In my 30s, I got Bridget. Her stumbling authenticity cut through the façade of perfection we kept up. In a world demanding women be polished and composed, Bridget gave us an alternative vision where dignity was overrated, perfect was boring and messy was where the real living happened.
I still think thatβs true. But years of lived and learned experience later, I feel Bridget is a terrible feminist icon.
Colin Firth, Renee Zellweger and Hugh Grant in the second film, Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason.Credit: Alamy Stock Photo
The Bridget phenomenon repackaged womenβs insecurities as quirky entertainment. With every βI WILL NOT drink more than 14 alcohol unitsβ diary entry and calorie count, she normalised the concept of women existing in perpetual apology for appetites.
Her goals revolved around self-improvement or catching a man. Preferably one who treats her terribly until the final act. And Bridgetβs romantic history? Sheesh.
The past choice between Mark βHuman Used Tea Bagβ Darcy and Daniel βWould Definitely Steal Your Identityβ Cleaver represented a tempting romantic range: a dullard who wonβt empty your bank account or a glittering pants-man who might sell your kidney while you sleep.
Now she has a young fella on the go. What a punish. Imagine romancing someone whoβs never heard of the sharpie dance and wants you to hold space or go on a wellness retreat.
Um, Iβd choose to be a singleton.
My friends, our mothers, daughters β weβve fought for workplace equality (still waiting), against sexual harassment (still reporting the same creeps), for reproductive rights (still defending those in 2025).
Weβve schooled kids in lockdown, kept relationships alive through bloody-minded determination and tried to work out where we draw the line in the battle to look fabulous while losing estrogen and the will to go on.
Yet our cultural avatar remains this frazzled, privileged nitwit whose concerns include fitting into old clothes and whether a man who can barely communicate might fancy her? Someone explain how that works.
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How much better if our icons were gloriously imperfect like Bridget but were also bolshy, civic-minded, politically aware and genuinely independent rather than performing independence while secretly practising their simpering surprised face for when Mr Right finally proposed.
Want proper pop culture female icons? Try Deborah Vance in Hacks. Ruth Langmore in Ozark. Villanelle in Killing Eve. Bea Smith in Wentworth. Chuck Bridget in the bin.
Iβm over pretending those big pants represented sisterhood, even though theyβre so comfy theyβre all I wear these days. And no, they no longer match my bra. But comfort isnβt freedom, is it? And neither is Bridget Jones.
Kate Halfpenny is the founder of Bad Mother Media.
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