Is Big Little Lies selling us a version of consumer feminism that’s too good to be true?
Female friendship is ubiquitous on television, from Bold Type to Boots ads. It’s not always good for the cause
Reese Witherspoon has been sharing snaps of her Big Little Lies castmates – and, possibly, actual mates – on Instagram for months now. Her 17.8 million followers have seen them going bowling, catching a movie and goofing around for “Galentine’s Day”. Last week, however, came the squad-shot supreme: Witherspoon, Zoë Kravitz, Laura Dern, Shailene Woodley, Nicole Kidman and new addition Meryl Streep arm-in-arm and laughing it up, as they posed for photographers at the NYC season two premiere. Her caption read: “The power of sisterhood and friendship is limitless! So proud to work with these remarkable ladies. Can’t wait to share Season 2 of @biglittlies with y’all! June 9th on @hbo”.
That down-home “y’all”, the girl power platitudes and all of it wrapped up with a seamless plug? To say Witherspoon’s Insta is “on brand” hardly begins to cover it. Big Little Lies’ movie-star cast has always been a draw, but since debuting on US television in 2017, it has positioned itself within a sorority of shows that not only centre on female friendship, but depict these relationships as the ultimate in glamorous empowerment. In Amazon Prime Video’s The Bold Type, junior employees of a Cosmopolitan-like women’s magazine love, laugh and like each other’s posts in an idealised version of New York. In BBC Three’s Clique, a group of students in Edinburgh experience an accelerated version of complex, intriguing female friendship.