It's Important to Examine Who Holds Cultural Capital, and Here's Why

Throughout the long-winded despair-fest that has been this quarantine, I have been reading more books than usual. I have the time, the lack of obligations, the need to distract myself. One such book that I decided to pick up is the 800 page space saga that is Frank Herbert’s Dune. This is not something that I would normally choose, but as a dedicated fan of Timothée Chalamet, I figured I would do my research to understand the film adaptation he will be starring in December.

Maybe this fact alone negates points I will be making in this essay, or maybe this fact bolsters them even more. In the act of reading this book, which is a huge deal in the world of sci-fi and was a major inspiration for George Lucas in making Star Wars, I realize that I feel a little underqualified, if not way out of range of the target audience. I’m essentially dipping my toe into a heavily male-dominated and fanatically protective group for the sake of an actor that I think is very talented and yes, very attractive.

So what does this say about me if I end up enjoying the narrative, become invested in the characters and their well-being, feel moved by the story? Am I just a “fake fan” that is disrespecting the rich layers of decades of fandom dedication and Dune lore? If I don’t like it, will everyone tell me that I just didn’t “understand” it? Or do I have the right to potentially enjoy Dune because I’m interacting with it for the first time as every reader had to do at some point to become immersed in it?

Or, do I feel like I don’t have the right to enjoy it because for years, male interests in pop culture have dominated and become The Standard for what constitutes “top-tier” productions in pop culture, essentially pushing down “women’s interests” to a lower tier. This hierarchy renders art made by women as only Art-Made-For-Women, and not Art made for everyone. Is art made by and for women always doomed to hold the least amount of cultural capital, to be held in comparison to the “great works of art” as lesser than simply because it does not cater to All, or in other words, men’s interests? Is the reason I feel awkward potentially enjoying Dune because it has, in essence, been gatekept from my demographic, who have been tossed the cultural “scraps” of chick-lit and romance? Who has the authority to determine who or what has cultural capital or not, and why do we cast aside worthy stories because they’re only viewed through the lens of women’s interest?

The issue of cultural capital is obviously a multifaceted one, and I don’t pretend to know everything or intend for this essay to be a blanket statement. Instead, I want to highlight some examples I’ve observed in my own life and how those are just small parts of a much larger system.

As I’ve grown older and been more conscious of the books I choose to read, I find myself constantly reaching for female authors, because I want to read stories that reflect my experiences while teaching me about the experiences of other women. Rarely do we find ourselves reading books written by women and about women in our education. We read the classics, but these classics are heavily male-dominated — as Brit Marling writes in her New York Times piece I Don't Want to Be the Strong Female Lead:

There are centuries of trial and error inside the ‘hero’s journey,’ in which a young man is called to adventure, challenged by trials, faces a climactic battle and emerges victorious, changed and a hero. And while there are narrative patterns for the adventures of girls — “Alice in Wonderland,” “The Wizard of Oz” — those are few and far between, and for adult women, even less so.

Or, consider this poem from author Scarlett Curtis, particularly the last stanza: “Your words are universal. Your characters are true. Your stories transcend gender, But women write books too.”

Several notable female authors in the 19th century used pseudonyms so their works could gain the respect and traction that works written by male authors would. These women included none other than the Brontë sisters, Charlotte (Currer), Emily (Ellis), and Anne (Acton), who all published under the last name Bell. In a time where female novelists were only seen as romantic authors, Mary Ann Evans, or George Eliot, became one of the most acclaimed novelists of the Victorian era with works such as Middlemarch and The Mill on the Floss. These women sought to be judged on the basis of their work, not their identities as women. They wrote their own versions of great stories, but the fact that they felt the need to publish under male names is evidence enough.

Learning of the specific pattern of the hero’s journey both in literature and film classes, I saw that the best examples of this were books or films centered around the journeys of men, such as The Odyssey or Star Wars. The thing that we question is simply the lack of diverse examples of such stories. Both of these are held in such an upper echelon of storytelling, which is well-deserved, but they are held there being prominently white male stories that everyone is expected to absorb as their own. This leaves little to no room for female stories that are gatekept simply for focusing on the seemingly smaller lives of women.

One of my favorite commentaries on the epic nature of these largely male stories versus deceptively quieter female stories is this scene from the critically acclaimed British comedy Fleabag, which should be required viewing for every human out there.

A character played by Kristin Scott Thomas delivers a fantastic monologue that gives an explanation I’d never heard before:

Women are born with pain built in, it's our physical destiny: period pains, sore boobs, childbirth, you know. We carry it within ourselves throughout our lives, men don’t...They have to seek it out, they invent all these gods and demons and things just so they can feel guilty about things, which is something we do very well on our own. And then they create wars so they can feel things and touch each other and when there aren’t any wars they can play rugby.

This scene follows an event where Thomas’ character Belinda wins an award for Best Woman in Business, to which she had to say, “It’s infantilising… it’s a subsection of success.” As Refinery29 elaborates in this article on the episode:

She is, of course, referring to the fact that she has been named the best woman in business, as opposed to the best in business across all genders. It’s a theory most women will likely subscribe to – why should we be pinned into a corner, accepting our women’s awards, watching our women’s films and reading our women’s books (more commonly referred to as chick flicks and lit) – but one we are often too scared to vocalise, lest we seem ungrateful or, worse, minimise our chances of becoming one of the Best Women.

This specific brand of female cornering is easy to spot in 2020—we have “Best Of” lists specifically for women and literature classes specializing in female authors, yet these women are less often represented on ungendered lists or in regular literature classes; this same cornering is prevalent for people of color and the queer community as well.

I’m the first to say that I’m so proud that women are being celebrated, but why can’t they be seated at the adult table instead of getting their own special meal of chicken nuggets with a side of patronizing praise? It is evident that women still don’t have the same cultural capital as men in the presentation of their stories, which are just as epic, and deserve the same amount of cultural examination and devotion.

The prevalence and nuances of this issue are widely seen in the film industry today as women struggle to be taken seriously as directors and their stories struggle to reach wider audiences. This essay from The New Yorker shows how critical attention can change the game for female filmmakers:

Critical attention is all the more important for the makers of films that aren’t box-office hits, that aren’t widely advertised, and that don’t have the built-in publicity of celebrity actors. A review and some vigorous follow-ups can make clear the kind of important experience that awaits, an experience that may differ significantly from today’s mainstream but that, with the right breaks, should be tomorrow’s.

In our current moviemaking economy, precedence is given to the blockbusters, sequels, and cinematic universes that are raking in the cash. Rarely are women the centers or creators of these stories, and when they are, their intelligence and skill are challenged at every turn. Take the recent release of Captain Marvel as an example. One half of the directorial team was a woman, and the star was Brie Larson, an Oscar-winning actress who has been vocal about issues of sexism and diversity in Hollywood.

The Marvel Cinematic Universe is beloved by both male and female fans alike, and while I’m not a part of that group, I still think it’s fair to say that the movies have mostly centered around male superheroes and their journeys. Of course there would be buzz and excitement around a female-led project.

However, leading up to the movie’s release, negative reviews about the movie from people who hadn’t even seen it on Rotten Tomatoes created a controversy and raised questions about why there was upset. Why was there so much resistance in a female-centered project becoming a part of a legacy of movies that have been heavily male-dominated and focus largely on those (heroic, literally) stories that society esteems so much? Brie Larson commented to Entertainment Weekly when doing press for the movie: “There’s just no question that we would have to show what it means to be all different kinds of women, that we don’t just have one type. To me, that’s a part of what the meditation of this movie is: It’s female strength, but what is female strength? What are the different ways that can look?”

When there is that much backlash over a female superhero, maybe we should reexamine the idea that true equality has been reached in terms of cultural capital.

Men have a myriad of stories out there that reflect their myriad of experiences, and women do too, but women rarely get a glimpse of themselves in environments such as this, and if that many superhero movies were made about women, I have a feeling that that particular cinematic universe might get called redundant.

Another interesting example of the ways in which women holding less cultural capital in the film industry can manifest themselves is the 2019 release and critical reception surrounding Booksmart, a movie that has since become one of my favorites.

The movie was released over Memorial Day weekend, a decision that was criticized as it put the movie up against Disney’s Aladdin live action remake. Talk of the apparent “failure” of Booksmart to win big at the box office (after its first weekend of release!) brought up concerns that female filmmakers were not allowed to fail, because they would lose any future opportunities. Booksmart’s Rotten Tomatoes score is sky-high at 97%, with glowing critical reviews to boot, so that in of itself is a huge win.

Director Olivia Wilde tweeted, “Don’t give studios an excuse not to green-light movies made by and about women.”

She brings up a real fear for female filmmakers — that if their early projects aren’t smash hits, they won’t receive any chances in the future, because chances for female filmmakers are already so few and far between.

In addition to this huge weight placed on the film’s shoulders, comparisons calling it the female version of 2007’s Superbad crowded the critical conversations, often stating that Booksmart wasn’t as funny, bringing up another roadblock to women in film, specifically women in comedy —that women can’t possibly be as funny as men.

Wilde told IndieWire about her frustrations with these comparisons:

I mean, hopefully, we get to a point where every female movie doesn’t have to become the female version of a male film, but I loved ‘Superbad...But I did feel that we should stand alone. Hopefully, that’s a kind of pattern that we’ll grow out of. Movies don’t have to be the female version of anything. You know?

Wilde also addressed her stance on women in comedy, stating:

I also think that, you know, people are more accustomed to male-dominated comedies and there is still a certain reluctance to believe that women can make you laugh as hard. And that still exists, which is sort of nuts to you and me…But there’s still a lot of work to be done to say, like, hey, this is not a male-dominated game.

These examples show that while women have gained much ground in gaining audiences and the means to create nuanced and truthful stories for women, they are also marginalized in male-driven areas where they don’t hold as much cultural capital such as the genre of comedy and the world of superheroes.

In addition, women who choose to tell stories that don’t center around topics or narratives that men tend to enjoy are usually shut out of the “greatness” conversation. Critically lauded awards-circuit darling Lady Bird, Greta Gerwig’s directorial debut and my favorite movie of all time, tells the coming of age story of a teenage girl from Sacramento. Gerwig was the 5th (!!!) woman in history to be nominated for an Academy Award for Best Director for her work, and the awards show has been a seasonal staple for 91 years. No woman has ever won this award. The nomination was a feat in itself; the movie isn’t what you’d think of as typical Oscar fare.

Gerwig’s adaptation of Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women, however, was, but she was not nominated, nor were any of the women who directed critically well-received movies.

That being said, in a year of fantastic movies and stiff competition, are we drawing the thin lines between contenders based on the stories that have more cultural capital? Are we giving more precedence to male-driven narratives because that is what we have been doing for centuries? Are we still refusing, however unconsciously, to acknowledge the stories of women as equally important for everyone?

The issue of who holds cultural capital in our society and how we can change that distribution is an ever-changing concept, and these are only a few examples of how women specifically hold less, not to mention people of color or the queer community.

If we take a look around, it becomes clear that this concept exists even in smaller ways, such as music taste. I think Harry Styles said it best:

Who’s to say that young girls who like pop music - short for popular, right? - have worse musical taste than a 30-year-old hipster guy? That’s not up to you to say. Music is something that’s always changing. There’s no goal posts. Young girls like the Beatles. You gonna tell me they’re not serious? How can you say young girls don’t get it? They’re our future. Our future doctors, lawyers, mothers, presidents, they kind of keep the world going. Teenage-girl fans – they don’t lie. If they like you, they’re there. They don’t act ‘too cool.’ They like you, and they tell you. Which is sick.

As a woman who is about to exit her teenage years, I’ve come to realize and evaluate my own cultural capital and how much weight the art that I enjoy holds in the eyes of society. The works that I typically choose to consume and the media which I love aren’t exactly reminiscent of the type of person that would choose to read a book like Dune, but why shouldn’t I? My voice in the conversation counts just as much as anybody else’s. I have the right to like or dislike this work, and my enjoyment of romantic books or Greta Gerwig films or Timothée Chalamet in general shouldn’t negate my ability to interact with a piece of literature that has the same legitimacy to be enjoyed as the things previously listed. When we cast down worthy stories because they don’t look like what we’ve pedestalized in the past, we essentially tell those creators that their stories don’t matter. It’s time we start examining the ways in which we implicate ourselves in the imbalance of power in our current understanding of the way cultural capital affects the creative world.