Swords and Sapphics: The Queer Female Fantasy
My heart hammered as Elizabeth Swann approached the balcony, fanning herself from the heat and the corset confining her ribcage. She breathed heavily, eyes fluttering shut, before fainting over the edge and plunging into the vibrant blue Caribbean waters below. It looked peaceful — angelic, even — as she drifted weightlessly in the ocean, a gold medallion hanging around her neck. As Jack Sparrow rescued her, he ripped off several layers of her tight shapewear until she was only in white undergarments, her wet hair sticking to her collarbones. I sat on the carpet of my childhood bedroom, eyes wide, and I thought: I could save her way better than he could.
My first queer thoughts were while watching this scene as a child, and the rest of the “Pirates of the Caribbean” franchise only heightened my sense of bi panic as I admired their swashbuckling wit and — despite excessive rum drinking and no apparent dental hygiene — diamond white smiles. Since then, I’ve settled into my bisexual identity in real, non-pirate life, which has led to my slow integration into queer spaces online. The most notable example: bi TikTok. I soon realized through watching TikToks of other women’s bisexual awakenings that the pirate thing was not just a one-off quirk of mine. Lots of college-aged bi women, it seems, are drawn to powerful female fantasy characters like moths to a pink-purple-blue flame.
Much of the appeal of fantasy characters is the power they wield, and young bi women online love women with weapons. Swords, lightsabers and superpowers are surefire ways to have a sapphic down bad. “There’s nothing like a lady in chainmail, right?” says Sarah Welford, a bisexual fourth-year. “The Princess Bride” was the spark of her initial bi panic, and she recalls her excitement when the titular “princess” and “bride” surprisingly became a hero. While Buttercup did play the part of a damsel in distress, she was funny, intelligent and independent, challenging traditional tropes of a passive woman.
Lily Ramras, a first-year who identifies with both bisexuality and pansexuality, also adores female fantasy characters who refuse to play the helpless victim. This was first exemplified to her by the confident and whip-smart Meg from Disney’s “Hercules.”
“It was the first time I saw a woman stand up to a man in a Disney show,” she says, referring to Meg’s many assertions throughout the movie that she doesn’t need a man to save her. Meg’s tough attitude and quick wit go against the stereotypes of a gentle, unassuming woman, making her a proud character on her own rather than solely the leading man’s love interest.
This strong sense of self is also what inspired Audrey Michael, a bisexual first-year, to develop feelings for female characters who possessed, as she put it, “the strength in owning exactly who you are.”
Michael mentioned Elphaba, the protagonist of the musical “Wicked,” characters from the “Lord of the Rings” franchise, and Emma Watson (both IRL and in “Harry Potter”) as examples of women who are strong and self-assured, rejecting typical views of femininity by being unabashedly themselves.
Even in these fantastical realms with mythical creatures and otherworldly magic, it’s apparent that queer women are drawn to fantasy as a genre because it lets them be the most true to themselves. “[Fantasy] can be this form of escapism from the realities of a homophobic family or society at large, like a safe haven,” says Maryarita Kobotis, a bisexual fourth-year. This escapism is crucial for understanding one’s sexuality. Even as queerness becomes more widely accepted in the mainstream consciousness, a space entirely removed from the expectations of loved ones, peers or the heteronormative male gaze offers the essential freedom for a woman to consider the mere possibility that she could like other women.
That’s the crux of it all: in worlds where the possibilities are endless, the opportunity to be who you want to be and love who you love without judgment is the ultimate fantasy. “In a fantasy world, people can fly, so why are we worrying about whether or not people are straight or adhering to certain gender norms or sexuality norms?” Welford says. For women who love women, fantasy as a genre isn’t appealing because it’s extraordinary; rather, it takes away the social scrutiny of queerness and makes their sexuality ordinary.
The sapphic obsession for women with swords is thus both self-indulgent and empowering. Using fantasy as a way to explore sexuality takes the best of our imaginations and lets them run free. We can pretend to be superheroes and fight dragons and conquer the seven seas. We can be the princess and we can save them. And we can have our own happily ever afters too.