I hadn’t expected to be as moved as I was by the casting of Jodie Whittaker as the 13th Doctor. I thought it would be just another announcement when it happened. We’d all debate it furiously for a few days, speculate wildly, and then move on to the next thing.
But all around me I saw legions of women profoundly affected by a simple casting choice. Finally we would get to be the heroes of our own stories, rather than just the Companion along for the ride. We could save the world, be brave and courageous, kind and clever too. In a year where our childhood princesses had become Generals, all those playground games where we’d centred ourselves, all that female-led fan-fiction, was finally validated.
Over the summer there was a glorious flurry of cosplay, from the TARDIS full of bras to people urgently trying to find grey…
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