Bridget Jones’s Diary is one of those novels about which people say “you wouldn’t be able to write that now.”
In modern parlance, it is “problematic” that each of Jones’s diary entries starts with her weight and calorie count. Her obsession with men who treat her badly is “toxic”, while the fact that she seemingly can’t be single and happy is considered regressive.
The fourth and final film based on the book series had a big glitzy premiere yesterday. Yet when it was announced last February, many argued that Bridget was a character best left in the past.
Glamour magazine described her as “a dreadful and misogynistic role model to single women”, while according to Kevin Maher in The Times, the premise was “anachronistic”, the heroine “a man-craving semi-alcoholic nitwit who’s terrible at her job”.
Yet when I re-read the first book recently, I found Bridget refreshing rather than retrograde.
Jones’s obsession with weighing herself is anathema to the body positivity movement which took hold in the early 2010s. But despite the mid-range beauty brands who told us to “love the skin you’re in”, not much has really changed. High fashion brands may have a token “curve” model on the runway, but thin is still in.
This manifests itself in some uncomfortable ways. Take supermodel Bella Hadid, who has one of those ribs-and-abs stomachs which makes you feel terrible about yourself. She has often shared photos of herself chowing down on cheeseburgers and donuts and even claimed in an i-D interview once that her go-to snack was “probably pizza at least once a day”.
@i_d All those options combined? Elite meal #bellahadid #snack #gotosnack #foodtok #pizza #seaweedsnacks #sourpatchkids #rosechampagne #bellahadidedit #models
♬ original sound - i-D
Surely this promotes even more unrealistic beauty standards. I would rather celebrities admit to having a punishing diet and workout routine instead of claiming they eat the same junk as us yet happen to look waif-like and radiant.
With her figure, Hadid is probably more likely to follow her mum Yolanda’s snacking advice: “have a couple of almonds and chew them really well.” But she’d be damned before admitting it.
I don’t believe in the idea that fictional characters should be paragons of virtue, effortlessly upholding the latest social mores
The result is stealth dieting and of course, Ozempic. Suddenly everyone has gaunt cheeks and protruding clavicles, but no one is allowed to talk about it.
What a breath of fresh air that Jones is totally upfront about her unwavering desire to be thin. People call her a bad role model, but why should she be seen as a role model in the first place? I don’t believe in the idea that fictional characters should be paragons of virtue, effortlessly upholding the latest social mores. There are probably millions of people like Bridget in Britain, as suggested by the popularity of the frazzled English woman trend on TikTok.
The other great bit of beef people have with Bridge is how unhealthy her relationships are. In the first book, she obsesses over her devilish, handsome boss Daniel Cleaver (played by Hugh Grant in the film), who is a master game player and an inveterate sleazebag, sending her messages at work saying things like “I like your tits in that top”.
Nowadays, Slackbot would flag their flirty exchanges to HR faster than you can say "Is skirt off sick?"
Jones vacillates between loving him and hating him, spurning him and shagging him before he eventually dumps her, leaving her to sink into a pit of despair.
Wouldn’t it be better if she could just be with a nice man who wasn’t in a position of power, had some respect for her, and didn’t cheat on her with a long-limbed goddess who caused her to start measuring her thigh circumference?
It may be the 2020s, but women still fancy men who are twats. People still play the game because it works. Why pretend otherwise? And how relatable the vignettes of Bridget’s pre-date prep are: “Ended up kneeling on a towel trying to pull off a wax strip firmly stuck to the back of my calf while watching Newsnight in an effort to drum up some interesting opinions about things.”
Jones is the guilty feminist, and admits to being a product of her own societal conditioning: “Wise people will say Daniel should like me just as I am, but I am a child of Cosmopolitan culture, have been traumatized by super-models and too many quizzes and know that neither my personality nor my body is up to it if left to its own devices. I can't take the pressure. I am going to cancel and spend the evening eating doughnuts in a cardigan with egg on it.” Don’t hate the player, hate the game.
It’s easy to pigeonhole the book as a product-of-its-time chick-lit, but Bridget Jones’s Diary is also one of the funniest things I’ve ever read. She’ll be relevant for as long as society holds up thinness as a virtue and people act badly in relationships. Anyone who writes her off is probably a smug married.
