What 'Gilmore Girls' Gets Wrong—and What We Get Wrong About It

“Life’s short, talk fast.” (Lorelai Gilmore, Gilmore Girls). 

Despite ending in 2007, Gilmore Girls’ witty, fast-paced comedy mixed with its heartfelt humanity still dominates pop culture and has a perpetual place on my Netflix watch list. I find escape in every cup of black coffee, quirky town event, or paperback book found in each episode. Still, no matter how much comfort I may find in that fictional New England town, the show does not come without its flaws. However, my gripes with the show seem to vary from mainstream criticism.

Gilmore Girls is a fast-paced, dialogue-driven show created by Amy Sherman-Palladino that follows the close relationship of Lorelai Gilmore (32), a single mother, and her daughter Rory (16) as they grow and mature together. The show is set in the fictional town of Stars Hollow, a small, tight-knit community in Connecticut known for its quirky residents, unique town events, and homey charm. The TV series has cemented itself as a cornerstone of 2000s media, but it still has its problems. 

Gilmore Girls presents Lorelai Gilmore's coming of age as a “rags to riches” tale of a self-sufficient, strong single mother who creates a life for herself and her daughter. Sure, that’s true, Lorelai does pave her own path in life, but what about her multimillionaire parents waiting to catch her when she falls? From providing the Gilmore girls with lavish dinners and professional networking opportunities to spending thousands of dollars on tuition for Rory’s education, Lorelai relies on the parents she tried so hard to escape more than the show suggests. No matter how much Lorelai may complain about her parents’ overbearing presence, the social and financial safety net they provide allows her to build her “self-made woman” image by taking risks, like buying her own inn or sending Rory to Chilton (an elite private high school), and reaping the rewards. 

Not only does Gilmore Girls undermine the privilege interwoven into the characters' everyday lives, but it also offers a narrow version of diversity. Except for a few characters, Gilmore Girls is shockingly white, especially for the diverse Northeastern United States in the twenty-first century. What’s more, characters with marginal identities lean heavily on stereotypes. Lane and Ms. Kim's (friends and neighbors of the Gilmore Girls) storyline almost entirely revolves around the trope of the strict, traditional Asian parent. And Michelle (the gay concierge at Lorelai’s inn) is often reduced to the role of the sharp-tongued French outsider whose humor comes from exaggerated aloofness. These characters are beloved parts of the show’s charm, but they rarely break out of the narrow identities written for them. 

In a series so celebrated for its detailed world-building and vibrant, homey community, the lack of meaningful diverse casting and acknowledgement of privilege makes Stars Hollow feel less like a fictional getaway and more like an eerily unrealistic and idealized bubble, one that quietly avoids the complexities of contemporary American life. 

While this shortcoming is clear to me, it is not the criticism I hear about Gilmore Girls in mainstream culture. If the show portrays common American struggles so poorly, shouldn’t more people be talking about it? 

While Gilmore Girls does receive ample criticism, the true problem lies in what the masses are criticizing. Every other video, article, or post I see about Gilmore Girls is hopping on the Lorelai and Rory hate train. From the mother-daughter duo's unstable and superficial romantic relationships to their emotional immaturity, people find a way to take offense at these women's actions. Every mistake they make in the series is construed as a moral affront instead of a human error. Frankly, Rory and Lorelai are held to saint-like standards of morality, standards that critics don’t hold the duo’s love interests, or any other male protagonist to. This glaring double standard defines the sexism that seeps through much of the Gilmore Girls commentary.

The intensity of this criticism reveals how female protagonists are expected to be simultaneously compelling and morally exemplary in pop culture. Women on TV are supposed to be selfless daughters, caring mothers, and loving partners; the Gilmore Girls simply don’t fit that mold. They are far from perfect women; they are selfish, entitled, emotionally immature, and deeply flawed, but that is what makes Rory and Lorelai so compelling. They mess up constantly, but so do I, and so do you. That is what makes these characters feel real.  

When audiences focus more on judging these women rather than investigating the incomplete and idealized world of Stars Hollow, the conversation shifts away from the meaningful critique of privilege and identity and moves towards sexism. The result is a fandom that polices women’s behavior rather than acknowledges the cultural inaccuracies within the show. 

Gilmore Girls is riddled with issues. I’m not denying that. But it can still be a source of comfort for me and thousands of others. I can enjoy the show while acknowledging its intrinsic flaws, specifically ignoring privilege and pushing racial stereotypes. I don’t watch Gilmore Girls to see Rory and Lorelai be perfect people, because they aren’t; I turn on the show to watch them mess up and keep going, as any human would. And of course, I don’t mind some witty banter in between.