The portrayal of girlhood on screen

How cinematography shapes depictions of girlhood in film.

Image courtesy of Phoebe Ward

 

From pastel palettes to handheld intimacy, films have long explored what it means to grow up as a girl. But how do directors visually capture the complexities of girlhood?

Growing up as a girl is complicated. It’s a whirlwind of self-discovery, contradiction, joy, heartbreak, and a perpetual tension between who you are and who the world expects you to be. In film, girlhood has been a recurring theme, particularly in the past two decades, where directors and cinematographers have leaned into deeply stylised visuals to articulate the emotional intricacies of growing up.

The “aesthetic of girlhood”  is a narrative choice. It’s how filmmakers use colour, framing, light, and sound to invite audiences into the inner worlds of young female characters. From soft to sharp, dreamy to disorienting, tender to tough. It’s the visual language of growing up.

Pastel colours

Image of “The Virgin Suicides”, courtesy of Flickr

 

One of the most recognisable hallmarks of the girlhood aesthetic is its use of colour. Think Sofia Coppola’s The Virgin Suicides (1999), where the Lisbon sisters exist in a hazy, ethereal dreamworld of soft pinks, muted golds, and diffused sunlight. The cinematography by Ed Lachman explores reality and memory, framing the girls more as mythic beings than solid characters. This aesthetic doesn’t just look pretty, it reflects the voyeurism and romanticisation that often surrounds teenage girls, particularly when their stories are told through the perspective of others.

“Coppola’s cinema – particularly The Virgin Suicides… affords cinematic space to traditional femininity, often dismissed as childish or frivolous,” says author, editor and journalist, Hannah Strong. “Her cinema is the cinema of empathy and emotion, validating the feelings of young womanhood – the angst and ecstasy of a first crush, the yearning to be old while you’re still young.”

In Lady Bird (2017), Greta Gerwig shifts the tone while still honouring a gentle colour palette. Shot on Super 16mm film by Sam Levy, the graininess of the image and the warm, autumnal tones create a sense of nostalgia even in the present moment. Gerwig’s Sacramento isn’t a backdrop, it’s a mood, a memory. The softness in the cinematography mirrors Lady Bird’s emotional vulnerability as she navigates friendships, first love, and a volatile relationship with her mother.

These visuals do more than create an atmosphere. They align us with the emotional rhythms of girlhood, the daydreams, the insecurities, the need to be seen.

Showcasing Identity

Cinematography in coming-of-age films about girls often revolves around the act of looking, how girls see themselves, and how they are seen by others. In Céline Sciamma’s Bande de filles (2014), the camera lingers with intention. Shot by Crystel Fournier, the film uses close-ups and slow, steady takes to centre the interiority of Marieme, a Black teenager navigating adolescence in a Parisian suburb. One of the film’s most iconic scenes, where Marieme and her friends dance and sing to Rihanna’s Diamonds in a hotel room lit with blue neon, feels like pure release. In that moment, the camera doesn’t intrude; it lets the girls exist for themselves, not for the gaze of others.

Compare this to Thirteen (2003), directed by Catherine Hardwicke, which uses frenetic editing, handheld camera work, and saturated colours to reflect the chaotic energy of adolescence. The cinematography by Elliot Davis captures the unpredictability of Tracey’s journey into rebellion and identity crisis. The camera is always moving, like it’s trying to keep up with her shifting sense of self.

The Power of the Close-Up

The close-up is a vital tool in portraying girlhood on screen. It allows space for nuance, for emotion to flicker across a face, for unsaid things to be deeply felt. In Eighth Grade (2018), Bo Burnham’s directorial debut, the camera often lingers uncomfortably close to Kayla played by Elsie Fisher, capturing her awkward silences, her forced smiles, and her anxiety in high-def realism. Cinematographer Andrew Wehde doesn’t glamorise Kayla, he humanises her. Her acne and her braces, they’re all part of the visual honesty that defines the film.

This authenticity is echoed in films like Aftersun (2022), Charlotte Wells’ tender exploration of memory, grief, and girlhood. Through the eyes of young Sophie, we witness her memories of her last holiday with her father, moments that are later revisited in fragmented, sad flashes. Gregory Oke’s cinematography captures the sun-drenched beauty of the setting while allowing space for emotional undercurrents to simmer. The film doesn’t hand us answers, it hands us a feeling.

 “The blue/grey/green colour palette evokes a sense of grief and sadness, while the mini-DV camera is a nostalgic format that brings back memories of a 90s/00s childhood.” Strong adds.

Image of “Aftersun”, courtesy of Flickr

 

Girlhood Beyond the Western Cinema

The aesthetic of girlhood is evolving, expanding beyond white, middle-class narratives. Films like Mustang (2015), directed by Deniz Gamze Ergüven, tell the story of five sisters in rural Turkey whose burgeoning adolescence is seen as a threat by their conservative community. The cinematography is both intimate and defiant, capturing the girls in playful, sun-drenched freedom before enclosing them in tighter, more oppressive frames as the narrative darkens.

In Rocks (2019), directed by Sarah Gavron and shot by Hélène Louvart, natural light and handheld camerawork bring a rawness and immediacy to the story of a British-Nigerian girl left to care for her younger brother after their mother disappears. The film doesn’t aestheticise hardship, it presents it with respect and reality, highlighting friendship as both shield and salvation.

“As more female filmmakers have been able to make their own films, we have seen a diversification of the types of stories that get told,” says Strong. “Girlhood is not one universal experience… The differences across the girlhood canon represent our widening understanding of what it means to be a young woman.”

These films widen the definition of girlhood and reject a singular aesthetic in favour of a mosaic, different textures, different voices, different truths.

Girlhood is not just about soft filters or pink palettes. It’s about emotional clarity. It’s about giving young female characters the space to be themselves. It’s about reimagining what it means to see and be seen.

When handled with care, the camera becomes a conduit for empathy. It doesn’t just observe girlhood from a distance; it steps into it, holds it, honours it. And in doing so, it tells young viewers that their experiences, however quiet or chaotic, are worth capturing.

As filmmakers continue to push against stereotypes and embrace more inclusive, diverse representations of growing up, the cinematic language of girlhood will keep evolving.