A few years ago, when the Instagram age got going, my heart went out to anyone growing up ordinary-looking. Imagine being that schoolgirl, with a pleasant but homely face, trying to flourish among a tyranny of glossy, highly groomed show ponies dedicated to showing off their looks online.
It has always been tough, of course, enduring the incontestable gap between the naturally beautiful and the very-much-less-so. Since time immemorial pretty young women have received the most attention, made the best matches and had the most friends. The rest of us accept we come second best in the natural selection process.
Or, as I remember my mother telling me when I grew above six feet tall: “You really must try to look more ladylike, dear.”
It’s a bit like the difference between being a Premier League star and playing for a pub team. You can dream, but you have to face the realities. So if you aren’t drop-dead gorgeous, if you have skin problems, or a big jaw or chunky thighs or thin hair, if you are weirdly invisible to boys (or a foot taller than them), well…you just have to find different ways to negotiate life.
The happy news is that us genetic losers have a new champion in Mary, the other Bennet sister. The new TV show, adapted from a spin-off Pride and Prejudice novel by Janice Hadlow, has touched a chord across four generations of women – now there’s a universal truth for you – and given the BBC a word of mouth hit.
The drama doesn’t finish its run on telly until Sunday but is already garnering a fabulous viewer response. At time of writing, its approval ratings are above 90%. You can already watch the whole thing on iPlayer – but at least two women I know love it so much they’re saving the last episode for a treat. Other friends have been making dates with their daughters to watch it.
Forget plain Janes. We’re Marys now, a fellowship of overlooked but resourceful souls who’ve experienced first-hand the eternal struggle against arm candy. Our worth lies not in being strikingly pretty or witty or funny or sporty or stylish; we know men will never rush to rescue us when we shriek, pamper us as princesses or shower us with jewels. We’ve had no choice but to get on with it and forge independent lives.
The charming thing about Ella Bruccoleri, in the role of gauche, bookish Mary Bennet, is that while she has a pleasant face and a lovely smile, she is authentically one of us. It’s great that The Other Bennet Sister resists the beauty-washing which so often casts stars in the role of ugly ducklings. So many adaptations of Jane Eyre (another one of us) have been spoilt by casting glamorous actors in the role. Joan Fontaine, Charlotte Gainsbourg, Mia Wasikowska? It betrays us all.
Bruccoleri’s Mary is nerdy, clumsy, unadorned and socially awkward: a poster girl for Gen A. One popular online search asks, “Is Mary Bennet autistic”. In Austen’s words, “Mary wished to say something sensible, but knew not how.”
Hence her heart-warming portrayal as a modern neurodiverse heroine in Regency times, hopeless at girly fripperies, parlour conversation with men and choosing clothes. But encourage her to talk about intelligent things and she glows with life, her eyes shining. Whereupon, as thankfully still happens in real life, men fall for her brains and authenticity, the world feels a kind and cosy place after all.
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Mary now features in my WhatsApp conversations with my boomer mates, many of us contented pub players in the league of good looks. A friend from day one at grammar school declares she is the other Bennet sister. The iron entered her soul on the day when, scrabbling up a mountain on a geography field trip, she witnessed one of the sexy girls scream, “I’ve broken a finger nail!” and saw the boys flock to rescue her.
I tell her no, actually, I’m the other Bennet sister… sadly, having discovered that the best chat, the really interesting conversations about events and politics, were to be had with men, I then discovered they merely regarded me as an honorary bloke.
Joking aside, how wonderful that women of all ages are discussing the deeper roots of desire, rather than selfies and an influencer’s pout. All hail Mary if she helps rescue the young.
Photograph by BBC/Bad Wolf/James Pardon