It is a truth universally acknowledged that Bridget Jones, romcom heroine and spiritual figurehead of all ‘frazzled English women’ is both relatable, and a character who has aged rather badly. The central dramas in Bridget’s life concern her weight, penchant for smoking, the size of her bottom, and the idea that, unmarried and in her early thirties, she epitomises spinsterhood. These are rather archaic depictions of womanhood for a character whose onscreen antics were, and are, a beloved staple of 00s’ cinema’s obsession with the romcom trope. In recent years, the implications of the movies’ obsession with calling Bridget (no more than a perfectly normal UK Size Ten) fat have rightfully come under considerable scrutiny. The self-loathing, however deprecating and satirical, evident in Bridget’s diary entries are uncomfortable and often disturbing for a Gen Z audience, who, although not entirely unshackled from patriarchal thinking, are far more embracing of different bodies, and openly resistant to the sexism and diet culture of the early 2000s.
However, the ire now so often directed at the poisonous culture that Bridget seems to represent is misguided. Bridget does not defend this thinking, at least not knowingly – Helen Fielding, the franchise’s creator, has frequently stressed that she is a satirical character, and not a model or example for women and girls to follow. True, the movies romanticise Bridget’s frustrations with herself, but these faults lie not with the character, but with a Hollywood machine that gains, both economically and culturally, from the commodification of the beautiful, and the insecurities born from marketing what is unattainable to the masses. Bridget holds a rather distorted view of her own life, and we as an audience can recognise this agonising self-criticism as a trait we also share. The romances at the centre of Bridget Jones, too, have aged rather badly, with actor Hugh Grant commenting in a recent interview on the uncomfortable proxemics of Bridget being pursued by her boss. Though consensual, the question of where power lies in the workplace and any ensuing romantic relationship is one made especially pertinent in a post-Me Too era. This is an interesting debate to be held through a so-called chick flick, as Bridget, utilising her sexuality, also holds a considerable, though different type of power over Grant’s character. Notably, she also eventually discards him for Mark Darcy, a man who shows her greater kindness and respect.
Bridget, for all her flaws when beheld by more contemporary viewers, also offers a certain solidarity to her female audience. Her New Year's Resolution, after all, may well be shared by many university students – ‘Will stop forming romantic attachments to any of the following: Alcoholics, workaholics, sexaholics, commitment-phobics…Will especially stop fantasising about a particular person who embodies all these things."
