Who is the femme fatale and what does this archetype tell us about ourselves?

The term “femme fatale” is French for “fatal woman”.

A femme fatale is a literary and cinematic archetype in literature, film, art and pop culture.

Portrayed as a seductive and mysterious woman who uses her beauty, charm, and cunning to manipulate and deceive men, she ultimately leads them into dangerous or fatal situations.

She is typically characterised by her allure, intelligence, and an air of danger or unpredictability.

She often has ulterior motives, such as seeking revenge, pursuing personal gain, or exerting control over others.

While she may appear alluring and enchanting on the surface, her actions often lead to tragic consequences for those who become entangled with her.

Famous examples of femme fatales include characters like:

• Catherine Tramell played by Sharon Stone in the movie Basic Instinct
• Phyllis Dietrichson portrayed by Barbara Stanwyck in the film Double Indemnity
• Vivian Rutledge played by Lauren Bacall in the film The Big Sleep

The femme fatale is used with themes like sexuality, power dynamics, and morality in storytelling.

She has become a lens through which we can examine gender roles, subversions of traditional norms, sexual liberation, and agency, as well as critique the male gaze.

She can be understood as a manifestation of underlying fears and uncertainties that society holds about women who possess agency, autonomy, and strength.

She has the ability to seduce and manipulate men, and she bewitches them to such a degree that they defenestrate all reason in their passion for her – while the (patriarchal) audience calls for him to defenestrate her.

Patriarchal society is structured around the idea of male dominance and female subservience.

Men are active participants in society, shaping both the present and future.

The femme fatale, unsatisfied with the traditionally submissive role of a woman, is a way for society to express its concerns about women who step out of predefined boundaries and exert control over their lives (and the lives of others by extension).

She tends to surface during times when there is tension between traditional expectations for women and changing gender dynamics in society.

As women gain more rights and opportunities, it threatens the existing power structures.

The femme fatale then, with her ability to captivate and manipulate men, becomes a symbolic representation of this fear, serving as discouragement for the subservient women, showcasing the potential consequences and pitfalls of women gaining “too much” autonomy and power.

She is a way for the patriarchy to grapple with the changing roles of women as women pursue education, enter the workforce and become politically and financially active—in essence, participating in and shaping both the present and future of society.

She both does and does not subvert conventional gender roles.

Despite her surface allure, the femme fatale often reinforces traditional gender roles, because she’s depicted as utilising her sexuality (which is not the same as male virility) and feminine wiles (which is not on par with male intellect in the patriarchy) to gain power over men.

By doing this, she perpetuates the notion that a woman’s primary means of influence lies in her ability to captivate and deceive.

In this capacity, she is a cautionary tale, discouraging women from seeking genuine agency and autonomy, because, “See? It always ends badly for women who want too much!” — the classic ending for the femme fatale is often death.

Yet she challenges and transcends societal norms by effectively reshaping expectations.

Using her sexuality (what men want and expect from women, often overlooking women’s true merits) and wit, she asserts herself in male-dominated spaces and demonstrates that she can wield power on their terms.

In this light, she represents resistance against patriarchal control, pushing the boundaries of accepted behaviour for women and demanding recognition beyond mere seduction.

What makes the femme fatale archetype so fascinating is her complexity.

She rejects the notion of a simplistic portrayal, instead presenting us with a multi-dimensional individual, driven by her desires, motivations, and vulnerabilities – she achieves what the femme fragile cannot.

The femme fatale is a flawed character, her current situation shaped by past mistakes and regrets.

These mistakes were not always knowingly hers (e.g. she married a man who turned out to be violent) and her regrets aren’t always for her own actions (e.g. she killed her abusive husband before he killed her).

Rather, her regret is reserved for the fact that she never had a true choice in the first place, or that the consequences of her trying to attain the same freedom that men take for granted are catching up to her.

Yet nothing about her indicates that she’d choose differently, should she get a chance to make that same choice again.

So she is also an embodiment of all the women, who throughout history have been at the mercy of their circumstances, and have had no choice but to grit their teeth and soldier on.

It’s these nuanced explorations that humanise the femme fatale, revealing the intricate web of factors that propel her actions.

She is more than just a one-dimensional temptress, and she opens up avenues for deeper analysis of her intentions and decisions beyond the mirage she uses as a shield to move through the world, especially with men.

The femme fatale is emblematic of sexual liberation and sexual empowerment.

And this is regardless of whether she adheres to gender roles or subverts them.

She embraces her desires and utilises her sexuality, not as a mere tool for manipulation, but as a means to empower herself in a system where the chips are stacked against her. (There’s an argument to be made that the Kardashian women have made good use of this archetype.)

By reclaiming her sexuality, she rejects the idea that a woman’s allure — her body and what she chooses to do with it — should be controlled by external forces, i.e. men, the rules of men, and the laws of men.

Even so, the archetype often caters to the male gaze in her appearance, at the very least she benefits from a heaping serving of pretty privilege. (See what I mean by that Kardashian comment yet?)

And though this kind of portrayal perpetuates the idea that a woman’s looks are her most valuable asset, undermining her agency and reinforcing the limiting gender dynamics, the way she moves through the world is dictated by the fact that she is subject to the patriarchy and the male gaze.

And she knows it.

Coined by Laura Mulvey, the male gaze refers to the way in which visual media, such as films, advertisements, and other forms of visual art, often depict the world and characters from a heterosexual male perspective.

This perspective objectifies and sexualises women, presenting them primarily as objects of desire to be looked at by male viewers, rather than people of substance.

The male gaze theory suggests that many visual narratives are constructed in a way that encourages viewers to identify with the male protagonist and view the female characters primarily through his perspective, through a lens of male desire and as a supporting character to male agency.

This results in women being portrayed as passive, ornamental, and defined by their appearance and sexuality rather than their agency or individuality.

And the influence of the male gaze is not limited to fiction or visual media, it has been widely applied to pop culture and societal norms.

It perpetuates gender inequalities by reinforcing stereotypical roles that objectify women and forever condemn them to exist for the sole purpose of aiding a man to succeed.

Rhaenys: You are wiser than I believed you to be, Alicent Hightower.

Alicent: A true Queen counts the cost to her people.

Rhaneys: And yet you toil still in service to men. Your father, your husband, your son. You desire not to be free, but to make a window in the wall of your prison. Have you never imagined yourself on the Iron Throne?

— House of the Dragon, S1E9: “The Green Council”

The male gaze impacts and harms women in real life.

Because it contributes to the objectification of women on a large scale.

When women are reduced to mere objects of desire, they are never fully realised individuals. This undermines their thoughts, agency and accomplishments.

Representations of women in media, when seen only through the male gaze, are limited and one dimensional.

A professional cartoonist, Kevin Bolk had one of his piece “Avengers Booty Ass-emble” go viral.

He wanted to shine a light on the double standards in how men and women are presented in superhero comics.

Bolk stated that he often heard the argument that men are objectified just as much as women, because they’re made to wear tight suits and required to be really fit.

But Bolk still felt that idea ignored the fact that the male characters are never contorting themselves to show off their sexy curves, and that how men are depicted is intended to appeal to the male power fantasy rather than to arouse women.

The constant exposure to media that portrays women through the male gaze has lead to unrealistic beauty standards and body image issues.

Heck, there’s an entire industry that feeds off the insecurities of women (such as the Kardashians, who cater to the male gaze but make their money off the female consumer).

Feeling pressured to conform to these unrealistic standards has an incredibly adverse effect on the self-esteem and mental well-being of women — as well as men, because the patriarchy does not care if it’s shooting friendly fire.

When women internalise this objectifying gaze and begin viewing themselves through that same lens, it’s called self-objectification.

It’s essentially women policing themselves on behalf of the patriarchy.

This leads to a culture of self-monitoring and self-criticism (both of themselves and of other women) which leads to women having a reduced sense of self-worth.

The routine objectification of women affects how people view relationships, contributing to a skewed understanding of intimacy.

Physical attractiveness and the performance of femininity become more important than emotional connection and mutual respect.

The instant gratification of simulated sex becomes more sought after than genuine connection, but it comes at a cost.

When women are judged based on their appearance, rather than their skills, experience and qualifications (like men are), it hinders career advancement and limits opportunities for women.

It also normalises street harassment and other forms of gender-based violence, creating an environment where such behaviour is seen as acceptable and even expected.

So, when we interpret the femme fatale within these parameters, her actions and motivations instantly become less mysterious.

She lives in a world where her safety and well-being is at the mercy of the men around her, and she exercises power in a way that gives her the most leverage.

I’ve found that the femme fatale tends to exhibit a brutal honesty that I absolutely love.

Rarely, if ever, does she lie about who she is or what she values.

I really enjoy this aspect of the femme fatale because it becomes a kind of game for me, as the reader or viewer.

Because it’s typically the people she encounters who have a fixed idea of who she is and what her motivations are.

Though she’s typically cast as a temptress — desired by men and despised by women for garnering the attention of men — when asked about her motives, she rarely gives a false answer, even if it’s draped in clever wordplay and misdirection.

Then the game becomes about who’s willing to see past what she presents at face-value and instead discover the deeper currents underneath.

Men don’t see past her physical appearance, because they are helpless to do anything but desire her (or be angry at themselves for desiring her).

Women don’t see past her facade because, like men, they feel threatened by the control and agency she exerts over herself and her life.

If either were to admit that the femme fatale is actually an intelligent woman, using what tools she has that are effective in a world dominated by patriarchy, they’d have to question the very foundations of their own lives and identities, possibly evoking insecurity and competition (threatening their “comfortable” status quo).

So what does the femme fatale tell us about men? About society?

The archetype offers insights into how it reflects and interacts with perceptions of men, a patriarchal society, and the male gaze.

The portrayal of the femme fatale character can reveal certain aspects of men and masculinity within the context of the narrative.

Since men are presented as susceptible to her charms and manipulation, it suggests vulnerabilities in the traditional notions of male strength and control.

The interactions between the femme fatale and male characters may expose underlying fears or desires that men have, such as a fascination with, and even fear of, powerful and enigmatic women.

If a man knows who he is, has done the deep work to unravel the deep influence of toxic masculinity in himself, he has no reason to be affected by a femme fatale (and so no reason to fear her) – so for a narrative to be effective around a femme fatale, the men (and women) around her need to be more rooted in fragile ego or there is no effective juxtaposition in the narrative arc.

The femme fatale archetype can challenge conventional ideas of heroism and male dominance, as male characters may find themselves ensnared or outmanoeuvred—and sometimes even rescued—by the complex and alluring woman who refuses to simply be a passive spectator.

In this, she reflects societal attitudes and fears regarding women’s agency, sexuality, and power.

The archetype’s existence and popularity throughout history indicate a complex relationship between society’s fascination with and apprehension of women who defy traditional gender roles.

Femme fatales may represent both allure and danger, embodying societal anxieties about women who wield their sexuality and intelligence to challenge established norms.

As the femme fatale challenges traditional notions of romantic relationships and heteronormative power dynamics, she invites us to explore alternative forms of attraction and connection.

The interactions between her and other characters shines a light on the interplay of agency, control, and vulnerability in relationships, prompting discussions about consent, manipulation, and the pursuit of personal goals—often even in actual dialogue between characters.

The concept of the male gaze, when applied to the femme fatale, highlights how media typically frames her to cater to a presumed cis-het male audience—but when examining this assumption critically, we can find reason to question it.

At her core, the femme fatale, is a mirror that reflects society’s attitudes towards gender, sexuality, power and control.

She sheds light on how the minions of the patriarchy (primarily men, but also women) are both captivated and unsettled by strong women, how society grapples with changing gender dynamics, and how media narratives simultaneously reflect, perpetuate and challenge the male gaze.

This seemingly one-dimensional archetype is really a window into a bigger conversation about gender, identity, and representation in art and culture.

I’ve grown quite weary of the spunky heroines, brave rape victims, soul-searching fashionistas that stock so many books. I particularly mourn the lack of female villains — good, potent female villains. Not ill-tempered women who scheme about landing good men and better shoes (as if we had nothing more interesting to war over), not chilly WASP mothers (emotionally distant isn’t necessarily evil), not soapy vixens (merely bitchy doesn’t qualify either). I’m talking violent, wicked women. Scary women. Don’t tell me you don’t know some. The point is, women have spent so many years girl-powering ourselves — to the point of almost parodic encouragement — we’ve left no room to acknowledge our dark side. Dark sides are important. They should be nurtured like nasty black orchids.

― Gillian Flynn

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