A Quick Intro to Gender, Race, and Class in the Arts

Gender, race, and class. It’s a familiar trinity of subjects we use in evaluating art all the time. (Years ago in college, I even had a theater professor who would literally put columns on the board for each of these subjects, for us to fill in after each play we read. Looking back, this may have been reductive, but he certainly made his point.)

For anyone used to conversations about identity in the arts, highlighting the importance of these ideas may also seem reductive. I know this is basic Media Studies 101 kind of stuff. But since not everyone comes from an arts background, I wanted to include an early post that looks at why these structures are so important, and how they should shape our understanding of the art and media we consume.

Quite simply, gender, race, and class are some of the most influential metrics of identity that exist, and how we identify within these categories will have a profound impact on how we experience the human condition. They shape the opportunities that are available to us, the social expectations we’ll face, the histories we inherit, the communities we belong to, the resources we have access to, and more. Each of these categories are also social constructs, whose details may change over time, especially as our vocabulary and understanding of certain concepts (like gender) continue to evolve. That the identities surrounding gender, race, and class are constructs, rather than being entirely informed by nature or inherent qualities within people themselves, can be a hurdle for some people to get past, but it’s a necessary reality to understand.

The Genderbread Person (Photo: itspronouncedmetrosexual.com)

For example, while the majority of men are born with the same chromosomal makeup and physical organs, and the same is true for women, we now know the binary of male/female isn’t enough to cover the full range and complexities of how people can identify. (The widely-shared Genderbread Person remains a good way of summarizing all the current dimensions of gender and sexuality as we understand them today.) Race is also a concept that has changed widely over time, largely related to which ethnic groups white people (also a construct) were willing to include or exclude. And class, while it does have an empirical basis in how much money someone has, is also shaped by social perceptions and assumptions. (As Greta Gerwig noted in an interview on her film Lady Bird, almost everyone considers themselves middle class now. What should we make of that?)

Within these concepts there are also, of course, disparities of power and privilege, with men, white people, and upper-class people having significant advantages over those who belong to other demographics. This is a controversial subject, but it shouldn’t be. There is overwhelming evidence that proves structural sexism and structural racism are very real. As such, gender, race, and class become inextricable forces behind the lives we lead, and that makes them valuable, and reliably enlightening, lenses through which to view our art.

Looking at art through these lenses, we can see that some work is intentionally about one or more of these ideas. Gender is obviously a core theme of Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale; race is often a theme of the films of Spike Lee and plays of David Henry Hwang, etc. But looking at work that isn’t as overtly about identity through a lens of identity can sometimes be even more revealing, as it can reflect the subtler ways gender, race, and/or class inform how we see the world.

It’s always worth asking for yourself—whose stories are being told? When people are given the choice to create art, and share their subjective, personal perceptions of the world we live in, how are they representing different groups of people? The landscape of stories we’re telling is often a vivid, external expression of those often invisible inequalities and power imbalances I mentioned before. If you want to know the demographics a society is most invested in, and who is seen as most important, look at who they tell stories and make art about. For example, the Latinx population of the U.S. is currently about 18 percent, but in 2016 they made up only about three percent of film characters and, in 2017, about eight percent of television characters. Why is this? What does it say about our feelings toward or knowledge of the stories of Latinx people? Or, consider how about one fourth of all female film roles include nudity, whereas less than ten percent of male roles do. Women don’t spend more than twice as much time naked as men do, so why do we represent them this way? These are the questions gender, race, and class can help us ask, even if they’re something many people may not think twice about.

Into the Woods is just one example of Hollywood's immense whiteness.

This is not at all to say that art can only be enjoyed in the context of the ideas, but that they should be regularly on your mind, especially if you’re a creator yourself. Minority populations get so often treated as Other, with cisgender straight white men being presented as the “default” person. A story with mostly men is seen as a story for everyone, but a story with mostly women is seen as a story for women. A story with mostly white people is seen as a story for everyone, but a story with mostly black, Latinx, or Asian people is seen as targeted toward only those of that race. When we create art, we should be doing our best to move beyond this notion of one privileged group being the default. If you’re from a privileged group, and you find yourself telling stories that are mostly populated by the same types of people, ask yourself why that is. Is there an intentional reason for it, or might you just be subconsciously filling the story with people who look like you? While people from privileged groups generally shouldn’t try to tell stories that are specific to a culture that isn’t their own, at least not without involvement or input from people of that culture, they should still strive for diversity among their characters and their creative teams.

Representation is a way the arts can show different groups that they matter, that their stories are worth telling, and that their unique journeys and struggles are worth everyone’s attention. And when audiences are thinking, in critical ways, about the needs of all people, rather than just those of wealthy, male, or white people, it isn’t at all naïve or polyanna-ish to say that this does contribute to a more aware and just society. There are also plenty of demographic lenses beyond just gender, race, and class, too--nationality, religion, language, body type, etc. A single story can't include characters of every demographic, and you don’t want to tokenize anyone either. But considering the full breadth of human identity can at least remind us to be inclusive in how we populate our stories, and in the work we choose to support and consume ourselves.

Again, I know a lot of artists are already more than familiar with the importance of considering identity in our art, but not everyone is, so I thought it would be a good subject for one of the first posts on this blog. Identity is a vast topic, and this is barely scratching the surface. But if you’ve never considered this before, I hope it conveyed why gender, race, and class are such a vital subject, and I encourage you to keep learning more--especially from people who aren’t white men like me.

(Although don't forget: it's not people from minority groups' responsibility to teach the more privileged groups about racism and sexism. That's a responsibility we in those groups have to take for ourselves.)