How To Avoid Being The Sidechick In A Relationship?

Movies love weaving side characters into their plots, and the sidechick trope is a classic. One telltale sign is the character who always seems to pop up at the protagonist's lowest moments—offering comfort, advice, or even just a shoulder to cry on, but never quite stepping into the main love interest's spotlight. They often have this magnetic charm, maybe a bit mysterious or too perfect, making you wonder why the protagonist isn't choosing them instead. Their screen time is usually just enough to stir the pot but not enough to dominate the story. Another clue? Their emotional investment feels one-sided. They might drop hints about deeper feelings or share meaningful glances, but the protagonist brushes it off or remains oblivious. Think of '500 Days of Summer'—Summer's friend Rachel isn't a sidechick per se, but that dynamic of unreciprocated emotional labor is similar. Sidechicks also tend to have less backstory; they exist to serve the protagonist's arc, not their own. It's a bittersweet role, really—they add depth to the narrative but rarely get a happy ending.

The sidechick trope is one of those storytelling devices that feels both overused and weirdly underexplored. On one hand, it’s a cheap way to create drama—throw in a character whose sole purpose is to stir up jealousy or conflict in a relationship, and boom, instant tension. But when you dig deeper, it often reinforces this idea that women (because let’s be real, it’s usually women) are disposable or exist only to serve the protagonist’s emotional arc. Shows like 'Scandal' and 'Bridgerton' play with the trope in more nuanced ways, giving the 'other woman' actual depth, but even then, it’s hard to shake the feeling that the narrative is still framing her as an obstacle rather than a person. What fascinates me is how modern stories are starting to subvert this. Take 'Insecure'—Issa Rae’s character grapples with being the sidechick at one point, but the show doesn’t villainize her or the other woman. Instead, it explores the messy, human reasons behind infidelity. That’s where the trope could evolve: less about shock value and more about examining why these dynamics exist in the first place. I’d love to see more stories where the 'sidechick' isn’t just a plot device but someone with her own ambitions, flaws, and growth.

Side characters in TV dramas often steal the show with their layered personalities and unexpected depth. Take the character of Shiv Roy in 'Succession'—technically not the protagonist, but her ruthless ambition and emotional vulnerability make her unforgettable. Or consider Kim Wexler from 'Better Call Saul', who starts as a love interest but evolves into a powerhouse with her own moral dilemmas. These roles are rarely just 'sidekicks'; they’re crafted to challenge the main narrative, adding tension or comic relief. What fascinates me is how actors like Sarah Snook or Rhea Seehorn breathe life into these parts, making them feel as complex as the leads. Even in lighter shows like 'New Girl', Zooey Deschanel’s Jess is great, but it’s Hannah Simone’s Cece who brings the grounded, sarcastic counterbalance. Side characters often reflect real-world dynamics—friends who call out the hero’s nonsense or lovers who refuse to be mere plot devices. They’re the secret sauce that keeps binge-watching addictive.

One of the most fascinating books I've read where a 'sidechick' takes center stage is 'The Other Woman' by Sandie Jones. The protagonist isn't your typical lead—she's embroiled in a messy affair but becomes the lens through which we see the toxicity of relationships. The book flips the script by making you empathize with someone society often vilifies. It's a psychological thriller where the 'other woman' isn't just a stereotype but a fully fleshed-out character with her own fears and flaws. Another standout is 'Sweetbitter' by Stephanie Danler, though it’s more subtle. Tess, the main character, navigates a love triangle in a high-end restaurant world. While she isn’t a classic sidechick, her role as the 'other woman' in a messy dynamic gives the story its raw, emotional core. The book captures the bittersweetness of loving someone who can’t fully love you back, and it’s written with such sensory detail that you almost taste the wine and feel the heartache.

It's fascinating how media often paints side characters as villains without giving them much depth. Take 'Gossip Girl' for example—Jenny Humphrey starts off relatable but ends up being labeled the 'problematic' one when she makes messy choices. Real life isn't black and white, but stories simplify emotions for drama. Maybe it's easier to root against someone who disrupts the main couple rather than explore their motivations. I also wonder if it reflects societal discomfort with women who don't conform. A 'sidechick' challenges traditional roles, so she's framed as selfish or scheming. But what if she’s just flawed, like everyone else? Villainizing her avoids messy conversations about agency and desire. Still, some shows like 'Insecure' handle this better—Nuha in season 3 wasn’t a villain, just caught in a complicated situation. More of that, please.