Misogyny & Flawed Femininity

Female sexuality, when weaponized against misogynists, trumps any other currency of power.

It took me a while to start watching The White Lotus. Well, two months. Not exactly a punishable offense; one simply doesn’t have time to watch everything, and the sheer volume of content out there is overwhelming. Too much noise. And writing and Netflix don’t exactly make the best pair.

But when so many people praise a single show, day in and day out, I eventually gave in. The verdict was in: take a day off and binge.

I was jealous.

Sometimes, I watch or read something and feel flustered by the sheer amount of talent I've just witnessed. The writing is impeccable—there isn't a single scene that makes you feel there's a gap in the storyline, nor a plotline that leaves you thinking it could be more layered or believable.

The level of focus required for this type of writing, combined with the intricate character development and seamless storytelling, is nothing short of astounding.

I felt as if I needed to bow, at the end of season 2.

Mike White, the show's creator, made me feel a sense of jealousy at his writing skills.

When I heard the series was a societal satire, I became curious about how one writes a piece that doesn’t come off as clownish or, worse, turn into a comedy that undermines the seriousness of the issues it seeks to depict.

And it wasn’t. The exaggeration was just enough to draw attention to the subject.

The first season, which was my least favorite, was a satire about the sudden struggles faced by white cis males—and the white population in general—due to an abrupt and rude trend of inclusiveness.

I don’t want to spoil too much of the plot, in case some of you haven’t watched it or finished it yet. But what always amazes me, whether in literature, film, or a series, is how social issues, their hierarchy, and structure are often best told through satire.

Character Mark’s speech, about the white/rich privilege:

“It’s humanity, welcome to history, welcome to America. I mean what are we going to do? Nobody cedes their privilege, that’s absurd. It goes ahead the human nature. We’re all just trying to win the game of life. How are we gonna make it right? Should we give away all our money? Huh? Just what I thought. Maybe we should just feel shitty about ourselves all the time, for the crimes of the past. Wear a hair shirt and not go on vacation?”

If it had been written any other way than satire, it would have come across as preachy or tone-deaf. To strike the exact tone this sensitive subject requires—especially in these challenging times where it’s easy to miss the mark—what a talent.

Then there’s Paula, the only character not filtered through the satire lens. She serves as a counterpart to the unaware, and she completes this debate with just one short sentence:

“Maybe it’s someone else’s turn to eat.”

Season 2 was mine. I felt it deeper. In Season 1, it was obvious what was wrong and who was wrong. In Season 2, everyone is wrong. The first season dealt with class. This season deals with “masculinity”, as reported by NY Times, “masterpiece on misogyny”, as reported by Elle, and a “white knighting toxic masculinity”, as reported by Popsugar.

I saw masculinity not as the centerpiece, but as a tool to showcase gender politics and flawed femininity. I couldn’t say with certainty that the show’s creator, Mike White, didn’t stage toxic masculinity and misogyny to illustrate that women, like men, are flawed and will also use their position of power if they have one.

Yes, I get it. The Di Grasso family, consisting of a grandfather, father, and son, depicts the entire spectrum of generational misogyny—“subtly rebranded but ultimately still in sync”. However, women are not morally superior simply because they are women.

As said by Bert Di Grasso, the grandfather: “Women aren’t all saints Albie. They’re just like us.”

Popsugar was also on my wavelength here:

“While it’s terribly ironic that this line comes from the male chauvinist, the sentiment is based in equity. Being placed on a pedestal simply due to one’s gender can be dehumanizing.” 

I don’t mind this narrative. Women are not always victims, and in Season 2, the sexual politics and power dynamics were perpetrated by both sexes.

As said by Rebecca Cox, for Elle:

“Perhaps White’s message, then, is not in the dangers of misogyny, but that ultimately female sexuality, particularly when weaponized against misogynists, trumps any other currency of power.”

Sexuality is the currency of power. Women may not have as many forms of power as men, but it’s the strongest kind—and often the only currency women have.

This truth is reflected in Tanya’s storyline. She’s wealthy and attractive, yet no longer young, making her less desirable. Despite being worth half a billion dollars, she holds no power because her sexual appeal, the currency she has, has faded. Instead of occupying a position of power due to her vast wealth, she becomes a target because of it.

Men have multiple currencies of power, and they can last them a long time. Women have fewer, and their shelf life is much shorter.

It’s short but it trumps any other currency of power.

As seen in the storyline of Valentina, the hotel manager, who uses her position of power to remove the staff member flirting with the object of her desire and reassign them to another role, or hires the new object of her affection while firing a piano player she has no romantic interest in. She wields her power unapologetically, much like men do.

Then there’s Harper, who has an issue with her husband turning down a hooker during a wild, drunken party but sees no fault in flirting with his friend and going to a hotel room with him, where they "just kissed"—repeating, “it was nothing” and “I was drunk.” Meanwhile, Ethan’s actions mirror hers, but he doesn't waver.

Desire is the core of Season 2, and every character believes their desire justifies their actions. Desire and sexuality become the ultimate altar of self-justification, where everyone perceives the damage done to them as wrong, while their own desires shield them from accountability to their partners or any promises made.

Portia, who owes nothing to Albie, is unbothered by dismissing him in favor of a more adventurous partner, distracting herself from her own life.

Albie, with his “gender is a construct” and “I’m a third-wave feminist” mindset, believes that listening to and understanding women guarantees their affection, only to end up paying for it.

Everyone is at the service of desire.

There’s a saying about love and sexuality that I’ve been repeating to anyone who will listen, as though I’m passing along a secret that could solve everyone’s love lives; 2008-2014 TV Show Sons of Anarchy:

“Men need to be loved. Women don’t need to be loved, women need to be wanted.”

And today, both in the series and in real life, everything revolves around being wanted—by both men and women. Countless texts, constant attention on social media; all we seem to want is attention and to be desired.

What is love, and how do we measure it?

When Harper spoke to Ethan in their room, and he proudly said, “But I love you,” her response was, “Yeah, whatever. But do you want me? Are you even attracted to me?”

Ultimately, we all just want to be wanted.

Last year, someone I met spent the entire summer telling me, “We need to go to this place in Sicily called Taormina next summer!” This was months before the show aired, and I kept asking, “Why there, of all places?” He said, “It’s the most amazing place on earth, and we need to go there and have sex on every single corner. It’s the place you take someone you desire.”

I don’t see this as a coincidence, but I do see how desire is this profound force that seems to measure our worth more than love itself. Your mother loves you. Your siblings love you.

But what you really want is desire.

Desire is a currency of worth. Sexuality is a currency of power.

In this context, the two Italian prostitutes made the most sense to me and were the most pleasurable to watch.

All the other guests—wealthy but aimless—spent their vacation in Sicily, and instead of exploring, they all ate at the same hotel restaurant, day after day. Breakfast, lunch, dinner.

Their eating habits annoyed me. It felt too Dickensian for an Italian vacation.

Vox said it beautifully:

“They congregate around the breakfast buffet — fruit and pastries — every morning. They do not want to experience a place in its real state; they want to experience that place as the hotel, a golden cage. A cage that isn’t meant to keep them in, but rather keep everyone else out.”

Money is often spent on those who least know how to enjoy it—or is this just a platitude we tell ourselves, believing we would know how to savor it better if we had it?

Lucia and Mia, on the other hand, have a clear goal, a plan, a tactic, and the currency to execute it.

In Elite Daily’s words:

“Mia and Lucia’s friendship remained one of the healthiest, purest relationships of the entire show. There’s an uncomplicated warmth and camaraderie between them that’s hardly replicated among any of the more privileged characters, and despite their moral grayness, it’s easy to wind up rooting for them.”

The message I ended up with is that money and opportunity, in this case, equate to cluelessness (Tanya, Albie, Ethan), while honest struggle and the hustle cultivate awareness and vigilance.

Albie’s naïveté—thinking a woman selling anything sexual in 2022 still has a pimp and falling for a damsel-in-distress narrative, while claiming to be so in touch with the oppression women face—makes him the most ambiguous character of all.

We don’t have to agree with what they’re doing, but they are showcasing the empowerment of young women who are choosing their own destinies, even if that path is through transactional sexuality.

By Newsweek:

“Mia and Lucia have been immortalized as embodiments of the modern feminine ideal: empowered, glamorous and fiercely ambitious, sending the message to young women that transactional sexuality is empowering — smart even, and the fastest route to an aspirational, enviable life.

White Lotus does not cast moralistic aspersions on these hustling, cool-girl sex workers; instead, it attempts to objectively examine the exhilaration and moral ambiguity in situations where transactional sexual relationships are the norm.”

The White Lotus season 2 shows us that sex is even more powerful than money.