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Finally, a show about women working together that isn't a catfight. Hacks brilliantly portrays the generational gap between a veteran comedian (Deborah) and a young writer (Ava). Their "work" is creative, brutal, and symbiotic. They insult each other, they challenge each other, and they make each other better. It dismantles the old myth that women in the workplace are natural enemies.
Scripted drama is catching up, but reality TV and social media have been the real pioneers. Think about Vanderpump Rules or Selling Sunset.
Yes, there is drama. But hidden beneath the catfights is a raw depiction of entrepreneurial hustle. These women are not just cast members; they are brand managers, bottle service promoters, and real estate agents. They fight about commission splits, marketing strategies, and who is stealing whose client list. It’s messy, it’s loud, but it captures the performative labor of being a "girl at work" in the influencer age—where your face is the product.
Entertainment often sacrifices nuance for drama. When depicting junior female employees, mainstream media tends to fall back on three tired archetypes:
The Impact: When young women enter the workforce with these as their primary references, they may experience "stereotype threat"—the fear of confirming negative assumptions about their gender. They may avoid asking for help, downplay their ambition, or view female colleagues as competition rather than allies.
To understand the current media landscape, we must look at the archetypes that came before. In the 1960s and 70s, shows like That Girl and The Mary Tyler Moore Show were revolutionary because they dared to show a single woman working without the immediate promise of marriage. Mary Richards throwing her hat in the air symbolized a fragile freedom: the idea that a woman’s career was a site of joy, not just survival.
However, the 1980s and 90s introduced the “toxic workaholic” trope. Films like Working Girl (1988) gave us the ambitious striver, but the subtext was always trade-offs. By the time we reached The Devil Wears Prada (2006), the "girl at work" narrative had bifurcated: you were either the scrappy, underestimated Andy Sachs or the terrifying, perfectionist Miranda Priestly. Entertainment media taught young women that to exist in the professional sphere meant choosing between being liked and being successful.
But the last decade obliterated that binary. Streaming services and social media demanded volume. Suddenly, we didn't just want stories about women working; we wanted verité, voyeuristic access to the actual grind.
The depiction of working girls varies wildly depending on the genre.
