The Relatable Dysfunction of ‘The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel’
My sister and I hail from a long line of toxic mothering
When I finally convinced my pop culture-averse little sister to watch Amy Sherman-Palladino’s The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, I wasn’t sure she’d be hooked for the same reasons I am. Then, about three-quarters into the first episode, title character Midge Maisel approaches her parents in distress while wearing a loose-fitting nightgown. Upon seeing her daughter’s anguished face in the middle of the night, the mother’s first reaction is to exclaim, “What are you wearing? It’s not thinning!”
My sister shot me the look of a fellow war-weary soldier. It said, “Ouch. There’s mom.”
My sister and I hail from a long line of toxic mothering. You could say we, two childless thirtysomethings unsure of whether we’re keen to keep the legacy alive, are the trickle-down product.
Five years ago, I took the first step toward breaking the cycle when I wrote my mother an email explaining that we wouldn’t be speaking to or seeing each other for the foreseeable future. To this day, the edict remains — and I have no interest in lifting it.
In the difficult months after I hit send, I serendipitously rediscovered Sherman-Palladino’s beloved series Gilmore Girls, which proves a…
