and get it over with, ” she says. It’s as if she’s speaking directly to the audience, daring us to diminish this woman who’s supposed to be a feminist hero.
Sophia sometimes does act like a bitch. And then she grows up as a person, a little bit. She learns to appreciate the people around her, and she starts a business.
Is an interesting time capsule into the world of 2006 when the contents of someone’s MySpace top 8 could be considered conflict and it could have been a really fun, really interesting complicated show. Instead, it’s been sanded down and painted millennial pink.? YAS! Sounds like a story about a kick-ass female entrepreneur who manages to make it big on the career ladder against all odds. A feminist’s dream. A real rags to riches story. Empowering. Inspiring. Weeeeeeell, not quite. And everyone has been calling it out.
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The show is based on the life - and subsequent ‘femtrepeneur’ memoir - of Sophia Amoruso, the founder and owner of online fashion brand Nasty Gal. The portrayal of Sophia in the show is an exaggeration of her IRL story and persona.
In the show, Sophia Marlowe (standard change of name for the purpose of this on screen endeavour) starts off as a girl just trying to make a buck on eBay by selling clothes she finds in vintage stores and she’s actually alright. When she manages to sell her first jacket for a massive profit, you find yourself cheering for her. But as the show goes on, you actually low-key start caring less and less about her success and start worrying more and more about who she’s taking down to make it to the top.
In short, Sophia
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