Netflix’s Moxie and the End of the Popular Girl
Are we finally ready to stop worshipping at her altar?
Once upon a time in teen America, you had to be white, slim, and pretty to be popular. You had to be sexually desirable. You had to dress well. The boys had to want you; the girls had to want to be you. It certainly helped if you came from a well-off family, although there was a certain allure to being gorgeous and from the wrong side of the tracks. Maybe you were “easier.” A little more desperate. Either way, you had to make reasonably good grades and do the things popular girls did: cheerleading, volleyball, attending raging house parties and pious church youth groups in equal measure.
Once upon a time in Hollywood, things were the same. Teen movies have long centered around the trials and tribulations of the popular girl. The glowing sun, around which all other planets revolved. She was a ringleader, fierce, sharp, as bad as she was good. She was Summer Wheatley from Napoleon Dynamite. Betty Rizzo from Grease. Regina George from Mean Girls. We love her, we hate her, we can’t get enough of her. Or maybe we can.
Recently, I watched Amy Poehler’s Netflix movie, Moxie, a dramedy about modern-day riot grrls and feminism. Yes, it’s a flawed movie, particularly at the end, and it earned the mixed reviews to match. Still, it…
