Bridgerton Season 4 is its most feminist yet, and lets women be more

Bridgerton Season 4 may appear to be a Cinderella story on the surface, but it is far more nuanced and carefully constructed than its predecessors. This is not to declare it the best season so far. Rather, it has more to do with how deliberately the makers choose to treat the women this time around.

There is, of course, only so much one can alter about the condition of women in the Regency era. Corseted, caged bodies; inheritance passed down to men alone; and the casual, second-hand treatment of women cannot be erased or romanticised away. But in Season 4, the makers seem intent on pushing against these limitations instead of silently accepting them.

It almost looks like a turning point for the franchise. In Bridgerton Season 4, romance finally stops being the end goal and becomes a choice. The women of the universe are no longer discovering themselves only through men. They are articulating desire, setting boundaries, and claiming agency in a society designed to deny them all three.

At least in the first episode, and fans would agree -- Violet Bridgerton, quite literally the mother of all, completely outshines everyone else, including the lead pair: Benedict Bridgerton, her own son, and his mysterious lady love, Sophie Baek. This is the first season where we finally see Violet comfortable with her sexuality, embracing her body and acknowledging, without shame, that a woman's needs do not die with her husband.

As Part I progresses, Violet, a widow, allows herself curiosity, pleasure, and desire. Watching her "garden" come alive as she grows more confident in "serving the tea" she wants to serve is joyous, radical, even. It is also deeply moving to see another woman -- arguably one of the strongest and most loved female characters on the show -- take full ownership of her life.

Lady Danbury, after four seasons, finally musters the courage to refuse remaining the Queen's lady-in-waiting. She wants a life beyond duty. She wants to travel. Imagine telling your queen "no" simply because you want to, and because it's time. Courage, in this world, often looks exactly like that.

Season 4 also does something subtle but significant: it reframes maturity and freedom as radical acts. Francesca Bridgerton's arc treats female sexuality as a learning process. When she tries to understand what the word "pinnacle" means, and how she might experience it with her husband, she is attempting to break through walls built of shame, guilt and silence. Curiosity is one thing; acting on it, seeking awareness of one's own body, is another. Francesca is allowed both, and that choice alone makes her feel seen.

Then there's Hazel, an amputatee -- dancing, performing her duties, flirting and dreaming of marriage. She is not reduced to her body or made insecure by it. One missing limb does not turn her into a subject of pity. In fact, the camera never holds on to what she lacks. It lets her exist. The normalisation feels intentional, as if representation was always meant to be a part of this world.

Even Queen Charlotte is afforded vulnerability this season. For the first time in the Bridgerton series, we really see her break down, ask for help, and admit she is not immune to fear, loneliness, or love. When she apologises to Lady Danbury for her shrewdness and cruelty, we glimpse a woman beneath the crown, someone capable of softness, fear and regret, Universal feelings, finally acknowledged.

And then there is Sophie Baek, the season's heroine. She is 'the epitome of grace and charm', yes, but never merely a pretty woman who has a high-born gentleman wrapped around her finger. Sophie is well-read, ambitious, and determined to chase her dreams even society, and her own family, tries to confine her. She could be a woman who is unclear about what she wants from her life, but she definitely knows what she doesn't want. She doesn't fight loudly, but she does not stay silent either. She knows the harassment she has endured for years, and she chooses to walk away from that system, even if it means stepping into uncertainty with no money, no plan and no protection -- except dignity.

By the end of Part I, Sophie's most powerful moment arrived in refusal, not in romance. She rejects Benedict's proposal to be his mistress, even when love tempts her otherwise. In a world that repeatedly asks women to settle, especially the world where these characters belong, Sophie says no. It is her refusal that becomes the season's strongest statement.

This is one season which dares to imagine women who resist courageously, on their own terms. Bridgerton seems to have finally shifted its gaze, from love as destiny to choice as power.