Let Them Scissor: Why Bridgerton Needs Sapphic Representation Now More Than Ever

Words: Sihaam Naik

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Bridgerton has everything: corny violin covers of Pitbull songs, dialogue that helter-skelters with modern speak and odd out-of-place Georgian phrases, and Charlotte Tilbury’s Pillow Talk as a staple for the Regency Era women. I didn’t think I needed Anthony Bridgerton saying, “What am I, chopped liver?” (a 20th-century Jewish phrase) or an influx of iPhone faces dressed in pastel before the Shondaland production hit streaming. Still, you don’t tune into the smash-hit Netflix show for historical accuracy. Instead, you let the low stakes wash over you as Mayfair’s finest steal kisses in orchards, frequent the Modiste dress shop, and swig lemonade in sparsely decorated but grand ballrooms.

Released in 2020, Bridgerton is Shondaland’s first scripted show for Netflix, adapted from Julia Quinn’s book series of the same name. It paints an alternative vision of Regency England with Black characters among the social elite, and the series follows the Bridgertons, a family of siblings navigating love, scandals, and friendships, narrated by the elusive gossip columnist Lady Whistledown - the pseudonym of Nicola Coughlan’s character Penelope Featherington. It’s like Gossip Girl meets The Crown with a generous sprinkle of Shonda Rhimes’ dramatic flair. Where else can you indulge in swoon-worthy dialogue and lace-trimmed corsets? It’s often tongue-in-cheek, but Anthony Bridgerton's season two speech went double platinum in my household. “You are the bane of my existence and the object of all my desires” deserves a standing ovation.

In the newest and third season of the show, we’ve had two Bridgerton weddings, which is confusing since each season typically focuses on just one of the Bridgerton family’s love life. Colin Bridgerton married Penelope amidst nuptial drama and premarital sex. Meanwhile, Francesca Bridgerton also married, setting the Bridgerton sister up for season four. Sweet Fran, gifted on the pianoforte and sporting a 20th-century face card, finds her match in Lord John Kilmartin, an eccentric but shy Earl. Their courtship is marked by amiable silence until all hell breaks loose when she meets his cousin, Michaela, and forgets her name in a gay panic. Francesca realises she might crave not a quiet, easy love but something passionate and electrifying — enough to make you forget your name. 
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You would think that this backdrop would be perfect for introducing Bridgerton’s first Sapphic pairing. Still, long-standing readers seem to disagree, finding fault with the showrunners' decision to adapt the role of Michaela from her male counterpart in the novels, Michael. According to certain users on Twitter, he was the best male lead, and many questioned the point of adapting a show if they’re going to “change everything”. In the books, Michael and Francesca go through bouts of infertility, which apparently makes gender-swapping even more painful (as if lesbians don’t go through fertility issues as well). 

“What could be the ultimate expression of romance in this setting if not a sapphic love story?”

Jess Brownwell, the queer showrunner for the season, said to Deadline, “When I read [Francesca’s] book, I, as a queer woman, really related to her book. Maybe, in a way, Julia Quinn didn’t intend to, but Francesca’s book is about feeling different from her family and the world around her and not knowing why. In the book, I think it’s mostly just about being introverted. But I think for a lot of queer people, not every queer person, but a lot of queer people, that sense of feeling different from the time you’re young, is part of our stories.”

I agree with Jess - why does the gender-bending element matter if the source text doesn’t have a queer storyline available? As Susan Sontag posited, a truly androgynous society would regard virtue — character traits and morality — in a gender-neutral way, recognising that most strongly gendered traits, including nearly all aspects of physical appearance, are morally irrelevant.

Regency Era romances, laden with witty dialogue set against a backdrop of restrictive social mores and consequences, owe much to Jane Austen's keen observations on love.

Austen’s stories are beloved for their rich depictions of yearning and the push-and-pull between duty and desire. Bridgerton emulates the recipe, centring narratives that explore the same themes in the fantastical world that Shonda Rhimes has cooked up. What could be the ultimate expression of romance in this setting if not a sapphic love story? 

With an influx of sapphic representation, this year featuring lesbian pop girlies and campy cult status films, it’s no surprise that Bridgerton’s long-coming sapphic storyline is on its way. While Michaela Stirling can’t get away with a carabiner attached to her century-accurate chemisette, the show is infamous for scripting convincing slow-burn romances that end with tasteful sex scenes. I won’t forget how I felt when Michaela and Francesca’s eyes locked on the screen. Francesca’s bright doe eyes meeting Michaela’s sly ones and the promise of a scandalous season ahead. What more could a girl want?