I was ready to hate ABC’s new drama Nashville. I’d been burned before, by Women in the Performing Arts dramas—I’d had to hide behind my scarf as Natalie Portman tore at her cuticles in Black Swan; I’d suffered through fifteen increasingly terrible episodes of Smash last season, and it had brought me nothing but rage, existential disappointment, and a number of songs in my iTunes library of which to be ashamed. I’d seen the poster: Connie Britton in a guitar throne, practically stepping on Hayden Panetierre, devious and airbrushed at her feet. I am so sick of this trope, that when it comes to ladies performing, there can only be one. That we will destroy each other to be the one. I know from experience that it’s untrue. I remember standing onstage beside my best friend Alice in our senior year, auditioning for our high school’s production of The Hobbit. Both of us were reading for the part of Bilbo Baggins, and I was thinking, I hope Alice gets it, I hope Alice gets it. I knew she wanted it more and would do it better. I also knew whoever got it would have to glue prosthetic hair to her feet.

The Female Gaze: NASHVILLE 

The only thing that excites me more than Nashville is the fact that I am a staff writer at The Female Gaze. Check out my first post, y’all! It contains 50% less elaborate metaphors about Connie Britton’s hair than it did in draft stages.


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    tie My friend Katie is really cool and writes really well, and you should read her article about ladies and TV.
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    Read the whole thing.