Girls on Film: Modern Femininity in The Substance
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As renowned film director Alfred Hitchcock once said, “Give them pleasure—the same pleasure they have when they wake up from a nightmare.” There is a paradoxical allure to cinema. Its power to unsettle and captivate simultaneously; the most effective films disturb. In the same way that a nightmare forces us to confront our fears and truths, director Coralie Fargeat’s The Substance (2024) does precisely that. The film plunges audiences into an unnerving exploration of modern femininity, perfectionism, and the inescapable pressures of society. This psychological thriller holds up a dark mirror to our culture, forcing viewers to confront this chilling commentary on how society commodifies women’s identities.
The Substance follows Elisabeth, an exercise video host (like Jane Fonda in the ‘80s) played by Demi Moore, who is nearing her 50th birthday. In an overtly dramatized manner, she is fired from her show and essentially shunned from the industry for being “too old” and no longer in her prime. Elisabeth then comes across a new experimental serum known as “The Substance,” which allows her to regain her youthful appearance, the only catch being that she will exist in two bodies, her current body and her old one, and has to switch them out every seven days, with no exception. When she is introduced to the new, younger version of herself, Sue, the film then spirals into a destruction that mimics the effects that society’s obsession with youth and beauty standards can have on women in an increasingly disturbing way.
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Though the film is a work of fiction, much of its horror feels uncomfortably real. In an era where women are turning to Ozempic for weight loss or undergoing full facial reconstruction surgeries to chase youth and perfection, the film's critique of beauty culture hits disturbingly close to home. Elisabeth’s desperation and eagerness to inject herself with an experimental drug mirrors the real-world trend of women injecting themselves with substances and undergoing invasive procedures without fully understanding the risks or long-term consequences.
The allure of control lies at the heart of these choices. Whether through experimental serums in fiction or real life, the promise is the same: a chance to rewrite one’s narrative and become thinner, younger, or more desirable. Yet, as The Substance vividly illustrates, the pursuit of perfection often leads to consequences. As Sue does not respect the balance of switching out the bodies every seven days, desperate to live out as the younger version of herself, she eventually metamorphosizes into a grotesque monster. This plot point serves as a metaphor for the real dangers women face when they subject their bodies to unregulated substances or drastic surgeries in the name of beauty.
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Fargeat highlights how these practices, marketed as forms of empowerment, are tools of systemic control. Women are under the impression they can take charge of their appearances, but the cost is their health, autonomy, and often their sense of self. Whether it's Elisabeth’s descent into physical chaos or the very real stories of women experiencing adverse effects from trendy weight-loss injections, the film forces us to confront the violence hidden beneath the veneer of beauty. The body horror in The Substance does more than shock—it mirrors the quiet harm of these modern trends. It asks unsettling questions: At what point does the pursuit of beauty become a form of self-destruction? Who truly benefits when women are sold perfection at the expense of their well-being?
Fargeat’s film takes these cultural practices to their extreme, exposing the inherent risks and demanding we reconsider the systems profiting from the insecurities of women. The answer, as the film makes disturbingly clear, lies in the systems of control dominated by men, who dictate the unattainable ideals women feel pressured to achieve. Through Elisabeth’s story, Fargeat exposes the uncomfortable reality that the beauty industry—and the cultural obsession with perfection—is often less about female empowerment and more about male-driven control and commodification of female bodies. This theme is starkly embodied by the male executives who control the television network that Sue is desperate to dominate, a space where they design the "ideal" woman for mass consumption.
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In the film, the network’s male executives decide what kind of women their audience wants to see. They don’t see Elisabeth or other women as creators but as canvases on which their idealized fantasies can be projected. The show, hosted by Elisabeth (and then Sue), becomes a microcosm of a larger cultural system in which a woman's value relies on her physical appeal. While Sue uses her position to project an image of empowerment, this is a facade in the same way her perceived youth is. Behind the scenes, the men control the network and hold the real power, shaping what viewers see and how Sue sees herself.
This dynamic highlights a cruel irony: even women in positions of authority, like Elisabeth or Sue, are still subjected to the standards set by male-dominated institutions. Elisabeth strives to maintain her image not just for her brand but because she knows that her worth in the eyes of the network and the public is conditional upon her ability to conform to their ideals. The men’s grip on the network’s narrative mirrors how men have historically controlled media, fashion, and beauty standards, profiting from women’s labor while dictating the terms of their visibility. Elisabeth’s journey becomes a chilling reflection of this polarity as she struggles to meet the demands of a system that demands perfection while punishing her for attempting to achieve it.
Strike Out,
Writer: Daniella Garcia-Novas
Editor: Layne Schulte
Graphic Designer:
Tallahassee