movies

…And I Can’t Stop Thinking About How It Mirrors the Lives of Marginalized Women I just walked out of the theater, and if I were a crier, my eyes would still be puffy. Wicked left me feeling raw—angry, heartbroken, and determined. I can’t stop thinking about this movie. I saw the musical on Broadway and loved it, but y’all this movie – it hit me in the gut. As I watched Elphaba’s story unfold on the big screen, I couldn’t help but see myself, my friends, and so many women of color I know in her journey. Don’t worry, no spoilers here—I’m not that person. On the ride home I couldn’t help but think that Wicked isn’t just about Oz. It’s about us. About how we treat those who would dare to be different even if they’re just born that way. About the weight that those of us who don’t fit into the narrow definitions of acceptable in our society carry. About the loneliness we feel, and the strength we’re forced to muster just to survive in spaces that were never built for us. And let me tell you, it’s not inspiring—it’s exhausting. Don’t get me wrong I was singing along to Popular and Defying Gravity in the theater, but as the credits rolled, I couldn’t shake the heavy weight in my chest. Elphaba’s story wasn’t just a tale of Oz; it was a mirror. Her pain, her rejection, her ‘otherness’—it felt like she was speaking for so many of us who’ve had to navigate a world that refuses to let us belong. The Pain of Being “Other” Elphaba’s green skin might seem like a quirky detail, but trust me having lived as the other, it so much deeper than that for me. From the moment she’s born, her difference marks her as “other” and she is immediately rejected because of it. As she grows up, it doesn’t matter how brilliant, kind, or capable she is—people can’t see past her green skin. And when she reacts negatively, well, she gets blamed. Watching that play out on screen was like seeing every microaggression, every side-eye, every dismissal that so many of us face in real life come rushing to my remembrance. It brought me back to times when I’ve walked into rooms and felt the unspoken judgment and marginalization. Every time they stared at her green skin I felt the questioning of my ability because of my race and gender. And if you’ve ever had to fight for your worth in spaces designed to exclude you, you know exactly what I mean. But being ‘other’ isn’t just about how people treat you—it’s about the relentless work of proving you deserve to exist in the first place. And Elphaba? She worked hard, only to be dismissed anyway. The Crushing Weight of Always Proving Yourself As the movie unfolded, I couldn’t help but notice how hard Elphaba works just to prove she deserves to exist. She doesn’t just excel—she overachieves. Sister girl is brilliant. She doesn’t just care—she sacrifices. And still, it’s not enough for her to be accepted. How many of us have lived this? Whether it’s at work, at school, or even in our own families, we’re socialized to accept that we have to work twice as hard to get half as far. And even when we do everything right, we’re still judged, misunderstood, or dismissed. So for me, in spite of the songs and the exquisite visuals, this isn’t a “hero’s journey.” To me it’s a tragedy. And watching it play out made me want to yell, “Why is this okay? Why are we still applauding survival instead of fixing the systems that make survival necessary?” And then there’s the loneliness—because proving yourself comes at a cost. The harder Elphaba fought to be seen for who she really was, the more isolated she became. That loneliness hit me hard because I’ve felt it too, and I know I’m not alone in that. The Loneliness of Standing Out Elphaba’s journey is so very lonely. Her inability to change the thing over which she has no control makes her an outcast even in her own home. She is emotionally abandoned by those who should love her, misunderstood by society, and forced to stand on her own. And when she dares to push back against the errancy that has been normalized, that makes her very existence objectionable, she is labeled wicked. Maybe you have been there, done that, and have the scars to show. When you push back against the status quo—whether it’s speaking up at work, advocating for yourself, or just existing unapologetically—you find out real quick who’s in your corner. People drift away, sometimes because they don’t understand, and sometimes because your growth makes them uncomfortable. But here’s what Wicked made me realize: that loneliness isn’t noble. It’s heartbreaking. And it shouldn’t be the price we pay for being ourselves. Glinda: The Picture of Privilege While Elphaba’s loneliness gutted me, Glinda’s story forced me to confront another reality: privilege insulates you from that kind of pain. She starts off as the golden girl—privileged, adored, and benefiting from a system that works in her favor. Watching her float through life untouched by the struggles that defined Elphaba’s existence reminded me of how much easier it is for all of us to ignore the pain we don’t have to experience. At first, she doesn’t even realize how much the system props her up while tearing Elphaba down. But as she actually takes time to see past herself, they become friends and she realizes that her privilege doesn’t make her better than Elphaba—it just makes her luckier. If I’m being honest, I’ve had friendships like this. They’re messy, full of tension, and often require hard conversations. But they’ve also taught me that real allyship isn’t pretty. It’s uncomfortable. It’s about getting it wrong, owning up to it, and being willing to grow. And the truth is sometimes I am the one in Glinda’s