Go Ahead and Write Those Unlikable Characters

When my first book was released, I read the reviews that trickled in each day, and I was struck by one common critique. Just about everyone, even in the best reviews, called my protagonist “unlikable.” 

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At first, I was surprised, because it wasn’t intentional to create an unlikable character. I thought, yes, she is very flawed and human, but certainly sympathetic considering what she’s going through. Then I became annoyed because ultimately, it’s not my job to make a character “likable.” It’s my job to make them interesting. 

I often find that the ancillary characters in a story embody all of the odd, quirky, edgy personality traits and the main character is the most boring person in the room, because we try to write them to be relatable and “likable” and only take our risks with the supporting roles. But my goal is to shape main characters that have all the delicious, eccentric, very human qualities—the kind of badass yet sometimes weird protagonist I want to read about.

Even though I believe this to be true, I had to self-reflect last week when I was working through my new book outline with my agent. She was questioning my protagonist being too much of a victim and unlike my other books. I explained I was a little hesitant to write her “unlikable” and worried I was alienating my audience based on my current feedback. Shame on me for letting it get under my skin, but thank goodness for great agents because we agreed that likability in female characters is a sexist construct and don’t let the f&%#@* patriarchy (and its female acolytes) bear on YOUR writing. Be true to your character instead.

Have you ever heard a male character referred to as unlikable? No. You have not. The Godfather, The Joker, Norman Bates are dynamic, or interesting. They are ruthless or badass, but certainly not “unlikable,” because that is reserved for female characters who don’t fit into the stereotypical mold we’ve collectively cast for them.

If my main character, whose life is crumbling, did and said all the right things—if she were pleasant and handled it well—if she didn’t abuse alcohol and make bad decisions in her desperation, it would not be realistic, but that’s what we’re being asked to do, isn’t it?

Wear make-up and look feminine, but don’t be too high maintenance. Don’t be a slut, but don’t be frigid. Keep him satisfied but don’t put out too soon. Be assertive, don’t be bossy.

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If you stand up for yourself, you’re acting psycho. If you don’t, you’re a pushover. If you’re emotional, you’re on your period. If you’re not emotional enough, you’re a cold, bitch. If you cover up, you’re a prude. If you dress sexy, you’re a whore. You get the point. This is reality. Sometimes overt, but often a silent set of expectations that fuel our behavior in ways we might not even be conscious of.

I already live in a world where the server always places the bill in front of my husband, and when we recently had a water leak fixed, the plumber explained how my husband could replace it himself with a new shower head, which is hilarious if you knew us, because I am undoubtedly the handy one in the relationship. I even had a hardwood flooring rep cancel an appointment to come out and show me samples because he needed “both decision makers present,” as if I couldn’t possibly choose the wood color all by myself. I wish I were kidding. I wish I weren’t saying that in 2024.

A previous boss of mine used to make comments, daily, about women’s appearance. Whether it was how hot an actress was or the leg the receptionist was showing that day, I wonder who in the office gives two S@’s about this guy’s sexual desires? Does he say it to make the women around him feel lesser than? Is it a power play? Is he just a pervert? I’m forced into a position I did not ask for. Do I listen to him and the HR rep debate who the hottest chick in the world is, or say something and risk becoming a pariah in the office?

Living in a world like this, I’ll be damned if I am going to let my fictional world be ruled by the same outrageous contradictions and expectations. I implore other women to consider what they are thinking when they read. Is “likability” really the only thing you want in a female character? I hope other writers will not feel the need to dumb down their female characters. Write female characters that directly challenge the institutions and practices frequently used to measure a woman’s value. Make them wild and complex. Make ‘em unlikable.

Check out Seraphina Nova Glass’ The Vacancy in Room 10 here:

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