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How 'The Bear' Advocates for Self-Love via its Challenge of Gender Norms


Written by: Eva Wittenborg


I first became aware of the brand-new Hulu show, The Bear, starring Jeremy Allen White a couple of weeks ago when a meme of the show started to circulate on social media. It consisted of a picture of the actor wearing a kitchen uniform, with a caption that was essentially drawing a comparison between White and Linguini from Ratatouille. I knew then and there I was going to have to watch that show.

Set in Chicago, The Bear follows Carmen, a talented young chef who has worked in some of the most prestigious establishments in the world, and comes back to run his late brother’s beef sandwich shop. What makes this show so captivating is how well it emulates the real atmosphere of a kitchen. The stress, the pace and the team effort feel frighteningly real.

The creation and the directing of the series was a collaborative effort between Christopher Storer and Joanna Calo. I think that having both a man and a woman’s input allows for nuance in the character’s dynamics. Despite The Bear being set in the male dominated environment of the kitchen (which ironically has been deemed a woman’s place for decades), Storer and Calo have inserted female characters such as Sydney and Tina in that same space. Both are strong women of colour. Both have their flaws, but neither one is a potential love interest for Carmen. They are their own people with their own ambitions, and it’s quite refreshing not seeing the female characters caricatured as completely consumed by the prospect of romance.

But not making romantic love the central theme of the show does not mean that love is absent. On the contrary, as the series progresses, we find out more about ‘Carmy’s’ love for his late brother, their relationship, grief and our protagonist’s journey towards self-love. Deep sadness, fond memories and hope for the future are explored throughout and is not the only thing Storer and Calo did well. They were able to make deeply flawed characters lovable. For instance, we progressively grow fonder of Rick (Carmy’s ‘cousin’ and business associate) who is a stubborn, rude and aggressively heterosexual man who often resorts to violence. However, we find out that Rick, like most of the other characters, puts on a façade in an attempt to hide their personal issues. When Carmy, who’s supposed to be the leader and role model of his team, struggles with low self esteem and the numbness the passing of his brother has triggered, we see a fragile and vulnerable man on the verge of collapse. His walls and his tough looks crumble down.

I am not sure whether catering to the Female Gaze was Storer and Calo’s intention, but what I do know is that they wanted to make this story as truthful and poignant as possible; and often, the Male Gaze completely distorts a (usually female) character’s narrative. So the alternative to achieve a realistic and accurate depiction of a story is the Female Gaze and there is no denying that Carmy is THE personification of the ‘I could fix him’ kind of guy. We want to attend to the love deficiency he is experiencing and even though he is never doing anything explicitly attractive (the close shots of his veiny hands chopping vegetables is the closest thing to love making that we get), his humanity and vulnerability is what makes him so desirable. I think it is our appreciation of characters like this one that makes us introspect and reminds us that we do not need to be perfect for people to root for us. We are all worthy of love.



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