From Orange is the New Black to Gentleman Jack, the past few years have offered us some awesome television featuring lesbian and bisexual protagonists. But I want to take just a minute to look at another, crucial phenomena: the proliferation of Sapphic sidekicks and secondary characters. These representations have evolved from the butts of jokes to well-rounded characters. And as diverse representation in the media is slowly becoming less controversial, there is more space to explore nuanced, and frankly more interesting issues with these roles.
Major networks seem to have finally realized that diversity sells. However, centering a show entirely on a lesbian or bi protagonist still signifies a major investment on the network’s part. Not to mention that in the zero-sum game of media representations of diversity, choosing to spotlight a character of one identity might mean marginalizing someone else.
This is where the Sapphic sidekick comes in. Low risk: doesn’t monopolize screen time. High reward: now everyone knows you’re woke.
Originally, Sapphic sidekicks, like most gender nonconforming characters in film and television, were included to be ridiculed. The Friends subplot of Ross’s lesbian ex-girlfriend and mother to his first child immediately comes to mind as a transitional example. In earlier episodes, Carol’s sexuality is just a symbol of Ross’s generally nebbish personality: his emasculation and undesirability. However, behind-the-scenes it was a little more complex.
Carol and Susan were originally the butt of a joke. But through the popularity of the series, they were soon one of the most high profile, positive portrayals of a lesbian couple on television. While Friends dealings with diversity haven’t really aged well, for the time they were revolutionary. “The One with the Lesbian Wedding,” was originally so controversial that Carol and Susan weren’t allowed to be seen kissing at their own wedding.
Fast forward to the early 2000’s, where Grey’s Anatomy often featured lesbian and gay patients as sort of living props in the medical backdrop to the true focus of the show: romances between hospital staff. It was only as a reaction to the Knight/Washington scandal that the first Sapphic (and non-heterosexual in general) relationship was portrayed by series regulars in season 5: Callie Torres and Arizona Robbins.
In both Grey’s Anatomy (the early years) and Friends, most of these subplots were pretty basic. They focused on the coming out and marriage equality narratives. These stories were still far and few in between on television at the time and any positive representation was better than none. Yet, as a member of the lesbian community, I always felt that like sidekicks, these moments were there for the reaction of the straight, mainstream characters and at-home audience. They weren’t written with the us in mind.
Recently, it has been so exciting to get something I can really sink my teeth into. Two characters that immediately come to mind are Moira from The Handmaid’s Tale and Queen Maeve from The Boys. While both Moira and Maeve have been series regulars from the beginning of their respective shows, the latest seasons explore more complex issues in the lesbian and bisexual community.
If you haven’t watched The Boys, it’s time for a marathon. In a recasting of Marvel and DC Comics characters as anti-heroes, The Boys is delightfully dark. Queen Maeve, a fallen wonder-woman type, hides her relationship with girlfriend Elena to keep both women safe from Homelander’s jealousy and public scrutiny. Homelander, a truly twisted version of Captain America, enacts revenge by outing Queen Maeve on live television, effectively weaponizing her own sexuality against her.
Vought international’s PR Team, a privatized take on Agents of Shield, immediately jumps in to “help” Queen Maeve navigate her new lesbian brand and marketing of the “Brave Maeve” rainbow veggie burger. There’s only one slight hiccup, Queen Maeve is bisexual, not lesbian. But as the PR team points out, the lesbian label is “an easier sell” because it was more “cut and dry.” It would be easier for Queen Maeve’s fandom to accept homosexuality than bisexuality. It was kind of awesome to see a superhero show dive into not only the commodity of diversity but also bi-erasure.
The Handmaid’s Tale portrays sidekick Moira with similar depth. One of my favorite lesbian subplots of the season was when Moira had to betray her girlfriend’s trust to save her best friend June’s life. By smuggling June out of Gilead on Oona’s humanitarian aid ship without her knowledge, Moira effectively destroys her girlfriend’s career and entire NGO. The show examines the role that single lesbians play in the lives and families of heterosexuals from Moira’s perspective and challenges the stereotype of the straight-girl crush.
While these two are by no means the only contemporary shows to feature Sapphic sidekicks, they leave me excited for the future. The best sidekicks transform from “protagonist’s assistant” to crucial drivers of plot—no longer characters solely existing for someone else’s development. Sapphic sidekicks definitely benefit their sponsoring TV networks. But more importantly, they are vehicles for a new type of visibility. One that speaks to lesbian and bisexual viewers as well as drawing mainstream viewers into our world on our terms.
