Since the arrival of ER and Casualty, medical dramas have become very popular on television (Roxby, 1). These shows are inherently dramatic, since they depict life-and-death situations; and, as Ben East has stated: “while it’s faintly ridiculous for an ongoing cop show in a small town to revolve around murder after murder, people are always being rushed to hospital.” (5), which means that medical dramas are also more realistic. Indeed, crime drama and medical drama competed for a long time, and it was only after the famous TV series ER that the latter genre won its own popularity, thanks to the inclusion of some elements of soap (East, 7). Like in a soap opera, showrunners started to expand on the emotional relationships between the member of staff, whose personal lives impact their medical practice (East, 7). Since then, doctors have become men and women with their own sexual and emotional lives, and this has led scholars to investigate the depiction of gender roles.

One theoretical perspective that has been used to investigate gender roles in the media is postfeminism. The meaning of the term has always been controversial, since it has been understood in at least three different ways in recent decades. Some scholars, like Joanne Hollows, consider it a historical shift; theorists of this historical approach tend to periodize feminism and consider postfeminism as the period following it (Hollows, quoted in Gill, 251). Postfeminism has also been described as an epistemological break, the “result of critiques from within and outside feminism” (Brooks, 210), which has been accused of representing only the interest of white, Western women (Gill, 250). Finally, scholars like Genz and Brabon define it as a backlash against feminism, in which “home was once again regarded as the proper heaven for women and feminism was pushed further out of women’s lives” (52); in other words, this understanding of postfeminism entails a return to domestic life and sexism. In the present analysis, postfeminism will be understood as a sensibility, which, according to Gill, is constituted by recurrent themes like the depiction of women as desiring sexual subjects, the representation of femininity as a bodily property, the emphasis on female power, the presence of the makeover paradigm, the use of irony, and the entanglement of feminist and postfeminist ideas (255).

Private Practice is the spin-off of the very popular ABC series Grey’s Anatomy and portrays the professional and emotional life of five women who at the beginning of the show appear angry, insecure and needy (Stanley 5), but who menage to resolve their problems on their own. The protagonist is Addison, who, after having cheated on her husband, the famous Dr. Derek Shepherd of Grey’s Anatomy, goes to Los Angeles to join her new colleagues in the private wellness clinic founded by her best friend, Sam. The plot focuses on the development of the romantic relationships between the characters, and it is on these relationships, and the depiction of women which they entail, that this paper will concentrate. More specifically, the present analysis argues that Private Practice is a postfeminist TV series.

The first reason why Private Practice is a postfeminist TV series is that women are depicted as desiring sexual subjects. Sexual subjectivity is central to postfeminist media culture, representing a radical shift from previous times, when women were depicted as “passive, mute objects” (Gill, 258). Objectification is now over, and women are portrayed as subjects who deliberately decide to make men’s sexual desires come true (Gill, 258). Heterosexual male fantasy is realized by women, who play with their sexual power by appearing “forever up for it” (Gill, 258), adopting seductive strategies taken from pornography. The shift towards sexual subjectification is inherently present in Private Practice, in which female doctors constantly discuss their erotic desire and strategies; it is more specifically embodied in the character of Charlotte King, a sexologist at the wellness center in which the TV series is set. The combination of her job and her physical appearance conveys to the audience the image of a sexually dominant character who has a very liberal attitude towards sex. Indeed, according to Gill, only a certain type of woman is likely to be sexually subjectified in media culture, namely “young, slim and beautiful women” (Gill, 259). This description fits well with the appearance of Charlotte, who is dangerously slim, young and blond; the choice of the actress for this role is an indication of the intention to represent this female character as a prototypical desiring sexual subject. Charlotte’s sexual dominance is realized in her relationship with Cooper Friedmann, a child doctor at the same wellness center. In season two, episode seven, Cooper and Charlotte have an argument over a business matter; Cooper lies in bed and suddenly Charlotte appears provocatively dressed in a black coat and high heels (30:12). She takes off the coat to reveal she is naked underneath, with chocolate frosting on her breasts and intimate areas. After Cooper shows no reaction, she continues to provoke him by asking “do you want me to melt?” (30:27) and lies on top of him – he finally gives up and has sex with her. In this scene, the sexual subjectification of women is emphasized by the low camera angle portraying Charlotte, who appears active and dominant in the sexual relationship; this dominance is reinforced by the high camera angle that depicts Cooper as a passive spectator of the pornographic show of his partner. Sexual desire is embodied by Charlotte, and she indeed appears “forever up for it” (Gill, 258) during the series, such as in the fourth episode of the fourth season, when she abruptly enters Cooper’s office because she is “horny” (13:35) and asks him if he wants a “quickie” (13:37). The camera follows the couple in the same way, depicting her as dominant with a low camera angle and him as passive with a high one. His passivity is highlighted by his body language; while she moves rapidly towards him, smiling, he sits on the couch and tries to stop her – she replies “less talk, more hands” while lying on him (13:44). Charlotte King’s appearance and sexual behavior means she embodies the sexual subjectification of women theorized by Gill; she is a desiring sexual subject and thus a postfeminist character.

A further argument for seeing Private Practice as a postfeminist TV series is that female identity is conveyed by means of a sexy body. Physical appearance is the source of female identity, as shown by Rosalinda Gill, who argues that in postfeminist media culture “femininity is defined as a bodily property rather than (say) a social structural or psychological one” (Gill, 255). In other words, being a woman correlates with having a sexy body, which becomes a source of attractiveness and power. The female characters of Private Practice, each played by attractive and sexy actresses, embody this idea. This is particularly evident in the poster of the fifth season. In the picture, the three leading female characters have long hair and slim figures. In addition, they wear the same type of costumes, consisting of a tight and elegant dress or short skirt, paired with very high heels, which make them look sexually desirable. This attractiveness is emphasized by their posture; indeed, two of them are depicted in the foreground, sitting on chairs, which exhibits their perfect, and very seductive, naked legs. The third female character stands in the background of the picture; nonetheless, her legs are also visible due to the short dress she is wearing. In appearance, these three leading characters look almost the same, suggesting that the TV series is attempting to construct a model of femininity which is based on a certain type of sexy body. Physical attractiveness becomes a source of power in postfeminist media culture (Gill, 255), and this is observable in the second episodes of the fifth season. Addison, the wellness center’s gynecologist, is the new director. Pete, the naturopathic doctor of the center, decides to come back to work earlier than expected after a severe heart surgery. He states he is ready for work, but Addison reminds him that it is her responsibility alone to decide on this matter. It is relevant to note that in this case, power is not only conveyed by what Addison says but also by her sexy appearance. As in the poster, she has a tight and red dress pared with high and black heels, red and black both related to elegance and sexuality. In Pete’s office, she consolidates her dominant position by saying “I run this place now” (12:53), while moving her hands towards her breast indicating herself and, consequently, the fact that he has to conform to her directions. This gesture is repeated while she says “my practice” (12:55), and this also allows the audience to see that, despite being a surgeon, she has a perfect manicure. The dominance of this character is also shown by Pete’s body language; his shoulders were aggressively contracted at the beginning of the scene, but after Addison’s words, they are relaxed, indicating that he accepts Addison’s new and powerful position. This scene therefore portrays femininity as a bodily property and indicates, as in other postfeminist media products, that it is also a source of power.

Connected to the idea of femininity as a bodily property, the idea that external appearance mirrors the interior life of a character is another postfeminist trope in Private Practice. While arguing that a sexy and healthy body is a source of female identity and power in postfeminist media culture, Gill also claims that a scruffy outfit points to a psychological breakdown (256). Characters’ psychology, in other words, is correlated with their physical appearance. Psychology is linked with, and mirrored by, characters’ outfits; this connection is observable in the eighth episode of the fourth season. Charlotte was sexually assaulted in the previous episode; now she is lying in her bed, waiting to finally fall asleep (30:00-31:08). Technical codes portray Charlotte as a psychologically broken character; the camera angles and shot sizes present her as a passive victim. The camera portrays Charlotte from a very high angle, set almost at the level of the ceiling, and her figure is framed through a long shot. The shot size should allow the audience to have a clear image of the bed and, of her body, but her figure is hidden under a grey blanket that covers her till her belly. She is wearing a grey jumpsuit which camouflages her curves, making her appear scruffy and setting a contrast with the sexy night shirt that she normally wears; pillows are also grey. The color grey is, in fact, dominant – it hides the character’s figure, a symbol of her emotional suffering and her willingness to hide herself and her femininity after the rape. The low-key lighting casts the room in darkness, also a symbol of her psychological breakdown. The only light comes from outside the window and illuminates the chalk on her broken arm, the tangible evidence of the dramatic event that she experienced. Furthermore, victimhood and passivity are also symbolized by her body language, since she is on her back with the arms passively lying on the blanket; her gaze rests on the ceiling, and even when Cooper tries to talk to her, she will not move from this position. The same link between physical appearance and inner feeling is observable when Charlotte returns to her office (35:30-36:40). The scene begins with a long shot framing her entering the room; the lighting is now brighter, but the costumes are again dark. Charlotte wears a grey pullover and black, large trousers, which again contrasts with the tight dresses she normally wears. For a second time, the audience is invited to read behind this less sexy and elegant outfit an indication of her depression. The camera follows her sitting on the chair in front of the computer, and captures her face without make-up in close-up. This renders her bruises from the assault very evident; they are the external proof that she is still suffering internally. Thus, the series confirms the connection between external appearance and psychology, reasserting its postfeminist nature

Another reason why Private Practice can be considered a postfeminist TV series is its emphasis on the neoliberal concept of individualism. According to Gill, individual self-determination is widely present in media culture and underpins the idea that even experiences that belong to the political or social dimension, such as experience of sexual assault, have undergone a process of “reprivatization” (Gill, 259). In other words, dramatic events should be solved in the personal sphere. This concept is influenced by the way in which neoliberalism looks at the relationship between the state and the lives of its citizens (Gill, 260). According to neoliberal theorists, “human well-being can best be advanced by liberating individual entrepreneurial freedoms” (Gill and Scharff, 5); this concept has been expanded to the psychological dimension by implying the necessity for a “psychological internalization of individual responsibilization” (Gill and Scharff, 6). Individual characters are thus expected to take care of themselves, without playing the role of victim, even when they are subjected to a sexual assault. Rape would indeed be an issue belonging to social and political dimension of a character; in postfeminist TV series, it is reinserted in the personal and individual dimension. This tendency to avoid framing social experiences in the social dimension and to expect help from outside is particular evident at the end of the seventh episode of the fourth season, when Charlotte exits the room of the hospital after her injuries from the assault have been treated (41:37- 43:29). The camera frames Charlotte’s feet with a medium close up and moves upwards to her face, emphasizing personal agency in the action of leaving the room; the same idea of individual strength is put across by the fact that, after Cooper asks for a wheelchair, she replies: “I walk outta here on my own steam unless I’m in a body bag or a coma” (41:40). She does not want to play the role of the victim who is overcome by her experience, but refuses to be helped from outside. The lighting of this scene is very high-key, emphasizing the positivity of her behavior; the camera follows her while walking in the corridor with the help of Cooper and her body language suggests that she is hurt but not broken. Her head is high and the right eye, in contrast to the left one which is swollen and bruised, is widely open and attentive; her mouth is tightly closed, indicating that she is suffering; she is not denying the experience, but does not give up passively to her pain. While the camera portrays her, various flashbacks of the aggression are depicted. Her face is framed in a close-up set in darkness; she is assaulted by the man who lies on top of her, but she still goes on fighting, screaming without giving up. On the one hand, those flashbacks create an opposition between the darkness of that dramatic event and the light of her strong reaction, indicating that even if she went through that dramatic experience, she is not a victim and does not want the help from outside. On the other hand, it also creates a parallel between the persistence of her strength during the assault and in its aftermath, portraying Charlotte as a strong and active character who does not give up to victimhood. She does not walk like a victim, either in this scene or in the beginning of the following episode, when, after a brief period, she returns to work. In that scene, the camera portrays her from a low angle by means of a long shot that portrays her whole figure and the lighting is again high. This suggests the idea of an individual who is still injured, as testified by her broken arm, but who is already back to work and this idea frames her as active and strong. In both scenes, Charlotte is represented as the woman who does not want to appear the victim who needs help from outside, but is individualistically reacting in an active way. By means of this representation, the experience of rape is framed in a “grammar of individualism” (Gill, 259), and, typically for a neoliberal postfeminist sensibility, the traumatic experience is reprivatized into the personal dimension of the character.

Individualism also underpins another postfeminist trope that is present in Private Practice, namely the emphasis on choice and self-determination. Free choice and autonomy are the building blocks through which postfeminist female characters construct their own life by claiming free agency and power over the events that shape their biography (Gill, 260). They have full control over every detail of their lives; furthermore, every decision that is taken influences the construction of their own biography (Gill, 259). This process has been referred to by theorists in terms of a “choice biography” (Gill, 260): women are now represented as “active, engaged in the dynamic ongoing construction of their own biographies” (Lewis and Simpson, 124), and their success will ultimately be the result of a life of good choices about everyday or life-changes situations (Lewis and Simpson, 120). This concept has an important implication, namely that the postfeminist woman has the power to overcome any type of obstacle and to determine her own identity (Lewis and Simpson, 120). The postfeminist possibility of the choice biography is represented in Private Practice by the character of Addison. The whole development of the character symbolizes the postfeminist woman’s “freedom of choice with respect to work, domesticity and parenting” (Lewis and Simpson, 119), since the series started with her deciding to move from an overly competitive workplace to a friendlier one in order to have a child with the help of artificial insemination. In the process, she starts a relationship with Sam, who does not want to be a father. She chooses to stay with him, in the meantime continuing the process towards artificial insemination. In the second episode of the fifth season, Addison lies in bed reading a book while Sam, half-naked, tries to seduce her. She refuses because he has no condoms, and, since he does not want to be the father of her baby, she is afraid of becoming pregnant with his sperm. The construction of the plot here demonstrates how Addison wants it all: both motherhood and a relationship. She casually falls in love with a man who does not want a child, and she overcomes this obstacle with her choice to proceed with the insemination using the sperm of another man. She thus writes her biography, which will end with her being a mother married to the man she loves, even if he does not want a baby. Her empowerment is symbolized in the scene by her body language; as soon as she realizes that Sam did not buy condoms (31:18) she turns on her back, while before she was on her left side kissing him. This movement symbolizes her choice to decide about her motherhood. Moreover, when Sam tries to insist that he will be careful she raises the tone of the voice, moves his hand from under the blanket to over the blanket, crosses her arms and says “no glove, no love” (31:28), reasserting her right to choose. If female biography was “something given, now it is a task” (Bauman, 31) that Addison is absolving by refusing to have sex with Sam and by deciding on the biological fatherhood of her future child. In other words, she embodies the postfeminist woman in the act of writing her own choice biography.

A further element that shows the postfeminist nature of this TV series is the presence of the makeover paradigm. Gill explains how this paradigm, consisting in the representation and solution of a certain problem in a woman’s own life (Gill, 263), is frequently present in postfeminist media culture. It consists in a “narrative of spiritual transformation and empowerment” that starts with “extreme rituals of humiliation” in public (Gailey, 115). This first step, also known as the “toxic shame” (Gill, 263), is portrayed in episode eight of the fifth season. Amelia, neurosurgeon at the health center, arrives at work and finds all her colleagues waiting for her; they have organized an intervention to force her to go into rehab and cure her drug addiction. The “harsh humiliation” (Gill, 263) starts when, exiting the elevator, Amelia finds the other doctors sitting in front of her in a semicircle – she reacts nervously, probably because she has drugs in her body. She starts to walk around the room, trembling; a contrast is created between their calm and her agitation and aggression (6:48-7:12). Indeed, their sitting in this position gives the audience the impression that they are performing the role of a “voyeuristic” public (Gill, 263) in the show of “toxic shame” (Gill, 263) that Amelia is performing. The presence of Charlotte and the organizer of the intervention, both of whom also had drug addictions, symbolizes another feature of the makeover paradigm, namely the comparison between the protagonist and another woman who successfully underwent the same process. The climax of humiliation is reached when Amelia, in a crisis of abstinence, obtains a pill and takes it in front of them. The camera frames her taking the pill, crushing it on the table with the help of a stapler and finally snorting it; the last shot frames a close-up of her colleagues, who, head down, are incapable of looking at what she is doing (25:50-26:10). In the first episode of the sixth season, the TV series finally depicts the success of the makeover paradigm, when Amelia celebrates her first year without drugs in a support group. A close-up portrays her blowing a candle on a cake, emphasizing that, having proceeded through the paradigm, she has started a new and better life; the positivity of the outcome is emphasized by the high-key lighting and by her facial expression. She is smiling and close to tears of happiness, because she is happy that, after the whole process, she has managed to become a better person. The props also contribute to the representation of the successful outcome of the paradigm, since the words “You are here to change” (24:06) are written on the pulpit from which Amelia is speaking, and Amelia is, indeed, the living proof that change is possible. This scene and the previous representation of Amelia’s sharp humiliation frame the character in the makeover paradigm, which is another indication that Private Practice is a postfeminist TV series.

Furthermore, another postfeminist trope in Private Practice is the presence of irony. According to Gill, irony is used in postfeminist media culture when the topic under discussion, if taken seriously, would be considered “uncool”, in order to create a distance to the speaker and what is being said (Gill, 266). Irony can thus be employed to express misogynist or sexist comments by pretending that they were not really meant, because they are expressed as harmless fun (Gill, 267). In season one, episode four, Cooper and another male doctor observe Addison and two of her colleagues enjoying a really tasty piece of cake (21:09). Cooper starts the conversation by saying “They’re getting happy over cake” (21:10), adopting a facial expression of derision: his chin is lowered, his eyebrows are tensed and he has a tight-lipped smile. His smile, indeed, seems to suggest that he intends this to be just a joke; actually, if one looks at the words he is saying it becomes clear that his comment is sexist in nature. Misogyny is expressed by claiming that women are happy just with a piece of cake, because they are simple human beings, as expressed by the other man who adds “figure out what they want and give it to them” (21:28), with the same smile. This sentence clarifies two things: on the one hand, the facial expression responds to Cooper’s irony, thus perpetuating the representation of these comments as “harmless fun”. On the other hand, by saying this the doctor depicts women in an objectifying way, since this reply seems to encourage the audience to “evaluate women only as sexual objects” (Gill, 267). There is consequently an implicit division between the claimed superiority of men and the simplicity of women’s behavior; this hierarchical contrast is emphasized by the setting. As a matter of fact, there is a glass wall between the two groups through which the men observe the women, almost like people observes animals in the zoo. It should be added that the second doctor is the one who actually brought the cake. This reinforces the depiction of women as animal that men can try to catch, and once they have them, they just need to continue to give them cake to maintain their happiness. The two thus express sexist comments that objectify women; nevertheless, irony is able to neutralize the “uncoolness” of misogyny, which is consequently accepted in public discourse (Gill, 268), hidden behind a smile of harmless fun. This use of irony is another indication that Private Practice is a postfeminist series.

The entanglement of feminist and antifeminist ideas in the show is a final piece of evidence to support my argument. Postfeminist media culture seems to offer “contradictory […] constructions” (Gill, 268) that seem to incorporate, revise and finally attack feminist ideas. Feminism is consequently “taken for granted and repudiated” (Gill, 269). This “suture between feminist and antifeminist ideas” (Gill, 270) is depicted in the first episode of the sixth season, when Charlotte learns from Addison that she is pregnant. At the beginning of the scene, the audience learns that Charlotte is using the IUD (20:40) and is pro-choice with regard to the abortion issue (21:10) – she embodies the feminist idea that a woman should have the right to control her body and her sexuality. It is relevant to know that the examination room is half in shadow because of the curtain; while Charlotte is still sitting on the examination bed and talking about herself being in favor of women’s rights, she remains in shadow. The conversation continues with Charlotte saying that she has no other option, because she is “not 16 or single or without means” (21:05), and thus not able to justify an abortion. In doing so, she demonstrates how feminist conception like the right to abortion are not attacked but repudiated, since she appears to be one of those postfeminist characters “compelled to use their empowered position to make choices that would be regarded by many feminists as problematic, located as they are in normative notions of femininity” (Gill, 269). While claiming her willingness to renounce the abortion, even if she does not want to have children (20:55), she lies on the bed, which is half in the light of the window and her face is now illuminated. This shift from shadow towards light indicates that her decision is a positive one even if antifeminist in nature. Gill also argues that this entanglement of feminism and antifeminism is related to the attempt to return to traditional domesticity and femininity as a free and desirable choice of women (269). Consequently, women who decide for parenting, even if they do not have a particular desire for motherhood, are depicted as happy. Happiness is the dominant feeling in the Charlotte’s last scene in Private Practice, a long shot framing her with Cooper and her three children playing altogether on the bedroom. Due to the camera’s position at a very high angle, corresponding to the ceiling of the bedroom, the final impression is of a happy family, reasserting an image of the “pleasure of domesticity or traditional femininity” (Gill, 269). Thus Charlotte, who is an empowered and pro-choice character, but who also decides to negate her options towards the abortion, embodies the entanglement of feminism and antifeminism; this frames Private Practice in the postfeminist sensibility theorized by Rosalind Gill.

In conclusion, I have shown that Private Practice is a postfeminist TV series. Its female characters are depicted as desiring sexual subjects whose female identity is constituted by having a sexy body; the appearance is depicted as a mirror of a character’s interior life; there is a strong emphasis on the relationship of individualism to empowerment; both irony and the makeover paradigm are present; and feminist and antifeminist ideas are entangled. This analysis therefore considers Private Practice postfeminist.

This paper has also demonstrated what was argued in the introduction, namely that showrunners of medical drama tend to focalize mostly on the private life of doctors, and in doing so the depiction of women is foregrounded. Indeed, Private Practice is not the only postfeminist TV series; elements of Gill’s postfeminist sensibility can be found also in other popular TV shows such as Grey’s Anatomy, in which the theme of the choice biography is embodied by the character of Christina, and also in Scrubs, which employs irony as a building block element. It is important to note how widespread this postfeminist representation of women has become by conducting similar and wider research on other medical dramas. This will contribute to our understanding of how the depiction of women’s personal and working identity is changing on screen, and how this impacts audience conceptualization of femininity.

 

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