From classic literature and fairy tales to modern-day Hallmark and Netflix adaptations, it’s a tale as old as time – successful and independent women sacrificing their careers and ambitions in the name of love, and calling it a happy ending.
While this trope is not exactly a new one (think fiercely ambitious Jo March in Louisa May Alcott’s 1868 Little Women) you would think in the modern climate, directors and writers are less inclined to continue using this outmoded ending that neglects the importance of ambitious women and their careers. Unfortunately, I have found this not to be the case, with so many romances still trying to convince us that we should be in awe of a woman giving up her career and aspirations to compromise and settle with the male protagonist, who seems not to have to give up anything at all.
On January 9th, romance author Emily Henry’s film adaptation of her best-selling 2022 book ‘People We Meet on Vacation’ was released on Netflix. I am a sucker for a romance, and have indulged in and loved plenty of Henry’s feel-good novels. Having not yet read this one, however, I was left with a bitter taste in my mouth when the film ended with free-spirited, chaotic and ambitious Poppy quitting her dream travel writing job in New York and uprooting her life to live with homebody Alex in Linfield, Ohio (a place she hates), simply because he was not willing to leave their hometown. Not even to mention the practicality of this, it got me thinking about this as a trope, and just how many films and books have the same outcome and expect us to believe it is a happy ending. Why are women’s individual careers and dreams not taken seriously in the media and how is being forced to sacrifice this for love something to romanticise?
In January, I went to see the ballet adaptation of Hans Christian Andersen’s 1948 ‘The Red Shoes’. The story is about a ballerina who is torn between the man she loves and her pursuit of greatness as a top ballerina. The red shoes are magic and cursed, and when worn, she physically cannot stop dancing. The story ends with Victoria being so torn between the two, that she ends up throwing herself off the balcony and is killed by a train. Slightly dramatic, of course, but the message behind this tragedy was compelling. The fact of why she can’t have a life with both, is suggested to be derived from the antiquated idea that women are either mothers and wives or successful in their careers, and the latter was not wholly accepted in the late 40s.
The story is beautiful and tragic and the ballet was so well danced that I was almost distracted away from the story’s message – that women must sacrifice something in order to ‘win’ the man. In these times, women’s ambitions were considered dangerous, rebellious and incompatible with domestic life. And in this case, the ultimatum of career and success vs love and stability was so intense that the protagonist would rather have actually died than have to have either one without the other. And while this is an old-fashioned, classic fairytale based on societal issues of the time, why is it that so many modern films and books still follow this same outdated trope?
Take ‘The Devil Wears Prada’. A much-loved 2000s classic – with the anticipated sequel releasing in cinemas this summer. Again, I love this film, and Meryl Streep as Miranda Priestly is perfection. But having watched it again recently, I was reminded how unsatisfied I felt with its ending. Throughout the film, eager and driven Andy – who lands an important job with the notoriously cruel editor of a New York fashion magazine – was held down by her needy and insecure boyfriend, who so clearly feels inferior to his girlfriend trying (and succeeding) to excel at her new job.
The lack of supportiveness of Andy and her growing commitment to her new path could only be seen as outright jealousy and insecurity. Not to mention his harsh criticism of her changing appearance and respect for the fashion industry, in the name of concern and care, all derived from the fear that she was getting too important for him. Thankfully, halfway through the film, they break up. When Andy finally realises that she doesn’t want to live a life under Miranda’s degrading authority, she quits and lands a job as a journalist. Then, disappointedly, she meets up with him, where he reveals he just got a sous-chef position in Boston, and they agree to ‘keep in touch’.
So the film ends with her supposedly about to move to Boston for a man so insecure and emasculated by her success that he would only be with her if she had a less demanding, lower status job. Some people might see this as a happy ending – she is in the job she wanted and will finally get to spend time with her golden retriever boyfriend, who loves her for who she is. But for me, and I’m sure many others, it sat very uncomfortably. Why would you want to be with someone so reluctant to support you in your growing success – evil boss or not. And, again, how on earth is this a happy ending?
Of course, it’s not fair to criticise the media for this portrayal of women’s ambitions without acknowledging the media that is determined to change this narrative. To give Anne Hathaway some credit, my first depiction of the power of women in important roles was The Princess Diaries. In the sequel to the beloved rom-com classic, Princess Mia is not allowed to rule as queen until she is wed, and is silenced when she tries to make her own decisions and told she cannot because she is a woman. Poking fun at the traditional patriarchal hierarchy of the monarchy, the films and books show Mia imploring Parliament to change the marriage law and allow her to be queen without a king, despite being encouraged by everyone around her to find a husband.
In this movie, the main character is the epitome of ‘femininity’ – a literal princess – but she is still shown to rise against the patriarchy and the idea that a husband is what it will take for her to be successful. She refuses to choose one or the other – and bends the system to have both. The story breaks the media’s portrayal of women’s success as inferior to that of a man’s. And still, she finds love in the end anyway – so everyone is happy. See, it is possible!
More recently, I was gratified by British writer Coco Mellor’s portrayal of the importance of women’s ambitions in her 2022 novel ‘Cleopatra and Frankenstein’. The story follows the short, toxic, and turbulent marriage of beautiful, young and liberal Cleo with middle-aged, alcoholic business executive, Frank. The book begins with Cleo as a depressed but ambitious artist, with dreams to create beautiful and inspiring art in New York City.
Throughout the book, we watch her gradually succumb to a life as a stay-at-home wife, where her loneliness and depression encapsulate her and she completely loses her sense of self. Instead of ending the story with them making their love work, Mellors displays the tragic decline of Cleo’s mental health from neglecting who she was and the art that made her truly happy, refusing to glamourise self-erasure for love. The book ends with them divorcing and Cleo moving away and beginning a career as a full time artist in Rome.
The story is messy, and they aren’t truly fixed at the end – but this happy ending lies not in romantic reconciliation, but with Cleo finally finding peace by returning to all that she was before she lost herself to destructive, intoxicating love. In this story, taking your passions seriously as a woman and not compromising yourself and your aspirations for anyone (when you cannot healthily have both) seems to be the most important message, and an ending that actually felt like a happy one.
This is not to say films cannot, or should not, have unsatisfying, tragic endings – some of the best ones undoubtedly do. Films, books and plays can be a great mirror into societal issues, and are full of unhappy endings that are justified by the deeper message they hold about real life injustice. Marketing this injustice as a happy ending in these eye-roll inducing tropes, however, is what irks me. What exactly is feel-good about patriarchal propaganda?
Sacrifice and compromise can be parts of a healthy relationship – but this should not be at the expense of a woman’s hard-fought right to career-related success and the right to follow her dreams, whatever strain that puts on a relationship. A woman’s happiness is not measured by her ability to commit to a man (or any relationship), and is certainly not determined by her willingness to sacrifice her dreams and desires for him.
Stories teach us what to expect from love, and form many of our ideas about what to tolerate and romanticise. These narratives give the impression that a female character’s personal ambition and dreams are unnecessary and unworthy of a successful storyline. Filmmakers and writers must realise the importance of the portrayal of female ambition, independence and autonomy on their younger audience, and while these feminist concepts and ideals do seem to be arising in modern media, it is clear we still have a long way to go.
