Never Have We Ever Missed The Point: The Compound Effect of the Male Glance on Women of Color

By Vimala Alagappan

Critical reception has failed Mindy Kaling, the writer and creator of several popular TV shows including The Mindy Project (2012–2017), Champions (2018), and Never Have I Ever (2020–now). Though her most recent venture, Never Have I Ever received plenty of praise when it first aired on Netflix in April 2020, critical reception also quickly revealed the viewer’s assumptions that make complex messages written by women of color difficult for audiences to notice. The show’s plot itself can be simply summarized: The sitcom follows Indian-American teenager Devi as she deals with her father’s death and navigates the social climate of high school. Her main objective in the first season is to bed Paxton, the high school heartthrob and Devi’s longtime crush. To accomplish this, Devi makes a series of bad decisions that alienate her friends and family, as she puts Paxton ahead of everything else in her life. Many viewers consequently found Devi’s character unlikable. What critics missed, however, was that Kaling intentionally constructs Devi’s characterization in this way to forward a complex critique of postfeminism: the anti-feminist response to the progress achieved by the feminist waves of the 1970s and 1980s, primarily reflected in media of the 2000s.[1] In Never Have I Ever, Kaling denounces postfeminist misogyny while offering an alternative solution to the cultural uncertainty motivating it. Despite presenting her criticism in a way that acknowledges the power of the dominant order, and therefore seeks to make that critique more palatable, critics failed to recognize the intricacy of Kaling’s argument, dismissing it based on a surface-level appraisal. The critical failure to engage with Never Have I Ever demonstrates the intersectional impact of what writer and media critic Lili Loofbourow has called the “male glance,” [2] revealing how the work of women of color cannot effectively communicate social criticism when the intentionality of these writers is overlooked.

Postfeminism: A Brief Overview

The cultural movement of postfeminism in the 2000s reacted to the second and third waves of feminism in decades before. By the 2000s, people believed that the fight for gender equality was complete, resulting in a regression of values masked by pseudo-feminist language.[3] A defining aspect of postfeminist thought was the rebranding of misogynistic practices as “feminist” through the conflation of empowerment and individual agency; choices like self-sexualization that still feed into the patriarchy were termed “self-empowerment” and “feminist” due to the perceived agency of such actions. These notions of empowerment suggested that women were liberated while allowing women’s objectification by the patriarchy to remain unchallenged. Ultimately, this postfeminist return to misogyny was a response to the feminist movements’ denunciation of gender roles, which had left a cultural confusion and uncertainty of how to find purpose undefined by patriarchy. [4] Furthermore, one important consequence of the claim that gender equality had been accomplished was the dismissal of the continuing struggles of women of color, leading to an understanding of feminism that was rooted in the white experience. This renewal of misogyny was also reflected in film: the media began to output stories of women unfulfilled by careers finding true meaning in heterosexual relationships – a reversal of the 90s films that supported women finding purpose in career. By actively seeking out the men themselves, women in film ostensibly became “empowered” via their obsession with male validation and the achievement of heterosexual romance.[5] Some examples of such films are 10 Things I Hate About You (1999), Legally Blonde (2001), and Bend It Like Beckham (2002), where the female protagonists have skill and talent, but the ultimate resolution of the film is their romantic relationships. While women had a more active role in romance, and the narrative at large, these films still suggested that women — and more specifically, the white women who were often the protagonists —  could only find purpose and meaning through men. [6]That is, while the leading women in movies like Legally Blonde or 10 Things I Hate about You were robust, three-dimensional characters with their own skills, ideas, and ambitions aside from romance, their storylines were nonetheless neatly resolved through a heteronormative coupling as the “happy ending.”

Claire Leahy, Mindy Kaling photographed at home in February 2020, 2020, Photograph, 1256 x 1737,via Wikipedia, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mindy_Kaling#/media/File:Mindy_Kaling_by_Claire_Leahy_(cropped).jpg. 

Kaling’s Exaggerated Postfeminist Critique: A Close Reading of Never Have I Ever  

In Never Have I Ever, Kaling purposefully criticizes such postfeminist thought through her characterization of Devi as the quintessential postfeminist character. Devi appears to subscribe to postfeminist beliefs, including both the idea of empowerment through white beauty and an obsession with heterosexual relationships. The series begins with Devi praying to the Hindu gods at her home altar before her first day of sophomore year. As a mellow upbeat tune underscores the scene, she specifies what she’d like the gods to do, requesting “I’d love for my arm hair to thin out. I know it’s an Indian thing, but my forearms look like the frigging floor of a barber shop.”[7] Acknowledging that her arm hair is “an Indian thing,” yet still going on to criticize it reflects Devi’s internalization of Eurocentric beauty standards, and how she wishes to change her own body to conform to them. Kaling presents this internalized self-hatred as a consequence of postfeminist culture: the assured tone of Devi’s prayer and the pairing with light, positive music lend the scene an upbeat tone, highlighting the paradox of presenting her insecurity as confidence. This incongruent framing makes it seem that her thoughts that stem from her internalized racism and misogyny actually align with independence, since she is sure about what she wants. By showing how postfeminism encourages conformity to white beauty standards under the guise of empowerment, Kaling exposes postfeminist contradictions and their intersectional effects. 

Devi also demonstrates the postfeminist woman’s self-definition through men. She concludes her prayer, “And lastly, most importantly, I’d really really like a boyfriend [...] I just want him to be a stone-cold hottie who could rock me all night long.” [8] In her prayer, what she deems “most important” is obtaining any boyfriend, such that the introduction to her character emphasizes her prioritization of heteronormative romance and sex above all. Indeed, the lack of specificity demonstrates that she is not pursuing somebody out of desire, but rather out of a desire to pursue somebody. Devi's objectifying reduction of her ambiguous but highly desired boyfriend depicts her unfavorably, as she does not care for the person himself. This focus is consistent with postfeminist notions of empowerment through a quest for romance. The positioning of her desire for a heterosexual relationship as a defining trait in her characterization sets up the pursuit of male validation as an aspect of her self-identity. Devi also highlights the self-centered nature of this postfeminist quest in her complete disregard for her friends’ romantic lives; Devi takes so little interest in the actual romances of her friends as compared to her own goals for her friends’ romances that for a while she is unaware of Eleanor’s relationship or Fab’s queerness. Kaling also suggests here that exaggerated postfeminism leads to inappropriate emphasis on sexuality. Her use of the phrase “a stone-cold hottie who could rock me all night long” juxtaposes the sanctity of prayer with the profanity of sex. Thus, Kaling criticizes postfeminism by showing how extreme adoption of postfeminist notions may actually lead to the objectification and sexualized reduction of men as well as women. 

Yet, Kaling’s critique of postfeminism is more complex than a mere criticism of postfeminist beliefs; she constructs an analogy between Devi’s struggle and the struggle of women after third wave feminism to illustrate a more empowering alternative to postfeminism without invalidating the movement’s driving confusion from loss of traditional patriarchal structure. Through the lines of a reputable character, Kaling ascribes Devi’s obsession with male validation to her grief from the loss of her father, suggesting that her fixation on Paxton results from this loss of control. After Devi has upset her two best friends by abandoning them for her crush Paxton, her therapist advises, “Devi, you are so desperate to not feel sad, you’ve made your whole world about this boy.” Thus, the show depicts Devi’s current chaotic state, including her obsession with boys and disregard for others, as a coping mechanism for her grief. This direct statement coming from the character of the therapist emphasizes that the viewer should believe it, since the therapist has professional authority to analyze Devi’s mental state. When Devi tells her therapist about her wish to have a boyfriend after she was called “unfuckable” at school, she says “I don’t even care who he is, as long as he wanted to be with me.”[10] The contrast between this admission and her earlier prayer, when she seems to prioritize the physical appearance of a potential partner, shows that she feels out of control. The vulnerability of this confession exposes the underlying insecurity motivating her attempt to define her purpose through Paxton, revealing that the self-assured intentionality of her prayer was not borne of actual confidence. She gives up her previous role of power by imposing fewer constraints on the characteristics of her hypothetical boyfriend, now yielding that power to the hypothetical boyfriend who has the choice to like her or not. Her change of her evaluation of herself from agential to passive shows that this choice to seek romance does not empower her, contrary to postfeminist messages, since it is still dependent on male validation. While initially she is confident and optimistic in what men think of her, once that opinion comes into question, she feels humbled and less in control of her fantasy. This connection of her obsessive heterosexuality and the loss of control stemming from her grief show that Devi responds to her loss of structure by seeking external validation via heterosexual romance.

Accordingly, Kaling uses Devi’s grief as an analogy for postfeminist anxiety, connecting Devi’s particular loss of a patriarch with a more general cultural rejection of the patriarchy. By depicting Devi as the quintessential postfeminist character, Kaling sets up an analogy between Devi’s arc and the motivations and consequences of postfeminism. Devi’s personal loss of family structure forms a parallel with the loss of familiar cultural structures, such as concrete gender roles. By using Devi’s grief as proxy for a broader loss of familiarity, Kaling highlights the origin of postfeminist anxiety when faced with a feminist society: what are women if not defined by men? Devi grapples with this question throughout the series. Just as Devi’s response is to seek male validation when she has lost the support of her father, the uncertainty following the creation of a new social landscape opened by the preceding feminist movements led some people to return to the comfort of the heterosexual division of social roles. Kaling therefore acknowledges through Devi’s arc that women responded to a loss of familiarity by embracing postfeminism, trying to find a place reaffirmed by and within the dominant patriarchal structures that feminism had once aimed to dismantle. 

Nevertheless, Kaling ultimately suggests that a healthier solution for Devi is reliance on already present networks of friends, positing reliance on community (and notably a community of other women) rather than on men as an alternative response to the social landscape after feminism. When Devi refuses to join her mother to spread her father’s ashes in the Season 1 finale, Devi’s friends Eleanor and Fab talk to her to help her confront her father’s death. As a light violin accompaniment plays, with Devi in the center and her friends’ faces framing the sides of the shot, Devi says, “I’m not ready,” and Fab responds, “Yes you are. You can do this,” and Eleanor agrees, “You gotta go.”[11] Her friends’ faces on either side of the frame show that Devi is not alone to face what she must. The music conveys a sense of peace, and her friends encourage her, in contrast to the fast-paced, dramatic chaos typical of the show. Devi’s friends show that even though Devi has not been the best friend over the last year, they are always there as a support system for each other, and are calming and reliable. After this scene, Devi does go to spread her father’s ashes, an act of closure, demonstrating the healing effect of stable, supportive friendships. Therefore, the show suggests that though seeking male validation may have been her initial grief response, Devi could only finally reach closure through the security of friendship. Through the postfeminist parallel, then, Kaling communicates that another possible response to the loss of structure exists: women could instead rely on their stable interpersonal frameworks of mutual affirmation to find an anchor in the feminist future. By recognizing the emotions and confusion driving postfeminist culture, Kaling creates a uniquely empathetic critique of it. Rather than criticizing postfeminism wholesale, Kaling suggests that there are more constructive options to face those emotions. Instead of criticizing women for their finding comfort within traditional structures of patriarchy, Kaling empathizes with their fears and offers a more empowering alternative. 

While Kaling does treat postfeminism empathetically, however, she also makes clear that Devi’s postfeminist character is not meant to be viewed positively. When Devi details her strategic plans for her friend group to get boyfriends, her friend Fab says “You know you sound like a sociopath, right?”[12 This line makes clear that the other characters of the show are not of the same mindset as Devi, and do not support her obsessive behavior. The word “sociopath” conveys a perceived absence of emotion and an extreme disregard for others. By forming a diegetic label of Devi as “a sociopath,” this line denotes the intentionality behind Devi’s negative portrayal; the audience is clearly not meant to support all of her choices. While Devi is portrayed unfavorably, the show is fully self-aware. The tension of the viewer disliking the protagonist yet inhabiting the same frame is in fact how Kaling maneuvers her criticism of postfeminism. Since Devi is the lead, the show follows her and the audience can see where her decisions come from, namely postfeminist influences, yet the results of these decisions are not appealing for the audience to support. With this contradiction, Kaling convinces the viewer that postfeminist reasoning is the problem causing Devi’s inconsiderate behavior. Thus, by intentionally characterizing Devi as an archetypal postfeminist who is meant to be unlikable, Kaling criticizes the consequences of postfeminist culture.

Finally, Kaling harnesses the narrative power of the white male voice to solidify her criticism of postfeminism. One striking component of Never Have I Ever is the voiceover by famous tennis player John McEnroe. It appears strange at first for a white male celebrity to narrate the perspective of a fictional Indian-American teenage girl; however, Kaling explained her choice to have John McEnroe narrate, saying that “When we decided that the character of Devi would have a temper. The McEnroe thing just kept coming back: you know, someone who’s high-achieving but is undermined by their own temper.”[13] The show criticizes postfeminism through this connection of Devi and McEnroe’s anger; for example, in the pilot scene where Devi throws a book out of her window, McEnroe narrates, “When you’re a normal person, [...] it may be hard to understand why we hotheads fly off the handle.”[14] His phrasing first separates himself and Devi from “normal people,” conveying that this is not the socially acceptable route to processing emotions. The phrase “we hotheads” groups McEnroe and Devi, suggesting their anger is the same. This comparison presents the viewer two options: either both reactions are justifiable or neither is. Either way, McEnroe’s anger cannot be justified while Devi’s is criticized, since they are said to be the same. The viewer who is reluctant to grant Devi, as a young woman and especially as a young woman of color, such expression, yet empathizes with the white adult male’s anger, must concede. This way, Kaling shows that women’s emotions are either equally as valid or equally as invalid as men’s, and particularly that women of color should have the same right to anger as white men. Kaling’s use of the social allowance of white male anger as the benchmark that Devi is compared to demonstrates her understanding of how to take advantage of white patriarchal ideology to make her feminist message, as she uses accepted power dynamics to convey her point, borrowing the authority of a white man to legitimize Devi’s emotions. When McEnroe first begins speaking, the first words he says are “As she said.”[15] He enters as backup, legitimizing Devi’s perspective to the audience. 

The absurdity of including an external, socially-valued source to legitimize a girl’s life experiences suggests the absurdity that women of color cannot define their own narratives for the public without the support of people of higher strata in the dominant order to defend their legitimacy. Yet, social narrative power is a very important force that women, especially women of color, are not typically afforded, since perceived ethos too often comes from identity. By calling out this disparity, Kaling suggests that further feminist intervention is needed until women are taken seriously by themselves. 

(Re)considering Kaling’s Critique 

It may be argued that precisely this co-option of the dominant ideology is what makes Kaling’s criticism of postfeminism ineffective. A common feminist argument is that which Audre Lorde famously suggests in her declaration “The master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house.”[16] The typical scholarly interpretation of this quote is that using the means of the dominant order cannot overturn that order, since they are designed to uphold it. In the case of Never Have I Ever, this means that using white male narrative power to substantiate that of a young woman of color may only reinforce the dominance of the white male voice. Having McEnroe narrate allows viewers to agree that McEnroe has the authority to narrate the life of an Indian-American teenage girl. Viewers could therefore take the acknowledgment of the social power of white men as a comfort, and instead of further interrogating that notion, watch the show without engaging critically. If the audience does not engage critically with the show and take the necessary step of detachment, then Kaling’s technique could be counterproductive. Instead of noting the absurdity of Devi’s legitimization by a white man, the unengaged viewer could conclude that Devi’s story does require the social credibility of a white man. 

Yet, Kaling’s technique of using dominant ideology is actually a strategic rhetorical approach. While she does fault the white patriarchy, her criticism focuses on rethinking the ways that women can cope rather than on dismantling the responsible societal structures. Suggesting Kaling’s television series aims to dismantle the entire white patriarchy would be fallacious. She criticizes one cultural movement, and provides a counter for another potential type of feminism, one based on community. Using and subverting tools that are familiar to audiences does not invalidate this message, but rather appeals to the audience’s currently held beliefs to make that message a bit more palatable. Framing her argument in completely unfamiliar structures or making a direct argument would require too much audience work, making viewers less likely to engage. By including ideas that already resonate with the audience, then, she is more likely to engage them without their immediate dismissal. Kaling’s strategy works subtly enough that even viewers who engage minimally might get the message: by disliking Devi, the audience at least subconsciously disapproves of her obsession with postfeminist ideals, since that is what paints her as unlikable. Not only is Kaling’s strategy of using familiar means to communicate her argument a clever rhetorical choice, but also it is what allows her message to be broadcast on a mainstream platform. Netflix is subject to the dominant order, by nature of being a major corporation, so if Kaling had chosen a more direct and less constrained path, her work may not have reached the same magnitude of an audience.

Kaling’s strategic approach to social critique also allowed her work to have a further reach than is typical of the coming-of-age genre. By airing on Netflix, Never Have I Ever reached a wide audience. Never Have I Ever remained in Netflix’s top five shows in the United States for over a week after its debut and received a lot of praise from critics.[17] While this positive reception means the show was well-liked by expected audiences and critics alike, more remarkable was the general public’s interest in the show. Of course, the show’s rom-com structure and teenaged protagonist meant that the show reached the target demographic of young women. But the show also entered the awareness of an audience very uncommon for this genre: adult men. Through the inclusion of famous tennis player John McEnroe’s narration, the show became fodder for men’s magazines and sports columns, which are also generally geared towards men. A variety of such online publications, including but not limited to Sports Illustrated, GQ, Men’s Health, and Essentially Sports released articles about the show, particularly noting the voiceover by McEnroe.[18] These articles all maintain focus on McEnroe as a tennis player, but their mention of a teen sitcom at all shows the efficacy of Kaling’s appeal to dominant structures to legitimize her protagonist. 

More than that, Kaling’s message about the equal relevance of men’s and women’s emotions is referenced in some of these articles, as it was her quoted connection between McEnroe and Devi. For example, the subtitle of the Men’s Health article is “Like Devi, the narrator is known for his epic meltdowns on the court.”[19] Kaling’s reasoning about the similar temper of McEnroe and Devi makes an appearance in most of the articles because the characters seem so disjoint that the articles need to give a reason for their connection, and Kaling provided one. A couple of the articles emphasize this apparent difference with lines such as “it probably seems a little confusing as to why a tennis legend might narrate a sitcom about teenagers,” that somewhat implicitly assume the condescension typical towards teenagers, especially teenage girls.[20] If there is such a difference, then to account for the voiceover, articles must explain the connection. The Essentially Sports article references McEnroe’s voiceover as a “bizarre but innovative decision,” demonstrating the initially apparent incongruity of the casting to audiences and critics alike that forces them to further examine the choice.[21] Those connections, via lines such as “McEnroe and Devi share hair-trigger tempers,” and “Her hot-headed nature is reminiscent of the outspoken player,” serve as a reference point to audiences who may be familiar with McEnroe and his temper and then force them to judge a teenage girl like Devi on the same terms as a tennis legend.[22, 23] Not all of the articles featured this connection, however, as some followed the more immediately obvious association of McEnroe with Devi’s father’s love of tennis. Nevertheless, the fact that not all the men’s articles mentioned Devi’s temper in the context of McEnroe’s does not diminish the accomplishment that some did: not only did Kaling reach unexpected audiences, but also, in some part, so did her argument about the validity of women’s anger. By involving McEnroe, Kaling managed to spread her message on other media that men are more likely to engage with, allowing the show to have an impact on demographics that may not even watch it.

Mindy Kaling and “The Male Glance”

Despite the broad reach and general positive reception of the show, critical reviews still largely failed to recognize Kaling’s intentionality and social criticism, exemplifying Lili Loofbourow’s concept of the “male glance.” The Washington Post review of Never Have I Ever, written by a white man, condescendingly dismisses the show as trite. The review concludes, “And although the show fulfills its obligation to be breezy and fun, mainly as a teen-centric piece of fluff, never does it ever stretch to become anything more than another Netflix nothingburger.”[24] This haughty opinion is an example of the critical trivialization of the show, also illuminating the reviewer’s (widely-held) opinion that media designed for teens, which generally implies teenage girls, cannot have deeper meaning. The use of the word “nothingburger” doubles down on the complete dismissal of the show. The word means “insignificant,” but the choice of a silly-sounding word to express that makes the show sound silly as well, and the alliteration makes the point of the show’s insignificance memorable. Loofbourow describes a main factor in this dismissive attitude as the perception of skill of female artists, since “we still have not quite learned to see female storytellers as either masterful or intentional.”[25] In Loofbourow’s essay on the male glance, she explains, “The male glance is the opposite of the male gaze. Rather than linger lovingly on the parts it wants most to penetrate, it looks, assumes, and moves on.”[26] Essentially, she posits that society dismisses art created by women by neglecting to read beyond the surface, a disregard demonstrated in the aforementioned review. 

And this surface appraisal is not limited to men. While more positive, The New Yorker review of Never Have I Ever, written by a white woman, still discounts Kaling’s intentionality. For instance, the review notes that “[Devi and Paxton’s] fledgling attraction can be butterflies-inducing but vaguely embarrassing in its unreality.”[27] The word “embarrassing” here implies a second-hand embarrassment for the show’s writers, assuming that there is no reason behind the exaggerated romance. This assumption both discounts Kaling’s authorial choices and suggests that the ultimate goal for the show is to be realistic. The review’s implication that realism should be Kaling’s target then precludes any further analysis of that lack of realism. Another comment that this critic made was that “Devi’s frequent comments on looks are meant to charm us, I think [...] but some of us will cringe.”[28] This comment assumes that Kaling must intend the protagonist to be likable, again making a generalization that media created by women is solely for surface-level entertainment. That phrase “but some of us will cringe” reiterates the idea of Kaling’s work as embarrassing, while also creating the superior in-group of “some of us,” suggesting that the critic and the reader of the review are more perceptive than Kaling. The viewer’s ego is fed with the superiority of clever discernment, even when Kaling deliberately sets up Devi’s unlikability to be noticed. This brand of dismissal by another woman shows how women also internalize the male glance and treat the work of other women with less respect than that of men, reinforcing the assumption that Kaling lacked authorial intentionality in writing Never Have I Ever.

  The reviews of the show also reveal that its immediate categorization as Indian-American or ethnic “representation” prevents Kaling’s work from receiving deeper discourse, with race further compounding the gendered and intersectional implications  of the “male glance.” The online Bitch Media review, by a Desi woman, claims

“As we’re so often either desexualized, hypersexualized, or exotified by American media, representation of desi  women with bodily autonomy, pursuing their desires [...] is quietly revolutionary. We as an audience may not personally relate to everything [...] Devi [wants...] but whether we’re shocked or impressed, we cannot help but take note of [...] how much [she’s] willing to fuck up to get what [she wants].”[29]

While this review positively notes the portrayal of Desi women in the show, the critic’s passing note about Devi’s lack of relatability references it in the limiting context of minority representation and does not consider that perhaps Devi is not meant to be relatable. The message that this critic takes away is one of empowerment through excessively individual action, when Kaling’s portrayal of Devi actually criticizes postfeminist hyperindividualism in favor of community. Once the critic decided the category of the show to be “representation,” she assumed the show’s purpose to be positive representation, with no other arguments or complications. As Loofbourow discusses, “Overwhelmed as we are with information, reductive categories become the polarized lenses of aesthetic pleasure; they distort our visual experience by filtering out whatever doesn’t fit, and that distortion produces a calming clarity.”[30] The reductive category of “ethnic representation” impedes the critical analysis of the series, demonstrating how work produced by women of color faces even more avenues for dismissal than work produced by white women. As this review shows, the rigid focus on Devi’s character as a token of representation denies the possibility of Kaling intentionally creating a nuanced show and an unlikable protagonist, forestalling analysis of her other intentions.

Although visual media scholar Alexia Smit optimistically suggests the potential of television as a medium for authorial communication, the example of Never Have I Ever demonstrates that work produced by and about women of color is less capable of communicating social critique. Citing feminist film theorist Laura Mulvey’s touchstone essay “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema,” Smit argues that “the potential for distance and critical awareness involved in the often less immersive medium of television starts to move toward [the ambition] ‘to free . . . the look of the audience into dialectics and passionate detachment.’”[31] In other words, Smit asserts that the mental separation from the narratives on television may allow viewers to engage critically with the work in the way that Mulvey envisions and thus counter the inherently passive, voyeuristic reception of film that she critiques. The framing of Never Have I Ever prompts this audience distance from the narrative, and consequently encourages critical analysis. When McEnroe introduces himself, he addresses the audience, “Now you may be asking yourself, why is sports-icon John McEnroe narrating this tale?”[32] Throughout the series McEnroe often similarly addresses the viewer in the second person. This direct engagement with the viewer establishes a relationship between McEnroe and the audience that Devi is not privy to, setting up a detachment from the world of the narrative. McEnroe’s commenting on his voiceover being strange encourages the viewer to think critically about what they are watching, practically delivering self-awareness directly by asking a question of the viewer. 

Still, Smit’s proposed potential remains unrealized for Never Have I Ever. Despite the clear setup for engagement, reputable critics did not engage with the show analytically, even with the narrative distance and blatant encouragement, because of their ready dismissal of Kaling’s work. Even though Kaling empathetically argues against postfeminism and instead for community-based empowerment, her social commentary is lost to the constraining forces of critical expectations formed by the male glance and compounded by Kaling’s race. As teen media, her show is expected to be meaningless, and as media created by and about Indian women, her show is expected to be only aimed to achieve positive representation. While, given the lack of mainstream media focused on Indian women, positive representation would be a reasonable goal, the reduction of a show to representation alone limits the authorial possibility of communication. That there is not enough representation of women of color leading narratives should not mean that all work produced by women of color must be accurate representation with no further complicated motives. As Loofbourow discusses, a white man may write a satire and have it be seen as such, but if a woman does the same it is seen as poor writing, unaware of the mockery it makes of itself. This effect is magnified for women of color, whose work is expected to fill a gap in media created by the dominant order, disallowing them critical voice or authorial agency. 

Conclusion

        This failure of critical reception surrounding Never Have I Ever demonstrates how the critical potential of television is restricted by the internalization of the white patriarchy. Addressing this dismissal and lack of engagement is important, as women of color have relevant and unique social criticism to communicate. Listening to their arguments is important for engaging with broader movements, like feminism in media, since if only white women get to level social criticism, the communicated feminist agenda cannot be intersectional. One crucial way to mitigate the observed dismissal would be to actively assume the thoughtfulness of the writers. Additionally, once there are more stories written by and about women of color, “representation” won’t be as confining of a category, and marginalized viewers can more easily allow nuance to and personal distance from individual works. Nevertheless, mainstream channels like Netflix will still by nature conform to the dominant order, so while television may be improved as a medium of communication, it is likely not the ideal solution to bolstering marginalized voices.

Endnotes

1 Meg Tully, “Trainwreck Feminism: Women, Comedy and Postfeminist Culture,” PhD diss., (University of Iowa, 2020), 14.

2 Lili Loofbourow, “The Male Glance,” The Virginia Quarterly Review 94.1 (2018): 36–47. https://doi.org/www.vqronline.org/essays-articles/2018/03/male-glance.

3 Tully, “Trainwreck Feminism,” vii-viii.

4 Tully, “Trainwreck Feminism,” vii-viii.

5 Tully, “Trainwreck Feminism,” vii-viii.

6 Tully, “Trainwreck Feminism,” vii-viii.

7 Never Have I Ever, season 1, episode 1, “Pilot,” directed by Mindy Kaling (Netflix, 2020), 00:40-00:50.

8 Never Have I Ever, season 1, episode 1, 00:51-01:05.

9 Never Have I Ever, season 1, episode 8, “pissed off everyone I know,” directed by Mindy Kaling (Netflix, 2020), 10:28-10:40.

10 Never Have I Ever, season 1, episode 1, 23:18-23:22.

11 Never Have I Ever, season 1, episode 10, “said I’m sorry,” directed by Mindy Kaling (Netflix, 2020), 19:13-19:25

12 Never Have I Ever, season 1, episode 1, 08:42-08:43.

13 Patrick Ryan, “'Never Have I Ever': How Mindy Kaling Snagged John McEnroe to Narrate (and Cameo!),” USA Today, April 28, 2020, https://www.usatoday.com/story/entertainment/tv/2020/04/28/never-have-i-ever-john-mcenroe-netflix/3033186001/.

14 Never Have I Ever, season 1, episode 1, 21:12-21:16.

15 Never Have I Ever, season 1, episode 1, 01:09-01:10.

16 Audre Lorde, “The Master’s Tools Will Never Dismantle the Master’s House,” in Sister Outsider: Essays and Speeches (Berkeley: Crossing Press, 2007), 110-114. 

17 “Mindy Kaling's 'Never Have I Ever' Was the Most Popular Show on Netflix Following Its Debut,” The Boston Globe, May 6, 2020. https://www.bostonglobe.com/2020/05/06/lifestyle/mindy-kalings-never-have-i-ever-was-most-popular-show-netflix-following-its-debut/.

18 For commentary in this vein, see for instance: Rosecrans Baldwin, “John McEnroe on His Temper, His Teenage Angst, and His Voiceover Work on 'Never Have I Ever'.” GQ, September 9, 2021, https://www.gq.com/story/john-mcenroe-never-have-i-ever-interview; Adrianna Freedman, “A Famous Tennis Star Is the Narrator of 'Never Have I Ever',” Men's Health, November 2, 2021, https://www.menshealth.com/entertainment/a32389608/never-have-i-ever-narrator-netflix/; D'Arcy Maine, “John McEnroe on Being the Unlikely Narrator for Netflix's 'Never Have I Ever,’” ESPN, May 8, 2020, https://www.espn.com/tennis/story/_/id/29147783/john-mcenroe-narrating-netflix-never-ever; “Mindy Kaling Reveals Interesting Reason Behind Casting John McEnroe in ‘Never Have I Ever,” EssentiallySports, May 7, 2020, https://www.essentiallysports.com/mindy-kaling-reveals-interesting-reason-behind-casting-john-mcenroe-in-never-have-i-ever-atp-tennis-news/; Carter Yates, “McEnroe Embracing New Career as Voiceover Artist,” Sports Illustrated, September 4, 2021, http://www.si.com/tennis/2021/09/04/john-mcenroe-netflix-never-have-i-ever-mindy-kaling-voiceover.

19 Freedman, “Famous Tennis Star is Narrator.”

20 Freedman, “Famous Tennis Star is Narrator.”

21 EssentiallySports, “Mindy Kaling Reveals Interesting Reason.”

22 Yates, “McEnroe Embracing New Career as Voiceover Artist.”

23 EssentiallySports, “Mindy Kaling Reveals Interesting Reason.”

24 Hank Stuever, “Mindy Kaling’s ‘Never Have I Ever’ Is Breezy, Cheerful and Not as Good as It Ought to Be,” Review of Never Have I Ever, The Washington Post,  Accessed December 15, 2021.

25 Loofbourow, “The Male Glance.” 

26 Loofbourow, “The Male Glance.” 

27 Sarah Larson, “‘Never Have I Ever,’ Reviewed: Hotness and Hotheads,” Review of Never Have I Ever, The New Yorker, Accessed December 15, 2021. https://www.newyorker.com/culture/on-television/never-have-i-ever-reviewed-hotness-and-hotheads.

28 Larson, “‘Never Have I Ever,’ Reviewed.”

29 Aarushi Agni, “Mindy Kaling Puts a New, Comedic Spin on the Rom-Com Heroine,” Review of Never Have I Ever, Bitch Media, Accessed December 15, 2021. https://www.bitchmedia.org/article/mindy-kaling-comedy-never-have-i-ever.

30 Loofbourow, “The Male Glance.” 

31 Laura Mulvey, “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema,” Screen 16.3 (1975): 18, quoted in Alexia Smit, “‘On the Spectator Side of the Screen’: Considering Space, Gender, and Visual Pleasure in Television,” Feminist Media Studies 15, no. 5 (2015): 894.

32 Never Have I Ever, season 1, episode 1, 01:30-01:36.

Author Bio

Vimala Alagappan is a sophomore at Harvard College where she plans to major in Physics and Math with a minor in Linguistics. She is from Oyster Bay, New York.