Representation and Criticism in She’s Gotta Have It
By: Francie Cohen
Spike Lee’s She’s Gotta Have It broke new ground in its original 1986 film format, centering a Black woman in a way that had rarely been seen on screen. When it transitioned to a Netflix series, the writers' room dynamics shifted, introducing a plurality of voices—particularly Black women—to shape Nola Darling’s character. This ensured that her story was not a singular representation but rather an amalgamation of diverse Black women’s experiences. Despite the strides the show made in representation, its execution was met with mixed reactions from both audiences and critics.
One such critique, a YouTube review titled "Why Nola Darling Is The Worst" by Kristen Maldonado, argues that Nola is an unlikable protagonist, difficult to root for due to her treatment of others and unrealistic behavior. This review challenges the authenticity of Nola’s character and questions whether her relationships are genuine or simply a vehicle to prove a point about how men view women. The critic further contends that the show’s portrayal of Brooklyn and its brownstone culture “feels unrealistic,” diminishing the credibility of Nola’s world.
While Maldonado raises valid concerns about character likability and narrative realism, her perspective overlooks key aspects of the show’s intent. She’s Gotta Have It was not merely aiming to make Nola Darling universally likable; rather, it was invested in showing a Black woman existing on her own terms, embracing complexity, and challenging norms in love, sexuality, and artistic autonomy. Radha Blank, one of the writers, emphasized that the "It" in She’s Gotta Have It represents transparency—Nola’s openness about who she is and what she wants. "Emphasis on the wants. This show is about Nola and her desire for anything that comes to her." This transparency disrupts traditional portrayals of Black women, who are often relegated to narrow archetypes, either as hypersexualized figures or moral exemplars. The review’s critique of Nola as "selfish" or "rude" suggests an implicit expectation that Black women protagonists must be palatable and morally upright to be worthy of the audience’s support.
The criticism of Nola’s financial struggles as an artist reveals a gap in understanding the realities of creative labor. The scene where Nola rejects a wealthy man's offer for her artwork is not just about financial irresponsibility but rather an artist’s internal battle with autonomy and exploitation. Any woman in the art world knows the struggle of men who offer money but don’t deserve your work—yet, as an artist, you still need compensation for your labor. Many viewers outside artistic circles might perceive Nola’s reaction as entitled, failing to recognize the systemic challenges that Black women artists face in maintaining ownership of their work.
Another overlooked aspect of the show is its meta-critique of possession versus love. The reviewer questions why Nola’s lovers would want to be with her, implying that she "tests" them rather than engaging in meaningful relationships. However, this critique does not acknowledge the show’s deliberate exploration of power dynamics in romance. Black women in the media are often portrayed as objects of possession rather than individuals who freely navigate their own desires. Nola’s non-traditional relationships challenge this norm, though they are not without flaws. The YouTube critique dismisses this complexity in favor of a more conventional reading of romance, one most often seen with white women—one that does not account for the radical nature of Nola’s autonomy.
The role of gender in the show’s writing process is a crucial piece of context missing from the review. A powerful moment in the writers’ room occurred when Radha Blank asked if any of the women present had experienced sexual assault, and every woman raised their hand. This moment underscored the gendered gaps in awareness, as many male writers were unaware of the prevalence of such experiences. The inclusion of these diverse voices helped craft a more nuanced and authentic portrayal of Black women’s realities.
The critique also fails to engage with the broader question of representation in the industry. Radha Blank herself reflected on the difficulty of being a Black woman in a writers' room, stating, “Am I the female writer today or the Black writer today?” This speaks to the frequent tokenization of marginalized voices in creative spaces. While the reviewer focuses heavily on Nola’s personality, they miss the larger systemic commentary that She’s Gotta Have It engages with—the constraints placed on Black women in storytelling, both on-screen and behind the scenes.
Ultimately, Kristen Maldonado raises some fair points about execution and audience reception but fails to fully engage with the show’s thematic intentions. While Nola may not be a conventionally likable protagonist, her character exists as a challenge to traditional depictions of Black womanhood. Rather than dismissing her as "the worst," it is more productive to analyze why her character evokes such polarized reactions. The expectation that Black women protagonists must conform to likability standards is, in itself, a reflection of the industry’s limited representations. She’s Gotta Have It is not perfect, but its commitment to complexity and transparency makes it a valuable contribution to conversations on race, gender, and artistic freedom in television.
