I was 14, and “Wonder Woman” had just hit theaters. A week later, I was discussing the movie with my stepmother, and one particular comment struck me: “I don’t think there should have been a love story.”
That thought lingered for years. I soon found myself scrutinizing movies that tried to combine love stories and feminism. I was convinced that romance was diluting themes of empowerment and independence — even as movies like “The Hunger Games” and “Mulan” proved otherwise, with strong female leads and compelling love stories.
Then, in 2023, Rachel Zegler — who had just been cast as the new “Snow White” — reframed her character in the 2025 remake as someone who is “going to be dreaming about becoming the leader she knows she can be.”
That is, not as a caricatured, swooning Disney princess.
But the comment sparked a TikTok debate that resurfaced the question I had internally debated for many years: Does a love story make a movie any less feminist?
Sometimes, yes. Old Disney movies — including the original “Snow White” Zegler criticizes — are notorious for this: a crude misogyny where women are always in positions of distress and are portrayed as helpless, and where their only reason for being in the love story at all is to further the (typically) male lead’s story.
However, in rejecting restrictive gender roles placed on women in love stories — which itself is noble — we risk dismissing a key nuance: Romance should not perpetuate or enforce power imbalances but instead express vulnerability, which should not be seen as a fault or as a regressive emotion. Vulnerability reveals deeper layers of a person, allowing us to connect and find pieces of ourselves in their story.
Some feminists’ disapproval of romance in feminist films reflects an emerging trend in which the push for strong, independent female leads sometimes narrows the definition of empowerment, unintentionally overlooking the complexity of human experiences, including love and vulnerability. In the same effort to undo outdated norms, some feminists dismiss romance altogether, as if a woman’s desire for companionship inherently weakens her autonomy.
But this typically results in a rigid, one-dimensional view of empowerment that leaves little room for other complex human emotions and experiences such as love, vulnerability and emotional connection.
Romance and love stories do not and should not equal anti-feminism. Women should be allowed to include love in their stories without it being stripped down as sexist or diminishing their worth. Love doesn’t undermine a woman’s strengths, intelligence or power.
In fact, I now hold a different view than I did years ago: Love stories hold their own unique strengths.
Not every story needs a romantic subplot, but it doesn’t necessarily need to be avoided either. By invalidating romantic narratives right away, we risk reinforcing a new kind of restriction where a female character’s depth and authenticity are bound by narratives that emphasize empowerment and independence.
Real feminist love stories portray a woman as a fully realized person with her own desires, agency, and complexities — not just a plot device.
Films like “The Hunger Games” and “Mulan” challenge the notion that romance and female empowerment are inherently at odds. “The Hunger Games” features a romantic subplot that can be embraced by those drawn to love stories but doesn’t detract from Katniss’ resilience, leadership, or political and social themes within the narrative. Similarly, “Mulan” includes romance without overshadowing her bravery and self-discovery, proving that love and empowerment can coexist.
These stories emphasize mutual respect, consent and partnership, where both characters contribute equally to the narrative.
On those same grounds, portrayals of women in maternal, spousal or otherwise gentle and nurturing roles should not be immediately dismissed. We shouldn’t tear down women who aspire to be wives and mothers, just as we don’t ridicule those who choose not to. If their choice aligns with their values and harms no one, it deserves the same respect and acceptance as any other life decision. Women who choose this lifestyle are just as strong as those who strive to be in political and economic positions of power.
Some of the most influential women in my life are those who embody both resilience and compassion, showing that strength and care are not mutually exclusive. This balance is what makes them heroes.
My mother is the strongest person I know, mainly because she’s had to deal with me for 22 years. Besides that, she has persevered through career changes and custody battles all while keeping our household intact, earning her master’s degree and single handedly raising a daughter.
My godmother is like a second mother to me; she has taught me so much about love and basic sympathy, a gift I can never replace.
There is no denying that these women, who have endured so much, are as strong and powerful as the female heroines we see onscreen.
My view isn’t all or nothing: I’m not arguing for every piece of media to have a romantic subplot, nor for every woman to embrace a nurturing role. That is not a realistic depiction of what every woman wants and desires, because women are not a monolith — there is no single way to be strong or empowered.
But what I am asking is that we don’t diminish the validity of women who choose to prioritize love, relationships and emphasize nurturing characteristics — because their strength is just as empowering as any other.
Naara Conlon is the Community Engagement Editor for The Beacon. She can be reached at conlon25@up.edu
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