by Tia Glista
The relationship between science fiction and women has historically been a tenuous one. Women are often tokenized, sexualized, or outright excluded in sci-fi texts, and they have at times faced violent harassment when striving for greater visibility in so-called ‘geek’ culture.[1] In a genre concerned with destiny, anxiety, and identity, sci-fi’s women can also be used to embody anxiety about potential boundaries of gender identity. This theme is explored at length in the television series Star Trek: Voyager and Netflix’s Stranger Things, wherein non-socialized female characters integrate into their communities by learning to embody hegemonic feminine traits as they refashion their bodies. In their quests for social adaptation, Seven of Nine and Eleven’s ‘gendering’ processes demystify the artificiality of female identity construction, though ultimately still comply with and reinforce binary gender norms.
Star Trek is a helpful cultural text use as a starting point, as according to creator Gene Roddenberry, the future that it represents is supposed to be ‘utopian.’[2] It is a compelling site for evaluating our anxieties about posthuman bodies and the role of gender in an idealized future. Although there were female crew members in the first three series (Star Trek, Star Trek: The Next Generation, and Star Trek: Deep Space Nine), women are arguably the most powerful members of the crew in the fourth series, Star Trek: Voyager. In this series the audience is introduced to their first female starship captain, Katherine Janeway, and a female head of engineering, B’Elaana Torres.
Star Trek: Voyager also answered fan’s desires for the Borg to have more screen time, when the crew rescues a formerly human cyborg designated Seven of Nine, who joins Voyager after the removal of most of her cybernetic implants. The Borg are a cybernetic species driven by assimilating other alien races into their “hive-mind” community, conquering the galaxy as they become increasingly advanced. When an individual is assimilated into “the Collective,” their body is taken over by cybernetic implants and their memories and sense of self are erased; likewise, they operate on the basis that their bodies are expendable, irrelevant, and divorced from the mind. For the highly-evolved Borg body, “the flesh is fully controlled by technical prosthetics.”[3] Borg ideology recalls Cartesian dualism, in which the body and its emotional impulses are extraneous, and logic is privileged above all else, rendering the Collective impervious to the liabilities of individual whims. In Voyager, Seven’s human body has been restored, but not her human nature, and her struggle to express emotion, or even personality, is a subplot throughout most of the series.
Seven’s introduction also presents an interesting basis for understanding gender in the Star Trek universe. The Borg had previously been defined as a genderless species; however, they were portrayed exclusively by male actors and referred to with male pronouns.[4] Likewise, Mia Consalvo argues that the Borg’s behavior is coded with stereotypical masculine tropes, such as a penchant for science and logic and a deficit of emotion and empathy, pointing to the likelihood that the supposed ‘lack of gender’ inherently defaults to masculinity.[5] Masculinity is taken to be neutral and invisible, particularly as the bodies of ‘male’ drones are obscured by their technological implants and hefty biotechnology.[6] The first ‘female’ Borg to be introduced is the Borg Queen, whose femininity is exaggerated by a figure-hugging leotard, seductive voice, and rouged lips. The gendering of the Borg Queen can also be read through the framework of Cartesian Dualism; the bodies of the Borg collective are rendered insignificant and neutralized by their default masculinity, whereas for their sole female member, the body is hypervisible. Cartesian theorists have commanded attention to the ways in which Western thought has linked femininity to the body and its capricious impulses, and masculinity with the objectivity and rationalism of the mind; the distinctive gendering of the Collective reinforces this binary ideology. If the Borg represent the greatest extraterrestrial threat to Earth, it is also interesting that their agender society’s leader is given a distinctly feminine body and overt sexuality.[7]
Consalvo also acknowledges that the Queen may not be intentionally thought of in these particularly gendered terms, and is designated ‘female’ to reinforce the hive mind concept by correlating the Collective with bees, or to be a better-matched foil for Captain Janeway (apparently, women still can’t get along with one another, even in the distant future).[9]
Seven of Nine’s femininity is a uniquely human feature of her existence. Consalvo writes that for Seven, “the pull to become human (and re-engineer her posthuman body) necessarily entails the taking on of (a) gender.”[10] Seven’s gendering process aligns with Judith Butler’s argument that gender is a social construction, and that “woman itself is a term in process, a becoming, a constructing that cannot rightfully be said to originate or to end.”[11] In Voyager, there are indications that both confirm and contradict Butler’s point; while Seven’s ‘masculine’ Borg personality puts stereotypical ideas of womanhood in flux, the presentation of her body as ideally feminine–tall, blonde, blue-eyed, white, and skinny but large-breasted–seems to be perfectly instinctive. In An Introduction to Visual Culture, Nick Mirzoeff considers how:
For some on board, like Ensign Kim, the fact that she is a tall blonde, who appears to be allowed to wear high heels as part of her uniform, has helped ease the transition.[12]
The body is an entry point for achieving ‘authentic’ femininity. As such, Seven is uniquely and exaggeratedly fashioned to perform femininity. Actress Jeri Ryan who portrayed Seven of Nine was outfitted in a corset, constructed breasts, and a cat suit so tight that nurses with oxygen tanks were on standby on set.[14] Her uniform is an anomaly on board Voyager, where every other crew member wears a Star Fleet pantsuit. Even though she resists assimilating into a female gender role or code of behavior, the fashioning of her body declares Seven’s heteronormative femininity, and, as a result, grants her closer access to humanity. This could be compared to a micro example of ‘passing’: Seven performs femininity at the level of the body, but she is often criticized for her lack of warmth and her mechanical comportment.
Thus, the concept of a mind-body dualism continues to be a challenge for Seven and is a unique framework with which to investigate gender identity. In the Borg, the body and mind are quite distinct, as the mind is connected to the collective and the body is merely an apparatus made of technology, for the purpose of achieving the goals designated by the hive-mind. Even when her physical humanity is restored, Seven struggles to relinquish the Borg state of mind, suggesting a continued disharmony. Tamsin Wilton characterizes Cartesian dualism as being “premised on the irreconcilable differentness of the material body from that which inhabits and motivates it.”[15] Seven in particular has a noticeably sexualized, hyper-feminine body, highlighted by the corseted catsuit that she wears, but this does not square with her highly controlled, mechanized behavior. Understanding gender as a performative process, the diachronic relationship between Seven’s mind and body suggests the possibility of her character as a social critique, embodying Butler’s argument that femininity is acquired rather than natural. This is not to suggest that gendering of the body is inherent either, but rather problematizes the belief that to live in a body marked ‘female’ necessitates having a particular kind of personality.
There is a simplistic tendency to reduce Seven to a pin-up girl for sci-fi geeks, or as a feminist symbol who embodies sexiness and smarts, but her relationship with gender is far more complicated. Seven’s gendering is at the heart of her journey to become human. Her challenges with subscribing to feminine gender roles are often used to catalyze problems in Voyager’s plot.
For example, the episode “Human Error” in Season 7 fixates on her efforts to practice an intimate relationship with the ships First Officer Chakotay through a simulated hollodeck program. Seven premises the project with the explanation that she is “looking for ways to improve [her] social skills.”[17] The simulation is intent on helping her perfect humanity and does so through training her in feminine heterosexuality – cooking, dating, flirting, and hosting are presented as the necessary skills for being an authentically human woman.
Similarly, gendered body work is also used to coax out her humanity. For her date, she swaps out the severe catsuit for a low-cut red dress. Pre-simulation, Seven asks B’Elanna Torres for hair styling advice and later appears for her fictional date with her hair down, falling in waves, in contrast to her ubiquitous top knot.
As Consalvo points out, “in key episodes where Seven is experimenting with developing her humanity, she is often shown taking down her hair, and letting it flow in a “softer” style.”[20] The only sequence in this episode where she wears her hair down outside of the simulation is a rare scene expressing emotional vulnerability. The more feminine Seven appears, the more adequately she can pass as human; the less fashioned her body is, the more alien she seems. Consequently, fashioning the body is fundamental to her gender performance, and to her integration with humans, throwing into focus the anxiety that transgressions of gender roles can incur.
In considering Seven’s tenuous relationship to femininity, Consalvo argues that:
Even though Seven’s resistance to this gendering process is futile, […] her resulting mix of strength, boldness, and technological skill in a female body does refute the belief that women cannot embody these traits. Seven contradicts the belief that females must possess feminine traits or they will be considered unattractive.[22]
Consalvo acknowledges the three-dimensional complexities of this character. However, she does not fully evaluate how her reading is complicated by the problems that Seven’s discomfort with feminine conventions incurs throughout Star Trek: Voyager; ultimately, her non-conformity is presented as a deficit. As such, Seven’s journey represents both how contrived gender is, as well as anxieties about the possibility of a future without it.
The Netflix series Stranger Things may take place in 1981, four centuries prior to Voyager, however, there are nonetheless similarities between Seven of Nine and Eleven, Stranger Things’ preteen heroine. Aside from both having numbers for names, the two series follow Seven and Eleven on their quest to integrate into society, after being kept from it for the majority of their lives. Eleven was raised in Hawkins Laboratory and used for experimentation by the American government. Unlike Seven, Eleven is telekinetic, not cybernetic, and she can use her mind to flip cars, break necks, and travel to alternate dimensions.
Early in Eleven’s storyline, she is often misgendered and mistaken for a boy. Prepubescent, her buzzed hair confuses others, indicating the integrity of long or styled hair to reading feminine identities. Similarly, in “Social Hair,” C.R. Hallpike considers how biblically, shaved hair symbolizes “rejoining society”, as with the Nazarites when their leprosy is cured.[24] Arguably, the imagery of entering the world hairless may be evocative of infancy as well. Eleven’s buzzed head is symbolic of her outsider status – she has no understanding of social codes, and this naivety is signaled by her gender non-conforming appearance.
Stranger Things is known for its plentiful references or ‘Easter eggs’ that allude to other 1980s pop cultural texts. Eleven is often compared to E.T.; another outcast with unknown abilities who is hiding from the authorities. The show’s creators, the Duffer brothers, also establish this comparison through visual cues, by recreating iconic shots from the older film. Although she is human, Eleven’s isolated upbringing may as well make her an alien in Hawkins too. Furthermore, E.T. was a gender non-specific character, one of many traits that signaled their foreignness to audiences, again pointing to how anxieties about genderlessness are used to label characters as outcasts. In turn, normative gender conformity becomes one of the central vehicles for inviting a character, such as Eleven, into the social fabric of (American) human life.
Even after befriending “the party” – a group of four boys her age who help to hide her – Eleven is still often referred to as “the freak” by Lucas. It is not only her telekinetic powers that brand her a social alien, but likewise, her unfashioned – and as such, seemingly ungendered – body. Eleven’s conspicuously unfeminine appearance poses a problem for the party when they want to sneak her into their school in episode four, “The Body.”
The ensuing makeover scene is not only an allusion to E.T., but an homage to the entire canon of 1980s makeover montages, in which a “new wave of teen films in the 1980s connected the makeover directly to the teen girl’s rite of passage, and made it an essential component […] of the teenage girl’s ‘becoming woman.’”[30] The makeover culminates with Mike telling Eleven that she looks “pretty,” as she dons a blonde wig, a pink dress, and makeup. With the help of fashion and beauty, Eleven’s femininity is now supposedly more believable.
In the makeover sequence, the conflation of femininity and blondeness reinforces the historically sexual connotations of blonde hair, which Levine-Rasky argues signals not only “whiteness but […] affiliation with the nonadult and, relatedly, submissive femininity.”[31] Eleven is made over to look more feminine, but in the process, appears more childlike and non-threatening, a coded representation of what kinds of femininity are allowed to be considered attractive. The makeover sequence defaults to whiteness as an indicator of feminine beauty by reinforcing the idealization of blondeness as the pinnacle of beauty as well. Eleven’s transformation not only signals the centrality of whiteness and youth to feminine beauty standards, but to the centrality of how they define femininity in and of itself.
As Wilkinson also argues, the makeover makes the transformation process visible, underscoring the ability to make femininity adaptable and malleable.[32] While makeover sequences often celebrate a narrow imagining of femininity by conflating it with body work, idealized whiteness, and consumerism, they also arguably undo themselves by demonstrating the process and artifice of embodying femininity. For Eleven, becoming a socially acceptable ‘girl’ happens by means of getting dressed; femininity is arguably nothing more than a costume.
The performance of gender by fashioned bodies in science fiction may enforce a specific mode of feminine identity, however, clothes can be taken on and off. Eleven and Seven of Nine wear femininity on the body like a costume but resist the gendering of their temperaments, evidencing the superficial nature of gender. Rather than being something natural, gender is learned, argues Bordo, “directly through bodily discourse: through images which tell us what clothes, body shape, facial expression, movements, and behavior is required.”[34] Through these alien characters, femininity is problematized and made to look bazaar, abridged into steps that come across as arbitrary or forced – fashion, makeup, hairstyling, dating, and being a hostess have all been accepted aspects of Western discourses of femininity, but through the eyes of Seven and Eleven, this knowledge is challenged.
Although the awkwardness of learning femininity may be somewhat transgressive, it is still suggested that these characters inherently want to be more feminine, and that this is their ticket to normalcy and ultimately, happiness.
Eleven does not know what “friend” or “promise” means, but she knows the word “pretty” and says it achingly while gazing with aspiration at a picture of Mike’s older sister Nancy, and then later at her own made-over reflection. She responds positively to praise from her male cohorts about her makeover, and this is meant to be touching; raised in a lab, audiences are supposed to feel badly about the fact that this pre-teen girl has been deprived of beauty for her entire life. The neoliberal era – originating in the 1980s – has conceptualized the linkage of “body to self by urging women to use [beauty] products to create individuality.”[36] Gimlin contends that through diet regimes, workout tapes, and makeovers, women are encouraged to overhaul their inadequate identities through work on the body.[37] Eleven, a child, can kill an army of government agents with a twitch of her head, but she is still subjected to sexualized, feminine beauty standards and the myth of beauty’s civilizing promise. Like Seven of Nine’s exploration of fashion and dating, Eleven is rewarded for fashioning her body for the heterosexual male voyeur.
Because science fiction and the entertainment industries are dominated by white men, the genre tends to frame humanity almost exclusively on their terms. As such, the privileging of certain conceptions of femininity over others is inevitable. The journeys of outcasts like Seven of Nine and Eleven to become more human demystify the processes of learning gender that are otherwise rendered unseen in real life. Sci-fi becomes a space in which to analyze anxieties about female characters who subvert or resist expectations of their gender and how these women are at once both celebrated and depicted as problematic for their transgressions. Very often, these female characters are allowed to be smart, aggressive, and even dominant, but at the cost of submitting to feminine tropes in other aspects of their identity – chiefly, at the site of the body. This suggests the widening of the canon of femininity to accept a more plural conception of what women can do on-screen, but still ultimately has the pitfall of making the feminization of the body the central concern of even the most powerful women. For all of the imagination that goes into constructing magnificent, epic works of science fiction, there is a need for creators to be more imaginative still, in how they encourage gender to operate.
***
[1] Adrienne Massanari, “#Gamergate and The Fappening: How Reddit’s algorithm, governance, and culture support toxic technocultures,” New Media & Society 19, no. 3 (October 09, 2016).
[2] Mia Consalvo,“Borg Babes, Drones, and The Collective: Reading Gender and the Body in Star Trek,” Womens Studies in Communication 27, no. 2 (2004): 179.
[3] Tudor Balinisteanu, “The Cyborg Goddess: Social Myths of Women as Goddesses of Technologized Otherworlds,” Feminist Studies 33, no. 2 (Summer 2007): 398.
[4] Consalvo, 179-180.
[5] Consalvo, 183.
[6] Pierre Bourdieu, Masculine domination (Cambridge: Politiy Press, 2007), 9.
[7] Balinisteanu, 398.
[8] First Contact, dir. Johnathan Frakes (Paramount, 1996).
[9] Consalvo, 187.
[10] Consalvo, 185.
[11] Judith Butler, Gender trouble: feminism and the subversion of identity (New York: Routledge, Taylor & Francis Group, 2015).
[12] Nicholas Mirzoeff, An Introduction to Visual Culture (New York: Routledge, 2009), 216.
[13] Allan Kroeker, dir., “Human Error,” in Star Trek: Voyager, Paramount Television, March 21, 2001.
[14] Chris Jancelewicz, “Jeri Ryan Talks Body Suits, Feuds & More On ‘Star Trek: Voyager’,” Huffington Post UK, April 12, 2012, , accessed November 17, 2017, http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/entry/jeri-ryan-body-of-proof-star-trek-voyager_n_1413141.
[15] Tamsin Wilton, “Out/Performing Our Selves: Sex, Gender and Cartesian Dualism,” Sexualities 3, no. 2 (2000): 239.
[16] “Human Error,” 2001.
[17] “Human Error,” 2001.
[18] Ibid.
[19] Ibid.
[20] Consalvo, 186.
[21] “Human Error,” 2001.
[22] Consalvo, 187.
[23] Matt Duffer, Ross Duffer, dir., “The Vanishing of Will Byers,” in Stranger Things, Netflix, July 15, 2016.
[24] C.R. Hallpike, “Social Hair,” Man 4, no. 2 (June 1969): 263.
[25] “The Vanishing of Will Byers,” 2016.
[26] E.T., the Extra-Terrestrial, dir. Steven Spielberg (Universal Pictures, 1982).
[27] Shawn Levy, dir., “The Body,” in Stranger Things, Netflix, July 15, 2016.
[28] E.T., 1982.
[29] “The Body,” 2016.
[30] Maryn Wilkinson, “The makeover and the malleable body in 1980s American teen film,” International Journal of Cultural Studies 18, no. 3 (January 16, 2014): 386.
[31]31 — Cynthia Levine-Rasky, Working through whiteness: international perspectives (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2002), 89.
[32]32 Wilkinson, 385.
[33]33 “The Body,” 2016.
[34]34 Susan Bordo, “The Body and the Reproduction of Femininity: A Feminist Appropriation of Foucault,” ed. Susan Bordo, in Gender/Body/Knowledge: Feminist Reconstruction of Being and Knowing, ed. Alison Jaggar (Rutgers University Press, 1989), 17.
[35] Matt Duffer, Ross Duffer, dir., “The Weirdo on Maple Street,” in Stranger Things, Netflix, July 15, 2016.
[36] Deborah L. Gimlin, Body Work: Beauty and Self-Image in American Culture (Berkley, CA: University of California Press, 2002), 5-6.
[37] Gimlin, 6.