There’s been an influx of TV shows featuring teenage girls in the past couple of years. While they’ve certainly become more varied and diverse in the stories they deal with, they often deal with heavy themes that make for a dark viewing experience. And notably, the teenage girls in these shows seem to behave more like miniature adults than anything else.
In HBO’s ‘Euphoria’, high-school students battle issues such as drug addiction and mental illness to varying degrees of success. In E4’s ‘Skins’, we’re faced with similar themes, with each episode centred around a different teenager from the friend group, and their own personal struggle. ABC’s ‘Pretty Little Liars’ is a lot of things, but at its foundation, it’s a murder mystery with four high-school girls at its centre. Contrastingly, Channel 4’s ‘Derry Girls’ is a family-centred sitcom about the power of friendship. And it’s hilariously heartfelt.
I would argue that a show about teenagers needs to not take itself too seriously to keep from falling into that ‘miniature adult’ trap, because adolescence is inherently embarrassing. Derry Girls, while taking place during the Troubles, a period of ethno-nationalist conflict in Northern Ireland, handles how weird adolescence is without all of the grit that many shows set outside of the context of war can’t seem to manage. It also lacks the romanticisation and stylisation that a lot of writers would have included, and that’s the charm in it.
When Erin asserts that the “show must go on” when the President of the school newspaper is revealed to be very ill, showing her ruthlessly determined mindset, rather than praising her go-getter attitude, her teacher responds, hushed with fear, “you terrify me.” Similarly, when the girls sneak out to a concert without their parent’s permission, it doesn’t go smoothly and they’re constantly looking over their shoulders out of fear of encountering the polar bear recently reported to have broken out of a local zoo. (By this episode, the show has been so consistent in its originality and unpredictability that at no point is the viewer certain that they aren’t going to be chased through rural Derry by a polar bear on the run.)
This chronic tendency to portray teenagers as full-grown adults that are just coincidentally still in high school is seen in shows where its young characters don’t have to deal with limitations placed on them by authority figures in any meaningful way, speak with wisdom far beyond their years, or don’t even laugh or goof around much. And I’m not living in an idyllic world where that type of behaviour is never realistic because kids always get to stay kids forever, but I do find the lack of the whole “teenage girls acting like adult women” trope to be refreshing, in Derry Girls. For example, in one episode, they attempt to make enough money to pay for a school-organised trip to France. This could easily have been an episode featuring the sombre tale of four young girls working hard and achieving their goal, but life isn’t that cut-and-dry, and they end up setting a chip shop on fire and remaining in Derry. This isn’t the glamorous, romantic depiction of the teenage experience that tends to be revered, but to me, it’s something better.
Even their outfit choices are distinctly ‘normal,’ from their school uniforms to their casual clothes. I was shocked when I learned that the Derry Girls cast members were between the ages of 27 and 34. It isn’t unheard of for grown adults to play teenagers, but my surprise was caused by them actually looking and dressing like children rather than 23-year-old fashion students. The absence of the male gaze is especially palpable in Derry Girls, and at no point is the show voyeuristic in nature. There’s a total lack of sexualisation, which is a major part of why I assumed the actors were quite young. The characters know what sex is, they talk about sex, they have crushes and experiment, but it’s ultimately awkward and humorous to watch, rather than being airbrushed and dramatised.
Erin is the protagonist of the show, yet still has a number of flaws, which is somewhat unheard of in the realms of teen media. She’s a pretentious know-it-all who doesn’t know it all, and that fact is highlighted numerous times, either by another character or by the story itself. Were this another show, Erin’s arrogance might be presented to us as something that’s earned, but it’s made clear time and time again that beneath all of her bravado, she is very much still a child. Similarly, in another show, Michelle’s reckless antics might land her in some sort of traumatising mortal danger rather than just in trouble with parents and teachers. Orla’s brand of weirdness might relegate her to the perpetual laughing stock position; but instead, her friends are protective of her and her family adores her. In the same way, Claire’s intelligence doesn’t make her supremely knowledgeable, nor does it cause her to be obsessed with attending an Ivy League college. And James’ mere existence in this friend group subverts the ‘one girl in a group of guys’ trope that we often see in shows about teenage friendship groups.
The trope avoidance and subversion extends to the lack of a mean girl, or a hot jock, or a villain — apart from England — and also, they have capable, intelligent adults in their lives. Jenny Joyce, who would ordinarily fill the ‘mean girl’ role, is annoying at most. The guy Erin has a crush on makes a few brief appearances, for instance, when he comes into the restaurant they’re eating at and she tells her friends not to look, and they immediately turn around — the crush never snowballs into a grand declaration of love. While these tropes might be cathartic to see in their own right, Derry Girl’s true strength lies in the fact that it is aware that being a teenage girl — being a teenager in general — is never all it’s romanticised to be. It’s awkward. You’re a little weird. Your friends annoy you sometimes. Your parents don’t let you do stuff you want to do. You tell your friends not to look at the guy you like and they all immediately turn around. You get kicked out of a shop by the owner. You aren’t the most popular person in school. People might be mean, but they don’t spit at you in the halls at school or circulate manifestos of hatred for you or anything.
Like I said before, this is a show about the power of friendship, and the lack of weight tied to any romantic relationship or romantic interest means that most of the time is spent focusing on the relationship dynamics between members of the friend group. We begin the show with the girls adopting a new friend, Michelle’s cousin James, who is stuck in Derry after being abandoned by his mother. As a result, he has to attend their all-girls Catholic school, because he’s from England, and if he went to the boys’ school, he probably wouldn’t return intact.
James gets picked on throughout the show as a running gag, but by the time we reach the end of the second season and his neglectful mother offers to take him back home to England, we’re stricken at the prospect of losing him, as are the girls. And when Michelle declares James is a Derry Girl and asks him to stay, giving him that sense of acceptance and belonging he’s been seeking ever since he first arrived in season one, it’s just as impactful and feels even more satisfying than any teen romance I’ve seen play out on TV.
In her article in the New York Times, Emily Brennan said, “I’ve always thought shows like “Gossip Girl” got adolescence all wrong. Sure, teenagers want to have sex and exact petty revenge, but characters like Blair Waldorf did so with smooth confidence and so few snafus. Really, she was a highly self-actualised mini-adult.” Truthfully, the clarity with which we are shown that the girls are still very much on the path to figuring out who they are and what they want is not only realistic, but it’s comforting. It’s obvious that while their own struggles and dramas are very important to them, this is just the beginning of their lives and in the grand scheme of things, they’ll be just fine. And that hopeful message is exactly what we need more of.
