Marion Norindale Books

What does it actually mean to claim that “men and women are different”?

There’s a lot that goes into it—a cornucopia of biology and genetics, personal lived experience, the influence of external opinions, and thousands of years and hundreds of cultures’ worth of social conditioning.

I see many people trying to use this statement as a reason why female characters shouldn’t ever be totally or mostly masculine. According to them, female characters must still adhere in one way or another to the traditionally feminine, by serving as a major source of emotional support for their companions, wearing feminine clothes at least some of the time, and largely avoiding “crass” or “unladylike” behavior like fighting or swearing.

But there’s way too much context that goes into the statement “men and women are different” to use it as an argument—at least not without dissecting it properly.

First off, we need to acknowledge that pure biology is not what we’re talking about here. Having biological features belonging to the female sex doesn’t make someone more docile or more likely to serve as an emotional support to others. Having biological features belonging to the male sex doesn’t make someone more likely to swear or to want to wield a sword.

It just means people’s physical bodies are built differently. The resulting personalities are far too complicated a cocktail of genetics, societal influences, and lived experiences to attribute to merely “he/she was assigned male/female at birth, so he/she can only ever be x way.”

Secondly, why do we assume that men and women have personalities, likes, and dislikes in accordance with a particular set of expectations?

It’s because society, no matter where we live, influences how people behave.

Did you know that in the first half of the twentieth century, pink was actually a color attributed to boys (because it was a derivative of “aggressive” red), and blue for girls (because it was calmer and more “gentle”?) And yet, people later still acted like it was “natural” for girls to gravitate towards the color pink and boys to recoil from it in horror.

That may be a simplified example; but it’s a basic explanation of the broader phenomenon.

In general, women are largely assumed to be emotional, compassionate, and able to juggle multiple tasks, because patriarchal societies expect them to be wives and mothers raising children and running households.

Women have to be patient and compassionate enough to nurture children, as well as careful and hardworking enough to tend to cooking, cleaning, shopping, and any other “mundane” household tasks the husband isn’t required to care about.

In the meantime, men are largely assumed to be emotionally stunted, uninterested in emotions, clueless, and driven by sex because the same societies expect them to be aggressive, selfish, and driven by the need to dominate. Fathers aren’t supposed to be the emotional glue who hold the family together. Boyfriends can’t pick up on cues in their girlfriends’ behavior because it’s her job to tend to his emotional needs, not the other way around.

When it comes to creating characters, you have to consider the context of the society in which they live. As someone who’s created numerous countries and cultures in her own world, many of which don’t follow Earth’s western patriarchal norms, I had to sit down and think about how the characters would behave in relation to their actual surroundings.

For example, a girl raised in a society where women aren’t treated as second-class citizens wouldn’t assume she had to hold her tongue and behave demurely around strangers. A man who was raised without toxic masculinity wouldn’t grow up to assume his power was based on the dominance and subjugation of women.

Many books today appear to be written about patriarchal societies, but it’s not a given. And even if that’s what we’re doing, we still have to think about how said societies shape our characters. We first have to ask ourselves—how would our characters present and/or behave themselves if they had no limitations? And then we need to explore how those limitations would actually end up affecting them.

For example, you might create a character who’s naturally quiet and introverted. But because she grew up being taught that a meek and obedient woman had a better chance of being accepted in society, she tries to become as attuned as possible to other people’s emotions, observing and anticipating their needs in advance.

It would be wrong to say “she’s naturally observant and useful because she’s a woman.” She became that way because of the environment she lives in, not because of her biology or gender identity.

It would be accurate to say “she was born quieter and more introspective than others might be, but she honed her personality into a tool that would better serve her as a woman in a patriarchal society.”

The key is not to assume that the stereotypes of their particular societies are an inherent part of who your characters are.

And even if you grasp that on some level, then you can’t go around stating the end result without the corresponding discussion.

Even if you understood that “said female character is quiet and observant because it’s the way her patriarchal society has taught her to be,” you’d still have to explain this phenomenon. You couldn’t just say “[girl] acts this way because she’s a girl.” It accidentally (or purposefully, in some cases) reinforces sexist norms.

We also need to understand that just because the society we live in believes in certain things, it doesn’t mean that every society in every story is going to follow that pattern. Not everyone is writing stories about people in real or imagined places influenced by American and Christian* norms. We can’t apply those standards across the board. If it’s “strange” to us that a woman might dress more masculine and swear, then that doesn’t mean somebody else’s characters who do so are automatically “wrong” or “unlikeable.”

*This isn’t to say everyone making the arguments in this article belong to some sect of Christianity; but an overwhelming percentage of American social mores, especially where they regard sexism, stem from Christian influences.

* * *

Some people try to bring up the argument that slapping traditionally “masculine” behaviors on female characters is in itself sexist.

But it’s only a problem if it falls into one of two general categories:

1. The narrative is making it clear that being masculine is preferable to being feminine. And by narrative, I mean the story itself is making it clear—such as the FMC outright bullying others who are different, or declaring she does what she does to feel superior. A character simply existing in a different way is not an inherent condemnation of others. There are plenty of women out there who don’t enjoy traditionally feminine clothing, who are into traditionally masculine pastimes, or who don’t behave in line with other patriarchal norms. It treads into the territory of homophobia and transphobia to insist there’s something wrong with FMCs who don’t, in some regard, enjoy traditionally feminine appearances and behaviors.
2. The traits are being used as a faux-feminist band-aid to make an FMC appear empowered, while the author has done no actual work to understand sexist norms and how to properly dismantle them. For example, if the FMC is a barely legal adult in a power-imbalanced relationship with a borderline or outright abusive MMC; but the author throws a sword into her hands or lets her wear pants, so she appears to be “empowered.”

It’s not untrue that dressing up an FMC with a few surface-level “countercultural” traits isn’t the only or the best way to counter sexist depictions. But the solution isn’t to never make an FMC different from the norm.

The problem with an FMC who can kick ass on the battlefield in a typical romantasy isn’t that she’s a woman with physical strength—it would be if she’s a “pick-me” who puts down other women to seem more appealing to men. If it’s portrayed as romantic that the much older and more powerful MMC makes unwanted advances on her. If she’s shown to dislike traditionally feminine clothing, but puts on the “perfect ball gown” and suddenly changes all her preferences.

FMCs can be however you want—girly girls, tomboys, soft-spoken and diplomatic, or ready to swear and swing a punch at a moment’s notice. We have to stop tethering female expression to any set of expectations.

* * *

Next, we have to talk about the phenomenon of “quiet suffering.”

If you haven’t seen Encanto, then go stop whatever you’re doing and watch it right now.

The premise of the movie is that years ago, the main character Mirabel’s grandmother was blessed with a magical candle and an enchanted house to protect her family from danger. As a result, her three infant children were granted magical powers—and when they grew up and had kids, then they, too, were bestowed with a gift. (All except our MC Mirabel.)

But for now, I want to focus on Mirabel’s older sister Luisa, who’s gifted with the power of physical strength.

Luisa’s gift is symbolic of her struggle within the family—she’s the “strong” one, expected to carry the family’s secrets and remain an emotional rock to everyone around her.

There are a few excellent dimensions to her portrayal:

1. Physical and emotional strength are tied together here, not separated on the basis of more “masculine” or “feminine” tendencies. Strength is assumed to encompass all definitions—and it’s all right for a woman to be physically strong as well.
2. Luisa’s burden as the family’s emotional stalwart is portrayed in an appropriately negative fashion. There is of course nothing wrong with being able to handle your emotions and appear strong when necessary; but there’s a wide line between “healthy emotional management,” and “suffering for the sake of upholding expectations among people who don’t possess any regard for your mental or physical well-being.”
3. The solution to Luisa’s problems is to share her feelings and her burdens, not to keep shouldering them alone. The narrative makes it clear that quiet suffering doesn’t make anyone a better person, nor more equipped to handle their struggles.

It is a characteristic of a woman in a patriarchal society to have to hold it together when no one else will. To have to calm down hysterical husbands and children, and remain strong for their family and friends.

But quiet suffering is not a good thing! Insisting an FMC’s strength should be rooted more in the emotional versus the physical veers dangerously close to implying that carrying her burdens is a necessary act. She does not deserve them, and if she becomes stronger while hauling them, then it is in spite of her pain, not because of it.

Fortifying emotional strength should be done for the sake of mental health, and across all genders, not just women. It’s important to be able to handle things on your own; but it’s also important to understand when you need to ask for help, and that your mind and body weren’t designed to handle everything by themselves.

You can absolutely write a story where your MC, regardless of gender, deals with handling too much on their own. Just make sure the underlying implication is that they’re strong in spite of it, and not that suffering is ever deserved to “build someone’s character.”

Coming out of a tough period of life is something to celebrate, and anyone who survives hard times should feel incredibly proud of themselves. But don’t imply that the only, the best, or even a good way to be strong is to suffer.

* * *

An important and often overlooked aspect of this issue is how nobody ever talks about it in relation to men. How often do you see a post about how to make a “proper soft MMC”? Or someone arguing it’s “wrong” to make an MMC who’s sensitive or enjoys more feminine activities? It would sound glaringly sexist to state that an MMC had to be aggressive or physically endowed in order to make him more “realistic.”

But when people argue that FMCs should be emotionally sensitive, with their strength rooted in a quiet suffering instead of physical traits, we somehow nod along and agree that it’s perfectly reasonable.

MMCs can get away with being abusive, egotistical, impulsive, destructive, and abrasive, and people will hail them as “misunderstood geniuses,” “fascinating character studies,” “antiheroes,” or “villains you love to hate.”

But if a woman swears or mouths off, then she’s an irritating bitch who needs to shut up and go sit in the corner.

If a female character you think is poorly written acts the same way as a male character you think is brilliantly done, then I hate to break it to you, but you probably harbor some sexism.

And if you’re going to argue that it might be because you’re attracted to men and not women, then you have to come to understand that that’s a matter of opinion, not objective analysis. You’re allowed to like and dislike whoever you want—but if you try to insist your opinions are unalienable facts, then you, to put it kindly, are being a jerk.

* * *

The last aspect of this discussion is how the writers themselves may hold prejudiced beliefs.

Someone who insists it’s sexist to make women more like men might come from a place of benevolent, if ignorant, intentions—but they may also just feel uncomfortable with the idea of women who don’t act like traditional women in the first place.

This sort of thinking stems from a variety of places:

• Unrealized sexism/internalized misogyny
• Feeling as if you’re sexist or childish for liking feminine things, and therefore insecurely assuming that if less feminine characters become more popular, then it means your preferences are “wrong”
• Disliking a particular type of character, but mistakenly assuming it’s an objective rather than a subjective matter

How do you know if you just don’t like a certain character, or if you have some issues to work through?

Here are some handy questions to ask yourself:

• Would this behavior bother me if it was a male character?

If so, then it’s just not your type of character. If it wouldn’t, then ask yourself why that character being a woman makes you uncomfortable.

• Am I assuming something about the character’s behavior or appearance is improper, illogical, or inappropriate? If so, why do I think that’s the case?

This can lead you to understand if it’s an issue with sexism, or something unrelated. For example, if a character is rude to people, and you don’t like the idea of being cruel, then your issue probably isn’t related to sexism. But if you don’t think it’s all right for an FMC to speak up in a room where you’re perfectly happy with the male characters having a discussion, then it might be sexism.

• Do I dislike how this character’s self-expression differs from mine, and if so, how exactly does that make me feel?

If you merely don’t relate to the character, then you might just be different types of people. If it makes you feel bad about yourself, then it might be your insecurities.

I’d also like to note that even if a character isn’t like you in some way, that doesn’t always or usually mean you dislike them. Feeling off-put by someone’s self-expression is usually a sign of something deeper.

I’ll be honest, I had to do this when I was younger. I was a voracious reader as a kid, and happened to be going through my adolescent and teen years in the 2000s and 2010s—the heyday of “pick-me-girl” love triangles and “not like other girls” slut-shaming/purity culture rhetoric, as well as the era where romantasy first took root.

I wrote my own silly little stories about girls catfighting over boys. I mentioned being afraid of people thinking I was some sort of “mean feminist.” And while it’s embarrassing to think I once thought that way, I took note of it and did the work to unlearn my beliefs. I realized that flinching at strong and uncompromising FMCs was just society conditioning me to believe that women and girls weren’t as worthy as boys and men.

I’m not saying it’s easy, or that it takes one moment to accomplish—but it’s something we have to do, if we want to make society a better place for everybody.

* * *

So—what exactly are the rules here? How are we supposed to create characters who don’t embody sexism in any way, shape, and/or form?

One of the most important things to remember is that nothing is ever going to be a hundred percent perfect (whatever we decide to deem perfect, anyway). So don’t sweat every little detail.

My golden rule in writing is always as follows: do whatever you want, so long as you’re not endorsing problematic content. Create characters in a certain way because you love them, not because society tells you to. Make an FMC who loves ballgowns or who swears like a sailor. Make an MMC who can bench-press his love interest, or who happily curls up in a corner of the library to write poetry. And don’t worry about likability. You can’t please everybody, after all. A character who’s vilified by one group will be near-worshipped by another.

Most importantly of all, don’t look up advice online about how to craft female characters. You’re going to get a smorgasbord of conflicting and confusing advice, ranging from rare glimmers of usefulness, to people thinly veiling their contempt for a particular character, to bigots who are mad about modern-day trends.

In general, really, it’s good advice to be wary of what you see on the internet.