Why I’ll Still Love Buffy
A story’s resonance transcends its storyteller.
4:00 pm after school on Much Music. That was when the Buffy re-runs started.
It was 2010. Which isn’t a long time ago — but in a way, it was. In 2010, I was using a flip phone and had never heard of Instagram. I watched cable television (where entertainment was very, very white) and it would be another five years before Alyssa Milano made her #MeToo tweet.
I was also a busy teen. I worked hard at school, was involved in many extracurriculars, and was very dedicated to the piano. The hour after school when I kicked back, ate a snack, and watched television was a small window of respite in my otherwise non-stop day.
I have fond memories of this TV hour. Some of the shows I watched, like Suite Life of Zack and Cody, Smart Guy, and Teen Titans were, to this day, what I would deem high-quality entertainment. Yet they were just that — entertainment.
But Buffy was something else. Buffy was more than entertainment.
[Warning: possible spoilers ahead]
On the surface, Buffy the Vampire Slayer doesn’t look like much. The 1997–2003 television series begins as a campy adventure story about teenage misfits banding together to fight vampires. It has all the themes you’d expect from young-adult entertainment: friendship drama, first relationships, fitting in etc. But as the characters grow up, so does the show. After Season 5, Buffy gets considerably darker and more serious, exploring mature themes like death, grief, and even sexual violence in explicit, honest ways.
A lot of people like Buffy, not just young fangirls. There is a Whedon Studies Association of academics dedicated to writing about, discussing, and critiquing the works of Joss Whedon, Buffy’s creator, and an academic journal, Slayage, that is currently in its 18th volume. The 5th Biennial Slayage Conference on the Whedonverses even came to my university in 2012, which was awesome because that year the university bookstore was filled with Buffy books.
Buffy is a ground-breaking work of art, to say the least. On its 20th anniversary, Rolling Stone argued that it paved the way for the ass-kicking heroines we know today — like Daenerys Targaryen and Katniss Everdeen — while ushering in a new era of “Peak TV.” Vox said it “transformed TV as we know it” with not only its feminist ideals but its storytelling methods. It pushed the boundaries of serialized television, cleverly played with language (Slanguage or Buffy Speak), and changed the way we consume television as an art medium.
The series was also my first exposure to a positive representation of a WLW relationship. Tara and Willow’s first on-screen kiss is so casual, done in a moment of loving comfort, that you might miss it if you blink. But it was exceedingly clever, showing queer people being, well, people.
But as the characters grow up, so does the show. After Season 5, Buffy gets considerably darker and more serious, exploring mature themes like death, grief, and even sexual violence in explicit, honest ways.
Long considered a feminist masterpiece, Buffy and its creator Whedon would be worshipped as the harbingers of a new entertainment era for nearly two decades.
Until shit hit the fan.
In 2017, an explosive editorial written by Whedon’s ex-wife Kai Cole revealed that Whedon was not nearly as nice and feminist as we all thought. Cole alleges that he cheated on her for years and had multiple secret affairs, a feat made easy by his position of power as showrunner of a massively successful enterprise.
Then, more shit hit the fan.
In June 2020, actor Ray Fisher accused Whedon of inappropriate, unprofessional behaviour on the set of Justice League. Recently, in February 2021, Charisma Carpenter (who played Cordelia Chase on Buffy) backed up Fisher’s claims by describing how she, too, was harassed by Whedon, citing discrimination against her religious expression and bullying while she was pregnant. Later, more Buffy alumni voiced their support, including stunt actors, James Marsters (Spike), Amber Benson (Tara), Eliza Dushku (Faith), and others.
Michelle Trachtenberg (who played Buffy’s younger sister Dawn and was a minor at the time of the show) revealed that Whedon was not allowed to be in a room alone with her. And while Sarah Michelle Gellar (Buffy) didn’t make a detailed statement, she did admit that while she found it an honour to be associated with the Buffy franchise, she would rather not be associated with Whedon forever.
Loving Buffy was once a point of pride for the young and woke. Now, it’s become a point of tension, to say the least.
At the age that I was in 2010, I already wanted to be a writer, but I was not yet committed to the task. I hesitated for a variety of reasons. For one, well-intentioned adults kept telling me that writers do not make much money. But I was also hesitant because, to be truthful, writers and artists aren’t exactly respected.
We don’t save lives, defend the nation, mentor the next generation, or build houses. We make stuff that people consume for fun. If writers were to disappear tomorrow, sure, the world would be a sadder place, but people won’t die if writers stop existing.
Then Buffy convinced me that there is value in stories and storytelling. Without stories, we would not be who we are as individuals and as a species.
Describing how stories make a difference — even to the point of saving lives — deserves a book of its own, but in the interest of time, here’s a personal anecdote.
Loving Buffy was once a point of pride for the young and woke. Now, it’s become a point of tension, to say the least.
In 2010, the most traumatic incident of my life so far had to be my grandmother’s death when I was eight years old. My grandmother (my Po-po) did the bulk of raising me and I absolutely adored her. In fact, I was closer to her than I was with my mom and dad.
When my Po-po passed away rather suddenly, I was distraught. I was young and didn’t really understand life, death, and everything in between. I became deathly afraid of ghosts, the paranormal, and going to hell for some reason, and I think my OCD really kicked off at around this time.
I just didn’t know how to process grief.
Then, when Buffy’s mother died in Season 5 — one of the most harrowing, talked-about, and well-done episodes in the series ever — something just…clicked. It was strangely cathartic to see something I’d been secretly, quietly struggling with dealt with so explicitly on screen. It’s not that the episode solved all my problems, it just talked about an awful thing in a raw and honest way. Which I couldn’t do in real life.
Grief was just one lesson out of many that I learned from this show. There was also female empowerment in the form of a small, stereotypically feminine, blonde protagonist. There was an exploration of healthy and unhealthy relationships, including friendships. And there was the first lesbian kiss I witnessed on television, which definitely kindled something within me as a then-questioning teen.
I was of course disappointed when I heard about the allegations against Joss Whedon. I am a fan of his other work — Firefly, Dollhouse — and I even lifted my anti-superhero-movie-moratorium to give Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. a try. When it came out that the creator of these franchises — so instrumental to my growth as a content creator and a human being — was problematic, I felt confused and frustrated. Could I love Whedon’s work and still be a feminist?
I presume this is a similar moral crisis to that of Harry Potter fans in recent years. Yet the positive influence of Harry Potter on the childhoods of a generation should not be dismissed. For many young people — especially the lonely, vulnerable, misunderstood kids who are best friends with books — fictional worlds are a sanctuary.
But here’s how I see it. Buffy isn’t just the work of Joss Whedon. It is the collective effort of dedicated writers, cast members, and staff. Buffy belongs to them too. Buffy also belongs to its passionate fanbase and the academics that have kept its legacy alive.
As a content creator, I’ve learned that when you create art that’s meant to be consumed — like this Medium post, for example — the art no longer belongs solely to you when you hit publish. It is subject to the praises and the criticisms of the public whom you write for.
After all, is a painting that’s never been seen truly a painting, a book that’s never been read a book?
For many young people — especially the lonely, vulnerable, misunderstood kids who are best friends with books — fictional worlds are a sanctuary.
For the time being, I will follow the footsteps of the Harry Potter fanbase and consume Buffy as ethically as possible. And just as people have done with Harry Potter, it’s important to examine Buffy critically. Like J.K. Rowling, Joss Whedon is an imperfect human, and Buffy is likewise imperfect. Most glaringly, Buffy is extremely white—which was bread and butter twenty years ago but would definitely rouse some feathers today.
Again, here’s how I see it: Buffy may have been birthed by one (very problematic) man, but it grew up under us — sensitive teenagers, young and confused adults, tuning in after school for an hour of comfort, safety, fun. The Buffy we know, love, and celebrate — that Buffy belongs to us.
Li Charmaine Anne (she/they) is a Canadian author and freelance writer on unceded Coast Salish territories (aka Vancouver, Canada). Her work has appeared in literary journals and magazines and she is at work on her first novel, a contemporary YA about queer Asian skater girls. To read Charmaine’s articles for free (no subscription required), sign up for her newsletter.
