Where You Lead, I Will Follow—“You May Go First”

With the highly anticipated Gilmore Girls revival premiering on Netflix this November 25th (aka the only time I ever have, and likely ever will, actually look forward to Black Friday), it seems like the perfect time to be a fan of Stars Hollow’s fast-talking mother-daughter duo, Lorelai and Rory Gilmore.

I’ve only been a part of the show’s fandom for about a year—I watched the entire series straight through last fall and I am currently doing a rewatch—but if there is something to be said about longtime Gilmore Girls fans it is their strong loyalty to series creator Amy Sherman-Palladino’s vision, along with their strong desire to see that vision fully realized. Palladino was famously not a part of the original series run’s final season (generally considered the weakest of the seven seasons) due to contract disputes, thus fans have eagerly longed for a chance to see Gilmore Girls end in a way reflective of Palladino’s original plan—including those infamous final four words.

As November continues to draw closer and my own excitement continues to grow, I can’t resist dedicating a post to one of my favorite aspects of the series. Sure, there are aspects of the show I dislike (*cough* DEAN FORRESTER * cough*) and certain things I personally hope do not resurface in the revival, but the very fact that there is even a revival at all is reason enough to celebrate. This post is dedicated to embracing this very positivity—this post is for the masterpiece that is Emily Gilmore.

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Sitcom Study: Gilmore Girls’ “Forgiveness and Stuff” (1×10)*

Relevant Episode Information: Richard’s unexpected heart attack impacts the entire Gilmore family, culminating in a particularly heartfelt moment.

As loyal as Gilmore Girls fan are, there are many things that seem eternally up for debate. For instance, while Rory’s intellectual and professional development from a Chilton student to a Yale graduate is fascinating to watch, there is nonetheless the lingering interest in Rory’s love life, particularly considering whether Jess or Logan was ultimately the better match (Someone Somewhere: But what about De–? Me: Yep, the only two options to debate). There are also debates considering Lane’s story arc, who was really “right” or “wrong” during Luke and Lorelai’s breakup, Rory’s decisions later in the series and more.

But one thing that has never been up for debate—and really never should be—is how captivating Emily is as a character. Considering the fact that the show’s protagonist/Emily’s own daughter Lorelai nearly constantly paints Emily as a meddling nuisance at best and a diabolical Shakespearean villain at worst, it can often be difficult for the audience to not take Lorelai’s words at face value and instead attempt to see things from Emily’s perspective. Of course, Lorelai’s comments do not come out of nowhere. Emily can be meddling, judgmental and uncompromising; then again, so can Lorelai—a fact which goes a long way in making sense of their seemingly unending battle of wits.

When all is said and done, however, most of Emily’s actions, even—if not especially—the ones which anger Lorelai most stem from one simple motivating factor: she lost Lorelai once, shortly after the latter gave birth to Rory, and she cannot bear the thought of losing her again. Besides, despite her tough and perfectly composed exterior, Emily is passionate, loving and beautifully vulnerable. There are few episodes of the series that better showcase this than season one’s “Forgiveness and Stuff.”

The episode shakes the entire Gilmore clan to its core, as beloved family patriarch Richard—Emily’s husband, and thus Lorelai’s father and Rory’s grandfather—suffers an unexpected heart attack. Feeling completely out of her element by the lack of control she is able to have over her husband’s condition, Emily has a meltdown that, in a rare moment of sincere civility between the two, Lorelai helps alleviate. In an equally rare moment of vulnerability, Emily shares the following tender moment with her husband when she is finally allowed to see him:

Richard: “Emily, listen to me: if I die—”

Emily: “No!”

Richard: “Emily…”

Emily: “Richard Gilmore, there may be many things happening in this hospital tonight,      but your dying is not one of them.”

Richard: “But…”

Emily: “No! I did not sign on to your dying. And it is not going to happen. Not tonight,    not for a very long time. In fact, I demand to go first. Do I make myself clear?”

Richard: “Yes, Emily. You may go first.”

 

As much as I love television (hence this blog), I’m not one to easily cry during emotional TV moments, so there’s something to be said about the fact that this scene gets me each time. Maybe it’s Kelly Bishop’s acting, maybe it’s the way the scene is written, maybe it’s the fact that such a vulnerable moment so early on in the series adds yet another level of intrigue to an already fascinating character, setting the stage for Emily’s continued complexity as the show progresses (but, of course, it’s probably all three).

What makes this scene even more poignant in these last few months before the revival premieres is how it will inevitably circle back to haunt Emily. Edward Hermann, the actor who masterfully portrayed Richard, has tragically passed away since the original series finale; thus, Emily has been denied her wish to go first and will appear in the revival as a woman adjusting to life without her beloved husband and best friend. Maybe we will see the bond between Emily and Lorelai deepen as never before. Maybe Emily will discover a new passion or hidden talent. Maybe we will see another heartfelt moment, perhaps one where Emily bemoans how it “was supposed to be her” (though no Gilmore Girls fan would, ideally, have wished to see either gone). In any case, I’m sure she has a few surprises up her sleeve; I cannot wait to watch her journey continue to unfold.

 

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The Art of Doing Good

A few days ago marked arguably the most significant milestone of my life thus far: I graduated college. I donned my cap and gown (and struggled to adjust my graduation hood), sat amongst my fellow seniors and anxiously awaited my name to finally be called. Afterwards, I nabbed any friends I could find for a quick photo, rode the ram (it’s a Fordham thing, don’t ask) and joined my family for a celebratory dinner.

That night, I could not help but think to myself: “OK, so…now what?” I mean, I technically know what’s ahead. Over the next couple weeks, I’ll wrap up an internship, begin a full time job, continue to unpack everything I brought home from my dorm and enjoy another New York City summer as much as possible. But what I was wondering at the time, I suppose, is what the next lesson for me will prove to be if I’ve officially closed my college textbooks for good. I have always been a big believer in the idea that learning does not need to take place within the confines of a classroom, but this does not make the idea of going out into the “real world” any less daunting.

As I continue to think about what lies ahead for me in my future, I find myself also reflecting on my past: lessons already learned both inside and beyond the classroom, evolving into the person I am now and, of course (you saw where this was going, right?), the television shows that have heavily impacted my youth. So far, I have written about some of these such as Friends and Everybody Loves Raymond (and will continue to write more on those as well as others), but there is another one I love which seems particularly relevant to the transition I am currently undergoing, a show that is itself about a young individual growing and changing, learning to become an adult and applying lessons taught in the classroom to real life (or vice versa): Boy Meets World.

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            Fe-Fe-Fe Feeny! Plays with Squirrels. Cory and Topanga. I know I am far from the only person my age to remember Boy Meets World so fondly (or to cry every time I rewatch the series finale):

Sitcom Study: Boy Meets World’s “Brave New World” (7×22 and 7×23)

Relevant Episode Information: In the series finale, Cory, Topanga, Shawn and the rest of the gang face life-altering decisions as they contend with what life may hold in store for them once they are no longer in college—but not without some final words from Mr. Feeny.

One of the greatest aspects of Boy Meets World (aside from the memorable characters and clever, funny writing) was the fact that, despite being a “kids’ show” in many ways, the series never shied away from addressing such heavy topics as death, child abuse, alcohol abuse, sexual harassment and bullying. In fact, it’s because of shows like Boy Meets World that a blog such as this—dedicated to the applicable, deeper themes and ideas explored in sitcoms—even makes sense. Boy Meets World consistently respected its viewers and took them seriously which is why, in turn, viewers could take an episode’s message to heart as a legitimate, worthwhile lesson.

This respect was never more apparent than in the series finale, “Brave New World.” Divided into two parts and full of numerous clips highlighting some of the most iconic moments of the show’s seven year run, “Brave New World” finds Boy Meets World’s protagonist Cory Matthews (Ben Savage) attempting to grapple with the possibility of moving from his native Philadelphia to New York City when his wife Topanga Lawrence (Danielle Fishel) is offered a dream internship in the Big Apple. If you’re even a casual viewer of the show, you will know that Cory does not handle change well. Ever.

Enter George Feeny (William Daniels). The Matthews’ next door neighbor, Cory’s mentor and the gang’s teacher in nearly every class from junior high through college (something the show cleverly and frequently jokes about), Mr. Feeny helps Cory realize that maybe Topanga is also hesitant about the move, since such a big change means there is the possibility she may fail; he warns, however, that staying where they are will also hinder growth. As Cory and Topanga finally commit to moving to New York City, with Cory’s older brother Eric (Will Friedle) and best friend Shawn Hunter (Rider Strong) in tow (the Cory/Shawn bromance is too important to be sidelined in this post and will require its own post in the future), Cory advised his younger brother Joshua:

Cory: “Cory: “You’re gonna learn something from [the world] every day, you’re gonna make mistakes…Mr. Feeny will probably teach every grade you’re ever in…even though it seems like the world’s going out of its way to teach you its hard lessons, you’re going to realize it’s the same world that’s given you your family and your friends…Boy Meets World, now I get it.”

Even more memorably, the episode concludes with Cory, Topanga, Shawn and Eric awaiting Feeny in his classroom, eager for one final lesson (and reluctant to say goodbye):

Mr. Feeny: “Believe in yourselves. Dream. Try. Do good.”

Topanga: “Don’t you mean do well?”

Mr. Feeny: “No, I mean do good.”

While Mr. Feeny’s words should undoubtedly be taken to heart, it is what he does (or, rather, what he does not do) in the following moments that should also be remembered. Despite the group’s request, Mr. Feeny refuses to verbally admit that he loves the four of them, saying he is intent on keeping some boundaries. “You haven’t even talked to another student for seven years,” Cory retorts. Sill, he refuses. One by one, the four of them bid him farewell, thanking him tearfully for things such as being the reason they will be good people and, in Topanga’s case, being more of a father than her biological one. It is only when they finally leave the room that Feeny finally admits: “I love you all. Class dismissed.”

Thus, it’s by looking back on my past (through the lens of my love and appreciation for Boy Meets World) that I have come to two important lessons to help guide my future:

1) Don’t shy away from telling someone they matter. You don’t always know when you will see each other again. In a similar manner, also don’t shy away from admitting what you care about, either.

2) Don’t just do well. Do good.

The Best Has Already Come: A Tribute to Frank Sinatra

(Please excuse this one off-topic post; I could not let Sinatra’s 100th birthday pass without writing about him 🙂 )

 

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I remember the first time I listened to my grandfather’s CD player. As Grandpa sat beside me, there was a twinkle in his eye; he carefully unwrapped a hard candy, making sure to thoughtfully offer me one as well, while selecting an album from his impressive collection. I must confess that I do not recall which song he played for me, but I remember the album itself. I remember the voice.

The album’s cover intrigued me: a man smiling and gazing into the distance as if he had just thought of something spectacularly wonderful. It was as if he possessed a beautiful secret others would long to know just from glancing into his wistful eyes—but it was his secret and no one could fully guess (though they would try). The man in question was Frank Sinatra; the album was Frank Sinatra’s Greatest Hits. Even though I was a young girl at the time, I instantly recognized the name as someone famous, someone important. It’s just that this was the first time I was learning why.

“Your Grandma and I have been listening to Frank Sinatra for years. There were a lot of great singers when we were growing up, but Sinatra was always the best”, Grandpa explained—a statement he would repeat for many years to come.

And so we sat in a complacent silence, listening. I was captivated; there was something remarkably unique about Sinatra, even from that first song—something warm, sincere and inviting, something never quite matched by any other singer up to that point or since. Of course, I asked Grandpa if I could borrow the album, to which he readily agreed.

Since then, scarcely a day goes by when I am not aware of the myriad of ways in which Sinatra has touched my life, the ways in which he will undoubtedly continue to do so. I think of his films: from watching Robin and the 7 Hoods with my father as a child to finally seeing High Society a few months ago, his warmth is as apparent onscreen as it is on an album (of course, there’s humor there as well). I remember the articles, the books, the documentaries—all the wonderful works of fiction and nonfiction highlighting the incredible life of this singer, actor, civil rights activist, legend. I recall last summer, when I referenced my Grandpa’s love for Sinatra in the eulogy I wrote for him; whenever I listen to Sinatra—as I am now while writing this—I imagine he is still with me, smiling.

Today marks what would have been Sinatra’s 100th birthday—sadly, The Chairman has been gone for close to twenty years; but when you consider how lucky the world was to have him and his music at all, this passage of time—this period of time where Sinatra has not been physically present—seems insignificant. Sinatra never really leaves. His music is not akin to that soundtrack you listened to for three months straight before growing tired of it or that one pop song you played on repeat incessantly until it, too, bored you. Listening to and loving Sinatra’ music is not a phase; it is a lifestyle. There is a Sinatra song for everything, every time, every place: excited, in love, broken-hearted, lonely, proud, dejected, celebratory, reflective, remorseful.

Ultimately, each and every one brings me back to the initial awe I had when I first listened to him as a young girl; each and every note he sings transports my life to a place of joy, a place of love—and I’m still drawn in by his wistful eyes, wondering what he was first trying to convey. I think I get it now: the secret is in that very state of awe, the fact that I listened to him as a young girl, listen to him still and shall continue to do so.

Happy Birthday, Mr. Sinatra; in the end, all I can really say is thank you.

 

 

Bewitched, Beguiled and Beloved

I owe a great deal to Bewitched. The first sitcom I ever cared about and watched religiously (via the magic of frequent reruns and DVDs), it is no exaggeration to say that my passion for sitcoms and television in general may not be where it is today without the iconic witch with a twitch.

I remember sitting at home with my mom well over a decade ago as she flipped through the channels and stopped on Bewitched. She explained its basic premise and how it had been a favorite of hers years ago; I was instantly intrigued.

“So, Samantha and Endora are both witches?” I asked. My mom nodded.

“What about him?” I inquired, indicating Dick York’s Darrin (by the way, if there is anyone who prefers Dick Sargent’s Darrin let me know as I have never encountered such a person).

“Nope, he’s a mortal, but Endora and Samantha sort of help him out sometimes,” mom said.

The more I watched Bewitched, the more I loved it. What’s not to love? The writing is funny and clever; the cast is wonderful (i.e. Darrin and Larry as the advertising dream team decades before Mad Men’s Don and Roger existed) and features some of the funniest and most memorable supporting characters of any series (i.e. nosy neighbor Gladys Kravitz, incorrigible prankster Uncle Arthur and bumbling Aunt Clara).

Then there’s also the fact that Bewitched really was ahead of its time in that it had such a strong, independent female protagonist––something that quite a few people seem skeptical about when I bring it up to them. They wonder: Isn’t Samantha a witch who becomes a housewife upon marriage and promises to give up witchcraft to please her husband, Darrin? To which, I say: Yes…but not quite.

Yes, it’s no secret that Samantha promises Darrin she won’t use witchcraft (a promise she rarely keeps, otherwise there would be no show), but this isn’t him controlling her. It’s her choosing to have this life. The mere fact that Samantha, a witch who could zap up any dream man with a twitch of her nose, chooses to marry an ordinary mortal deemed extraordinary by her because she falls in love with him is in and of itself a sign of independence; she is choosing the life she wants, damning the consequences. If it’s considered rebellious to sneak out of the house as a teenager and risk punishment, imagine how much of a rebel Samantha was by defying her entire supernatural family’s wishes and living as a mortal.

 

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Sitcom Study: Bewitched’s “A is for Aardvark” (1×17)

Relevant Episode Information: After Darrin finds himself bedridden due to a sprained ankle, Samantha casts a spell that causes their house to respond to his desires. But will he become too carried away with his newfound witchcraft?

In what producer William Asher considered to be the definitive Bewitched episode, “A is for Aardvark” reiterates just how much Samantha loves and values her life with Darrin. The episode has several humorous moments as Darrin grapples with and ultimately enjoys his newfound magical prowess, but what really makes it so pivotal is its emotional ending. Fully embracing the magical life, Darrin retracts his objections to witchcraft and now fully supports living a more supernatural life. He goes as far as quitting his job and proposing that he and Samantha partake on an extensive trip around the world. This breaks Samantha’s heart; she doesn’t want such extravagance, she is happy with the life they have built and earned together.

Finally, Darrin comes around as he presents Samantha with a bouquet of flowers and a watch (“I love you every second” as the inscription):

Sam: “Oh Darrin, I love you… please believe me, this watch and these flowers are the most important things I’ve ever had in my whole life…but I want you to understand.”

Darrin: “I do understand, no one’s gonna take them away from you…I don’t know if I’m too crazy about the idea of never having to worry about anything anymore. “

Sam: “Oh! You do understand!”

The scene is particularly poignant not only because it highlights the sincerity of the couple’s love and Samantha’s commitment to living as normal of a life as possible, but it also reveals just how human Samantha truly is as a character. She does not want anything handed to her, she wants to make her own happiness. The tears she cries here are tears of joy; she is relieved that the man she fell in love with is not lost. She is relieved to work for what she wants and enjoy what she has. What could be more human for a witch to feel than that?

Not Letting Baggage (or a Suitcase Full of Cheese) Win

With over a dozen Emmy wins and ratings that kept it within the “top ten most-watched shows” list for five out of its nine seasons, Everybody Loves Raymond was undeniably one of the most successful sitcoms of the 90’s/early 2000’s. So, why isn’t it talked about more? Sure, the show still airs daily in reruns and has an active Facebook page to go along with it, but considering its considerable accolades it is definitely not discussed, referred to on Buzzfeed or Tweeted about nearly as much as, say, Friends.

When I ask someone if they have seen Friends I generally hear one of the following: “Not really, but I’d like to watch it more” or “OMG YES I WATCH IT ALL THE TIME! I AM CHANDLER, CHANDLER IS ME.” On the other hand, when I ask the same of Everybody Loves Raymond, I usually hear more casual responses along the lines of “watching it sometimes.” Of course, I understand the love for Friends. It is my favorite show and it is no exaggeration to say that I can identify any episode within moments and quote it word for word. But here’s the thing: I can do the same with Everybody Loves Raymond.

Maybe I can more often personally identify with the characters in Friends because, like them, I am a twenty-something living in New York City, but Everybody Loves Raymond is all about family and my real-life experience of watching the show has always been tied to my family. When I was younger, I actively watched it with my parents. By the time I reached high school, my maternal grandmother discovered a love for the show and to this day it remains one of our most fond bonding experiences. Then, of course, there is the fact that I am half-Italian and often joke that my paternal grandmother is like Marie Barone (in the “makes amazing food way”, not “intrusive” way, thankfully).

I may not be married with kids, nor do I have an older policeman brother or a father who frequently screams “holy crap”, but its deeper themes have always resonated with me. In fact, this blog was originally supposed to be exclusively dedicated to Everybody Loves Raymond before I thought expanding it would be fun. Of course, that does not mean I will not still write posts showing why I love it––the following episode seems like a good place to start.

Sitcom Study: Everybody Loves Raymond’s “Baggage” (7×22)

Relevant Episode Information: Ray and Debra return home from a weekend getaway, but one thing remains from their vacation even as the weeks pass: the suitcase they brought with them, which remains on the staircase. Both passive-aggressively refuse to move it, believing it is the other’s person “place” to do so.

If one of the greatest debates within the Friends fandom is whether or not Ross and Rachel’s presumed and infamous “break” made it okay for Ross to sleep with Chloe the Copy Girl (I’ll get to that in a future post), one of the great debates in the Everybody Loves Raymond fandom is probably the one in this episode: Was it Ray or Debra’s “place” to move the suitcase?

One of my favorite things about Everybody Loves Raymond is the fact that, in most cases, whenever two characters are fighting there is a valid reason for both parties to feel hurt or upset. For example, in “Ray’s Journal”, Ray has every right to feel that his mother Marie violated his privacy by reading his journal when he was a child. At the same time, it is understandable that viewers (especially those who are parents) will sympathize with Marie when she reads Ray’s entry: “I ehat (his not-so-secretive code for “hate”) my mom.” In “Baggage”, both Ray and Debra have valid reasons for not wanting to be “the one to move the suitcase”, but this is only a small part as to why this episode is so intriguing and worth analyzing.

In the beginning of the episode, Ray explains the suitcase situation to his brother, Robert. Ray explains how he believes that, at this point, Debra is deliberately refusing to move the suitcase in order to “wait him out” and “win.” He then adds that she is “gonna be waiting a long time.” Robert has the logical, incredulous response: “This is insane…you’ve had a two-week fight over a suitcase.” Ray insists that it is not a fight since they have not actually been arguing and ups the stakes by filling the suitcase with cheese. Meanwhile, Ray’s father Frank urges Ray to not back down because whoever moves the suitcase will symbolically be the one who “wears the pants” in the relationship. Later, Debra tells Frank that her anger over the situation stems from the fact that since she does “everything” around the house, it wouldn’t hurt Ray to move the suitcase up the flight of stairs. Finally, Marie urges Debra to move the suitcase to prove she is “the bigger person”, following a story about a similar fight she once had with Frank over a big fork and spoon. She memorably says: “Don’t let a suitcase full of cheese be your big fork and spoon.”

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            It is definitely a loaded episode with a great number of ideas to consider from each character’s perspective. I truly love Robert’s line about how ridiculous a “two-week fight over a suitcase” is. He is right. Actually, the idea of any fight between two individuals lasting two weeks (especially when about something as inconsequential as a suitcase) is ridiculous. Obviously, it is understandable that the people involved may want some time (maybe a few hours or a couple of days) to calm down and reconsider their feelings about the fight. But “taking space” about the same issue beyond a couple of days? That solves nothing.

Whether the fight is with a colleague, a significant other or a friend, completely avoiding the other person (not to mention the original disagreement) for too long leads nowhere positive and usually implies one of two scenarios: “I haven’t been mad for days but my stubborn desire to ‘win’ this fight by not being the one to talk first is more important to me than solving this” or “I’m still mad and obviously am okay with losing you over this, otherwise I would say something.” If you can honestly and sincerely assess yourself to the point where you realize that neither scenario matches how you have been feeling and that you truly want to mend fences, the solution is simple: speak to the person directly.

“Baggage”, if albeit a bit indirectly, also deals with the notion of how a “little fight” is usually not about that one fight at all. In the heat of the moment, it can be easy to think that your frustration with the other person really is about, say, a suitcase. When you take the time to truly consider it, however, you will usually realize that the “little fight” merely symbolizes a more general, often deeper frustration. For instance, Debra’s comment that she feels she does “everything” around the house complements a repeated theme in the show concerning how Debra often feels unappreciated and wishes Ray would help out more. There are definitely episodes throughout the series where Debra directly explains her feelings to Ray and he understands. For comedic effect, Ray’s helpfulness typically does not last too long. In real life, of course, directly telling someone why a particular issue upsets you so much ideally garners a more lasting understanding.

Finally, there is Marie’s humorous yet poignant line: “Don’t let a suitcase full of cheese be your big fork and spoon.” Probably one of my favorite lines in the entire series, its message is vital and clear: do not let a minor disagreement weigh you down. Also, never fill a suitcase with cheese.

Tossed Salad and Bulletproof Bracelets

Author’s Note: My apologies for the delay between posts, I recently returned from a few weeks of study abroad in London. 🙂

            Whenever I give my father a card for a holiday such as his birthday or Father’s Day, I always mention Frasier. Amidst thanking him for things like, you know, paying for my college tuition and co-raising me, I thank him for introducing me to TV’s snobby yet lovable Seattle-born psychiatrist. From frequently quoting the show in everyday life (“If you need me, I’ll be at my club” and “I am wounded” being two of my favorites) to rejoicing when Kelsey Grammer retweeted me on the 21st anniversary of the sitcom, Frasier has definitely left its mark on me. Incredibly smart, funny and critically acclaimed (it currently holds the record for most Emmy wins of any sitcom), it is safe to say this will not be the only post I dedicate to Frasier. While it would not be Frasier without Frasier Crane (and he’s also the character my dad and I both identify with most on the show, go figure), this post will not focus on the titular character; this one is for Roz Doyle (and Wonder Woman).

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Sitcom Study: Frasier’s “Room Full of Heroes” (9×06)

Relevant Episode Information: Frasier hosts a Halloween costume party where he asks his guests to come dressed as their personal hero. When Roz shows up as Wonder Woman, he belittles her decision, thinking she confused “personal hero” with “superhero”––but did she?

Years before Sex and the City premiered and introduced the self-described “try-sexual” (aka she’ll try anything once) Samantha Jones, Roz was a character who took almost as much pride in her active sex life (despite frequent jokes from Frasier and his brother Niles) as she did in her career-driven nature. She was never afraid to speak her mind or go after what she wanted, two undeniably admirable qualities despite what you (or Frasier for that matter) may think of her love life. It is because of Roz’s flirtatious nature that Frasier jumps to the conclusion that she is not taking his game seriously and merely wanted to wear something “frivolous.”

Roz initially pretends to have simply misunderstood the rules of Frasier’s game before finally coming clean: “Actually, I didn’t misunderstand anything. You made so much fun of my costume, I got so embarrassed, so I lied. Wonder Woman really is my hero! I mean, she’s smart and beautiful, moral, and totally independent.” Realizing that Roz took the game seriously all along, Frasier offers her a sincere apology.

There are several reasons why I find this scene so poignant, but there are two in particular that stand out to me. First of all, like Roz, I have always admired Wonder Woman. Ever since my dad introduced me to Justice League (thanks again, dad) in fourth grade and my mom introduced me to the Lynda Carter series around the same time (thanks, mom), I have been a diehard fan: I have dressed as her for Halloween (but Roz’s costume was more authentic looking than mine), pretended to fight crime as her, read countless Wonder Woman comics and graphic novels, enjoyed the 2011 animated film about her and became thrilled to know she is finally starring in a live-action movie (if you have not yet seen the Batman v Superman trailer, go do so…and then watch some Frasier, of course).

Secondly, also like Roz, I recognize the merit in admiring fictional characters. While reality is full of admirable figures (here’s thinking of you, grandpa), there is a reason why “which character from show X” quizzes are so popular. There is something special about recognizing that a fictional character resonates with us. I have seen each episode of Frasier several times, but maybe the show would not be as important to me if I were not able to have those moments where I realize I can relate to a particular character’s situation or personality. Frankly, I find it fun to be able to say that the Friends character I am most like is Monica (with Chandler’s humor and a few of the other characters’ elements, as my About page says) and the Disney heroines I identify with most are Jasmine and Megara. So, the next time someone you know finds comfort in a work of fiction or is proud of identifying with a certain character, remember it is perfectly okay—and we all do it.

The One With the Sensitivity

There are several sitcoms worth analyzing, praising and re-watching several times; none is ever completely above the struggle to master the magic formula that makes certain sitcoms so memorable. This, of course, includes the struggle for a sitcom to be innovative while honoring an already successful formula, and having distinctive characters while inevitably including more familiar tropes. We have seen such tropes a million times and can recognize them a mile away: the ladies’ man who never seems to want to “settle down” (i.e. Friends’ Joey Tribbiani or Happy Days’ Arthur Fonzarelli), the “mother hen”-type woman who cannot wait to wed (i.e. Sex and the City’s Charlotte York or Friends’ Monica Geller) and the “mother-in-law from hell” (i.e. Bewitched’s Endora or Everybody Loves Raymond’s Marie Barone) are just a few. All of these tropes are understandably exaggerations, some more harmful than others, but there is one that particularly annoys me: the guy who cannot (or will not) show his sensitive, emotional side because it is “wrong.”

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Sitcom Study: Friends’ “The One With the Male Nanny” (9×06)

Relevant Episode Information: To Ross’ chagrin, Rachel hires a “manny” named Sandy (Freddie Prinze Jr.) to watch over their daughter, Emma.

That’s right, I am starting with Ross Geller, Friends’often-maligned yet undeniably hilarious (ie. “I’M FINE!” and Unagi) dinosaur-loving leading man. If you are anything like me and know Friends very (perhaps too) well, you will probably agree that, this episode aside, Ross typically does not fit into this trope. He is a loving father to his children, Ben and Emma. He is repeatedly romantic and sensitive (if not also deeply insecure, but that is for another post) during his relationship with Rachel. In this episode, however, he is extremely uncomfortable with the idea of a male nanny. Meanwhile, Chandler jokes about Rachel hiring a “manny” and Joey, arguably the closest to a “guy’s guy” on Friends, proves to be the most comfortable around Sandy and even develops a friendship with him. If Joey does not see anything emasculating about Sandy, why should Ross?

Ross explains to Sandy: “You know, I’m just not, um, that comfortable with a guy who’s as sensitive as you.” Ross eventually reveals that his dad would often make him feel as if he were not a “real boy” since he was not particularly athletic as a child. Thus, it is reasonable to conclude that Ross’ real issue with Sandy is not really because he thinks he is “weird” (as he previously claims), but because he equates Sandy with how he fears his father saw him when he was younger: too sensitive.

While the fact that Ross becomes increasingly sensitive and emotional while explaining this to Sandy is undeniably done for comedic value, it also addresses a key issue I have seen countless men (both onscreen and in real-life) confront: What is the line between being sensitive and “too sensitive?” Can a guy be romantic and sensitive toward a significant other while also maintaining his “bro” side in addition to his independent self?

Here is what I have concluded: the very obsession with this question is in and of itself the problem and it is something that desperately needs to change. I know it is far easier said than done, but if a friend or romantic partner ever makes you feel like you are not being “man” enough, run away as fast as you can. Stereotypically, it is considered “hot” if a girl loves something like Star Wars or South Park, while I have witnessed several guys ashamed to admit to enjoying Disney movies or Sex and the City. This is absurd, especially because if you can honestly look me in the eye and tell me there is not at least one Disney film that owns your heart (mine is Aladdin by the way), I will know you are lying and probably are also lying about your name and where you obtained a magic carpet (but then I would know you definitely watched Aladdin, and that would just be awkward for everyone involved).

The real question, where this subject is concerned, should not be a guy worrying about being “too sensitive”, but moreover if a guy is being respected. Now, I have always had several guy friends from varying backgrounds, so I am acutely aware that the “aw how cute, so-and-so has a new boyfriend/girlfriend” teasing is to be expected, and most of the time it is all in good fun (and I have done it too, to be fair). When the “teasing” turns into guys calling their supposed guy friend a “pussy” or making him feel bad for, say, not being able to have a guys’ night due to established plans with a partner, that is when it is a problem. That is when it is not okay. Thus, it is imperative to know the difference.

If you enjoy holding hands in public or surprising your girlfriend with flowers to remind her you love her, there is nothing “too sensitive” about that—it is actually extremely sweet. Even Ross knows: “It’s always great when someone tells you they love you.” Despite this, several guys still seem terrified of being labeled as “that guy”, always saying this in a tone that implies “that guy” has a death sentence in a few hours, when in reality “that guy” is truly and simply one who is mature and confident enough in himself to show his partner that he or she is loved. Whether it is Gossip Girl’s Chuck Bass or Sex and the City’s Mr. Big, we are all guilty of being enthralled by at least one fictional, emotionally unavailable and utterly damaged character. In reality, however, the “too cool to show his feelings” guy is far from attractive.

My own father is one of the most level-headed, mature “manly” men I know, and even he recognizes the importance of and maturity in being forthright with one’s feelings and showing affection for those he loves. Back to Friends, each of the show’s three male characters are in no way hindered by their sensitive, romantic sides—and neither should anyone else.