What We Talk About When We Talk About “Spoiled”
As predictable as the rise of expectations was to the Netflix-branded revival of Gilmore Girls, the fall of the quick-witted, mother-and-daughter tale seems even more inevitable. The Atlantic tells us Rory is a bad journalist. The Daily Beast counts down the most annoying plots and subplots of the new 90-minute episodes. Slate called the much-hyped final moment a “disappointment.” The Washington Post, for its part, momentarily became a Sherman-Palladino fanzine with takes ranging from the most glowing review of Netflix’s nostalgic manipulation to asking the eternal question: “What about Team Rory?”
So forgive yet another overwrought analysis of a 17-year-old plot from a show almost designed for the enlightened, cosmopolitan, thoroughly filter-bubbled kind of person who writes or reads things on Medium. But something about the backlash to the show is surprising — how Rory-centric most of it seems to be.
This is for a few reasons. One, the new episodes are much more about Rory then Lorelai. The wedge of the show’s plot is on Rory’s relationships whereas Lorelai and Luke seemed quite destined. Two, Rory is now a freelance journalist, meaning she is a depiction of the exact sort of person who would take umbrage at an unrealistic or hyperbolic depiction of a freelance journalist. Rory Gilmore is not an effect of the echo chamber — she is the echo chamber.
But it’s not her career choices (which are bad) or her taste in men (which is worse) that earns Rory such vile focus. Rory is spoiled. She is a child of enormous economic privilege, and it shows. Despite her pastoral beginnings in that picturesque shed behind the Independence Inn, despite her birth to a teen runaway, and despite the apparent good values and morals Lorelai has invested in her, Rory is as spoiled as a six-week-old carton of milk.
This is far from a new development. The risk inherent to the plot of Gilmore Girls is famously low — things generally always work out, not simply through the sheer pluck and luck of our heroines but also because Rory and Lorelai are bouyed by an immense amount of family wealth. Richard and Emily save them when Rory gets in to Chilton, and again for tuition to Yale. When Rory drops out of Yale, there are Richard and Emily to take her in. And when Rory steals a yacht — facing a possible felony — Richard and Emily wrap her in expert legal representation and any country-club friendship they can cash in.
In that last example, in fact, we see the one person who correctly identifies Rory as spoiled — the judge in her theft case. While her well-paid lawyer argues for a minimal sentencing, Rory faces an unexpected umbrage from the judge who is tired of rich kids misbehaving and facing no penalties — e.g. Rory. No matter — Rory is soon the cheer of the litter gang she’s forced into. And when she’s had enough of working life, she merely pops back in to Yale having learned absolutely nothing.
Many people might look at Rory — star alumnus of prep schools and the Ivy League who cherishes books and debate prep above all else — as a wunderkind. And that she is, but like many children of great talent, she goes through the original run of the show facing very little failure. And when she does, she is merely scooped back up by her infinitely wealthy family.
In the revival we see Rory — now 32 — making these exact same mistakes. Now a writer with work in The New Yorker and Slate — and a potential book deal in the works — she somehow manages to screw up a very good thing. She falls out of favor with the subject of her book. She flubs an interview for a staff writer position. And she continuously practices bad ethics — sleeping with one source and falling asleep while interviewing another.
Frustrated by having no one to blame but herself, she calls her mommy and moves back home. Not because she’s the Millennial archetype — forced by debt and a dry labor market to take shelter with her parents — but because she can.
Rory is terrible at facing failure — in her love life, at Yale, in her career — and runs away from it at any given chance. The fact that her loved ones enable this mean they are to blame for her being spoiled. Sure, Rory has a work ethic. She can master most tasks when faced with them. But when denied the eternal positive reinforcement she has clearly grown used to, she returns to the safety of the cushioned, well-funded womb her family creates for her.
Which, by the by, is a terrible habit for a freelance journalist. Freelancing means you get very little positive reinforcement. Awards or acclaim are unlikely. Flitting from client to client means few relationships take hold. And even a great writer will face a pile of rejections big enough to put any “Inbox Zero” acolyte to shame.
But any career comes with its missteps, and Rory is singularly unprepared for them. This undeniable aspect of the Gilmore girls’ lives is what allows them be so filled with whimsy. The show can often be quite sorrowful — ‘They Shoot Gilmores, Don’t They?” chief among them — and is a heartfelt tale about family love. But love also means preparing for the worst.
Lorelai spent much of Rory’s adolescence worried about misbehavior of the sort that landed herself pregnant at sixteen. But mere obedience is not enough. Rory “leaves” the comfort of her mother’s home having learned very little about consequences even when we do our best. Reality bites, and her failure to accept that comes at the detriment of Rory — and the show.
