Perhaps the most misunderstood figure in literature and media: the other woman trope is purity culture and patriarchal values in red lipstick. Enchanting, elusive, ever-the-scapegoat and scandalised, she’s less a person than a silhouette: cinched at the waist and lacquered with loose morals. This social and stylistic feminine archetype is nothing new, she’s caged women for centuries. Even tracing back to Ancient Greek mythology around Sirens, we can’t let go of this idea of a seductress who lures men to their eventual demise. The classic femme fatale archetype as we know it was codified in the film noir era, where she became a symbol of social and sexual liberation, especially after World War 2 as the united war effort moved women outside the constraints of the domestic sphere they had been consigned to for centuries. Years later, she’s never far from cultural consciousness; the tried-and-true trope remains a pervasive categorisation for women in music, film and folklore. The way we style her reveals the harmful stereotypes and misogyny that underpins this idea of a seductress- a narrative laid bare in lacy lingerie and a sultry smokey eye.
Though Lana Del Rey didn’t create the archetype by any means, her cover of Jessie Mae Robinson’s aptly titled “The Other Woman,” embalms it in melancholic glamour, the haunting vocals painting a picture of curated sexuality, a woman crafted for desire, not affection. We’re painted a picture of a glamorous and well-groomed woman who “enchants her clothes with French perfume”. From her “fresh cut flowers in each room” to having “..time to manicure her nails”, her image is highly curated, perfected, seductive. Overarchingly, as Del Rey croons, “the other woman is perfect where her rival fails”. There’s often a sense of something otherworldly and untouchable about this other woman across media and music.
We love to put the other woman on a pedestal of perfection, as Olivia Rodrigo sings in Lacy, “People are people/ But it’s like you’re made of angel dust.” In this way, we forget that she’s human too, not a perfect model to compete with. In this way, we avoid holding up a mirror and recognising that the typecast villain is also just a reflection of a desire to be loved and validated that we all share.
This idea that the competing women are almost like two different species is possibly the most obvious hallmark of trope. The other woman is styled as a distinct physical antithesis of the leading woman, shaping her to be as visually contrasting as possible. Think Maddie and Cassie from Euphoria, Serena and Blair from Gossip Girl. It seems we’re not yet tired of the classic “Blonde versus Brunette” typecast. It’s also classic to focus on the feud between the women and leave the cheating Nates of the world out of the conversation. Aside from this juxtaposition in physical appearance, the contrast extends to the sexualisation of the character. An interesting portrayal of the trope is Taylor Swift’s cheerleader vs. nerdy-girl dichotomy in the You Belong With Me music video, boasting 1.7 billion views at the time of writing. Through the famous “She wears short skirts I wear t-shirts” and “She wears high heels, I wear sneakers” lines and the styling of the two competing girls, we’re fed a a villainisation of femininity and inherently sexual nature to this other woman compared to the virtuous and tomboyish girl next door.
Everyone’s favourite and least controversial figure in Modern Psychology Sigmund Freud proposes psychological roots to this binary categorisation of femininity and sexuality, coining the phrase “Madonna-Whore Complex” (MWC). In this he explains that women can be sorted into two rigid and mutually-exclusive categories: women suitable for marriage and women suitable for sex, evidently reflecting the multifaceted and broad purpose for women in this life. Freud explains that “Where such men love, they have no desire, and where they desire, they cannot love.” This binary categorisation of women and their sexuality, is echoed Atwood’s modern classic The Handmaid’s Tale, even encompassing Biblical roots. Quoted in Modern Intimacy, relational researcher Orly Bareket, Ph.D, presents one of the most visual depictions of this complex; Olivuccio di Ciccarello’s c.1400 The Madonna Of Humility With The Temptation Of Eve. The artist portrays the two women as antipodes of each other, with Eve’s stark nudity swathed in darkness an antithesis to Madonna’s modestly robed skin, surrounded by golden shades. This foil technique is made even more evident in the artist’s choice to mirror their golden locks, exposed breasts and side profile. We’re yet again presented two women and two displays of sexuality and morality. The villainisation of the sexual woman is laid bare on the canvas, with the artwork permanently marred with deep scratches splitting Eve’s body, a vehement and visceral reaction to this overt display of female sexuality, an attack on the wicked and the immoral, the root of all human sin.
This overwhelmingly negative depiction of female sexuality IS that deep, “assertive female sexuality represents a potential threat to men’s social dominance” Emily Kane and Mimi Schippers write, quoted in Modern Intimacy. This is highly relevant in our current political and social paradigm, especially after the landmark overturning of Roe v. Wade in 2022. Reflections of the complex in society means that feminine sexuality remains “..shrouded in shame and reduces sexual agency, putting women’s physical safety and mental health at risk.” as stated in Modern Intimacy.
We’ve traded canvases and black & white movies for streaming services, yet the other woman continues to be harassed and smeared, the modern equivalent of scoring di Ciccarello’s panel. This is no better encapsulated than the explosive White House affair that remains burned into Western cultural consciousness: Monica Lewinsky and Bill Clinton (and now possibly Donald Trump). In the media’s brutal tyranny and the enduring verbal abuse against the young woman, it is laid bare in ink and print that the other woman is disproportionately villainised and becomes scapegoat for male infidelity. As a society, we cling to this outdated blanket of victim blaming and slut shaming, and the vitriol we have for the other woman remains.
In this way, we owe the other woman an apology. The seductive power is all silk, smoke and mirrors. Del Rey’s vocals stripping bare the tragedy of the other woman, for all her polished image, powers and prowess, there remains an untold fragile glamour for the “lonesome queen”. She is doomed to ” always cry herself to sleep” and “never have his love to keep”, and “as the years go by, the other woman will spend her life alone”. Similarly, later in her career Swift speaks of empathy for the so villainised other woman, a development from that “anvilicious” portrayal in the You Belong With Me. As she explains in the Disney+ film Folklore: The Long Pond Studio Sessions, “..the idea that there’s like some bad villain girl in any type of situation that like takes your man is actually a total myth because that’s not usually the case at all. Like everybody has feelings and wants to be seen and loved..” It’s almost revolutionary to take a nuanced perspective and deconstruct the femme fatale to reveal fragility, trading the classic lace for longing and teenage love.
Even when characterised as “sexually liberated”, the trope is “a hyper-sexualised product of the male gaze”. Women in control of their sensuality are almost dressed as a caricature of sexiness, think Kat from euphoria clad in chokers, latex and leather. It’s incredibly one dimensional, where being sexy becomes a defining stylistic trait, feeding back to Freud’s complex where female sex appeal becomes a defining and mutually-exclusive characteristic.
How we style “The Other Woman” encapsulates patriarchal perspectives on female sexuality and slut shaming. The trope and binary styling is ultimately not empowering, working to propagate stereotypes, shame sexuality and shift accountability. I hope that the Media industry can pull a Taylor Swift and start looking upon this trope with empathy and start seeing female sexuality as something positive and multifaceted. As we move forward, we’re urged to question what we define as sexy, and how do we make it empowering without being objectifying?