IF YOU EVER want to prove to a naysayer that unconscious gender bias exists, show them the ’90s sitcom Sabrina the Teenage Witch. In season two, episode six, Sabrina visits her sort-of boyfriend, Harvey, and his friends at a garage as they examine a car that won’t start. Her suggestion that they check the car’s alternator is met with blatant ‘noes’ and eyerolls. When Sabrina temporarily transforms herself into a teenage boy – thanks to a Boy Brew potion she and her Aunt Hilda whip up – and makes the same alternator suggestion, Harvey and his friends suddenly see it as a ‘good idea’. It becomes her ticket into the group, burping contest admission included.

Sabrina was one of my favourite TV shows growing up. Not just because I imagined that I, too, could point my finger and make my problems go away – or inadvertently create bigger ones – but because the main character was cool. I admired her sarcasm, humour and very stylish (era-appropriate) fashion.

While drafting my novel a few years ago, I wanted to include references to Sabrina, so I undertook the diligent task of rewatching the series for ‘research’. The experience was nostalgic; the theme song’s opening chime alone drew a tear. It was also enlightening: I found the show progressive and feminist – surprisingly so.

SABRINA LIVES WITH her aunts, Hilda and Zelda, and her cat familiar, Salem. Her mortal mother is on an archaeological dig in Peru (and will become a ball of wax if they see each other), while her father works in the Other Realm. The three witches defy the nuclear family – and the patriarchy. Zelda, a scientist and Nobel Prize candidate, is a stellar #WomeninSTEM example. Hilda is a renowned professional violinist who always seeks to further her craft. The sisters both confidently face up to their male career nemeses – reflecting the reality of the male-dominated science and music fields. But they also defeat those men, which, unfortunately, was probably rare at the time. In this way, the show holds up a mirror to life (women being marginalised in certain industries) and smashes it too (women succeeding nonetheless).

Admittedly, not all episodes hold up – or reflect the reality we strive for in the twenty-first century. The main cast are all white; the show sometimes leans into discomfiting racist, homophobic, ableist and body-shaming tropes; and it lost its sparkle once our heroine was no longer a teenager. But when it comes to gender and non-traditional family structures, Sabrina was truly ahead of its time.

Hilda and Zelda espouse values like open and honest communication and speaking up for yourself – but they also struggle with common parent problems and even question if they’re raising Sabrina in the best way. They try to guide their niece with advice on magic, love, friendship and life in general, with wise words (‘the truth is something you should find without magic’), and witty ones:

Zelda: We wanted to teach you responsibility.
Hilda: And to respect men.

But Sabrina always tries to use her powers to their potential. She has a rebellious side – like her aunts, she’s not a yes-woman – though she asks for help when she needs it. She’s also independent and doesn’t want to slot into the school’s social hierarchy: ‘Why can’t I just be me?’ Her feminism manifests in various ways: she objects to girlfriends having to make posters for their footballer boyfriends, and when she time-travels back to the ’60s, she speaks out against institutional sexism. She’s also always able to conjure a dry quip: ‘“What’s the matter?” I have to be a witch, I have to be a mortal, I have to be a teenager and I have to be a girl – all at the same time. That’s what’s the matter.’

Then there’s the only male character in the house: Salem. His attempt to take over the world left him literally powerless, sentenced to a hundred years in a feline exterior. Sabrina, Hilda and Zelda roll their eyes at his ridiculous attempts to attract human women or to resume his plans for world domination using just his paws.

Meanwhile, Harvey, Sabrina’s main love interest, epitomises the respectful feminist boyfriend – his rejection of her alternator suggestion notwithstanding. I’ve previously written about how, as a pre-teen, I developed a crush on Harvey based on how lovely and supportive he was to Sabrina. He set the standard very high for my expectations of relationships. But, looking back, that ‘high standard’ should be, well, standard. Harvey champions his girlfriend in her efforts, and he doesn’t buckle to the toxic masculinity of the male authority figures in his life (his father, his football coach). In the conversation about school cliques, he identifies as ‘a quasi jock with semi-literary aspirations and a hint of nihilism’ – his own way of not fitting in.

When I watched the Boy Brew episode as a pre-teen, the funniest part was the belch Sabrina zaps into her gut – so loud it’s apparently heard around the world. But as a feminist adult in the 2020s, I laughed hardest at the alternator line and the subconscious gender biases it highlighted. I found myself cackling at jokes that ‘got’ me, from Hilda chiding her brother’s stubbornness when trying to open a jar (‘Men aren’t stronger. They just keep trying longer than any sane woman would’) to boy-Sabrina’s assertion that ‘I’m never wearing a bra again!’

IN MY NOVEL, Jade and Emerald, Sabrina is the only TV show my protagonist Lei Ling is permitted to watch by her strict single mother. I chose it as my own little Easter egg, but on rewatching I realised how fitting it was that the show spotlights strong women who band together when the world rejects them. Lei Ling feels like she’s different to everyone around her, but she finds comfort in Sabrina.

The ’90s saw a trend of witchy, occult or otherwise supernatural women on TV. Sabrina was joined by Charmed and Buffy the Vampire Slayer, gracing our screens with characters who took control using abilities unknown to man – and men. These shows formed part of the girl (magic) power movement. But Buffy and Charmed were both created and largely executive produced by men – dubious men at that. Joss Whedon created a ‘toxic environment’ on the Buffy set, which could have influenced the many toxic relationships on screen. Charmed saw the exit of lone female executive producer (EP), Constance M Burge, because male EP Brad Kern wanted to focus on romantic rather than familial relationships. You can thank him for romanticising the troublesome actions of Cole, the love interest (and eventually ex-husband) of main character Phoebe – he stalks her and attempts to kill her sisters.

By contrast, the number of women on the Sabrina set distinguished it in a Hollywood that was – and still is – dominated by men. It was created, adapted and mostly directed by the talented Nell Scovell, an activist and champion for women in film and comedy. Five of the seven EPs are female. And, if you’re being petty, you might point out that the male EPs came on board for the last few seasons, when things went downhill. Other writers, producers and directors include Joan Binder Weiss (writer, Gilmore Girls), Gail Mancuso (director, Friends and 30 Rock), Kim Friedman (director, Lizzie McGuire and Beverly Hills, 90210), and Dinah Manoff (who you might recognise as Marty from Grease). Melissa Joan Hart and Beth Broderick, who played Sabrina and Zelda, respectively, also sat in the director’s chair.

It seems like no coincidence, then, that the characters in Sabrina were represented as whole humans. They weren’t oversexualised, they had full lives that didn’t revolve around dating, there were no pregnancy storylines. In sitcom land, it’s easy to lean on stereotypes and one-dimensional personalities. But female characters deserve to be layered, empathetic, understandable – and, most importantly, entertaining. On all of these, Sabrina makes the grade. 

We now retroactively watch past TV shows and lament how terribly they’ve aged. Yet we forget the ones that were ahead of their time. Sabrina succeeded in doing what culture is trying to do now: crafting narratives about people other than old white men, non-nuclear families and non-toxic love interests, and creating unique lore and smart, watchable plotlines. I’m keen to see more of that magic zapped onto today’s screens.

Image credit: Snapdragon 66 courtesy of WikiMedia Commons