We should all be more like Elphaba–and a little less like Glinda

Spoiler Warning: This essay contains major plot points from Wicked (2024) and Wicked: For Good (2025). If you haven’t seen both films, consider this your last chance to click away before we melt the illusions right off the yellow brick road.

The Wicked films are lush, dazzling spectacles, but beneath the emerald glitter, they offer a provocative moral parable. We are given two archetypes: Elphaba, the girl with green skin and uncompromising conviction, and Glinda, the charismatic optimist who learns too late that goodness performed for applause is not the same as goodness practised in crisis.

One of these women is branded “wicked” by the powerful. The other is crowned “beloved”.

And yet, if the films leave us with any real-world challenge, it’s this: be brave like Elphaba–even if the world misunderstands you. Be cautious about becoming Glinda–especially when the world praises you.

Because the divide between the two is not about morality; it’s about courage.

Elphaba: The Courage to Refuse a Comfortable Lie

What makes Elphaba remarkable is not her magic–it’s her refusal to conform when conformity is rewarded.

When she discovers the Wizard’s truth–that his regime is stealing the voices of animals, weaponising fear, and constructing a political theatre that depends on scapegoats–she doesn’t hesitate. She doesn’t negotiate. She doesn’t keep one foot in the palace and one foot in her conscience.

She walks out.

In a world built on illusion, Elphaba insists on truth–however painful, however isolating. Her defiance is not loud rebellion for spectacle’s sake; it is quiet, gruelling integrity of someone who knows that to remain silent is to take part.

And the films do not romanticize the cost of that integrity.

• She loses safety.
• She loses status.
• She loses the future she thought she could have.

But she keeps her soul intact.

In an age filled with curated identities and algorithmic praise, her unwavering authenticity feels more radical than any spell in the Grimmerie.

Glinda: The Danger of Being Everyone’s Favourite

Glinda’s arc is not villainous–it’s painfully human.

She begins as the embodiment of sparkle: charismatic, well-intentioned, socially gifted. But as she rises through Oz’s political machinery, her ability to shine becomes the quality that traps her.

The Wizard’s administration chooses her precisely because she looks “good”. She sounds reassuring. She comforts the majority.

Good optics becomes a substitute for moral clarity.

Glinda’s tragedy is not malice–it’s drift.

• The slow, subtle erosion of conviction.
• The belief that if she just smiles harder, the system will fix itself.
• The hope is that she can soften injustice rather than confront it.

In Glinda, the films show us one of the most dangerous temptations in any society: the lure of being beloved instead of being brave.

She doesn’t intend harm, but harm happens. And by the time she recognises the Wizard’s manipulation, the machinery has already consumed the narrative.

Glinda is the cautionary tale hiding inside the musical theatre sparkle:

• Popularity is not proof of goodness.
• And silence is never neutral.

Elphaba’s Empathy Is Her Rebellion

Elphaba doesn’t resist because she wants to be a hero. She resists because she sees what others will not.

Her empathy is not sentimental; it is radical.

• She listens to the animals.
• She befriends the forgotten.
• She grieves the oppressed not from a distance, but from inside their suffering.

Her politics emerge organically from proximity. Relationships literally shaped her activism. She cannot unsee what the Wizard tries to erase.

In an era where distance can make cruelty seem abstract, Elphaba’s closeness is revolutionary. She does not intellectualise injustice–she feels it. And then she acts.

The Emerald City, with all its pageantry, asks its citizens not to feel too deeply. Elphaba refuses that request.

And in doing so, she becomes dangerous.

Oz as a Mirror: Propaganda, Power, and Manufactured Villains

One of the Wicked films’ boldest choices is how openly they confront the machinery of authoritarian storytelling.

Oz thrives on theatre–literal and political.

The Wizard understands a crucial truth: A frightened public will cling to any narrative that makes them feel safe.

So he gives them a villain.

• He manufactures “The Wicked Witch”.
• He turns Elphaba into a symbol of everything the regime wants to deflect from.
• He weaponized public fear, merging control.

It is chilling not because it is fantastical, but because it is familiar.

The films invite viewers to ask:

• Who benefits when a society needs a monster?
• Who gets erased in the stories that comfort the powerful?
• And who might we be misjudging simply because the narrative is convenient?

Elphaba is the victim of a PR campaign masquerading as justice. Glinda becomes its face.

The message is uncomfortable but necessary: If you don’t question the story you’re given, you may become part of someone else’s lie.

The End of Wicked: For Good Is Not Withdrawal–It’s Strategy.

The second film’s ending is bittersweet on the surface:

• Elphaba and Fiyero escape into hiding, presumed “dead”.
• Glinda steps into leadership.
• The Grimmerie changes hands.

But look deeper.

Elphaba’s retreat is not surrender. It is a shift in method.

By faking her “death”, she removes herself from the Wizard’s propaganda. By giving Glinda the Grimmerie, she forces Glinda to grow into the leader she wasn’t brave enough to become earlier. By stepping away, she makes space for transformation.

Elphaba doesn’t abandon Oz–she catalyses it.

Even in exile, her courage continues to work through the people she touched. Her resistance leaves an afterglow. Her example rewrites Glinda’s moral compass.

This is the quiet victory of ethical defiance: Sometimes the world only changes because someone dared to change first.

So What Does It Mean to “Be More Like Elphaba”?

No, not everyone can defy a wizard. But everyone can defy complacency.

To be like Elphaba is to:

• Speak the truth when silence is easier.
• Advocate for those without power, even when no one else is looking.
• Question narratives that depend on scapegoats.
• Let empathy inconvenience you.
• Accept unpopularity as the price of doing what’s right.

And perhaps most importantly: Build alliances. Ask for help. Stay connected. Elphaba’s only real flaw is the belief she must fight alone.

Courage is not a solitary act; it is a shared labour.

The World Doesn’t Need More Glindas in the Spotlight. It Needs More Elphabas in the Fire.

The Wicked films give us a final, provocative question: Would you rather be adored for playing along, or misunderstood for standing up?

Elphaba chooses the latter every time. Not because it’s necessary.

And if Oz-and our world–teaches us anything, it's this:

Being “good” is not the same as being approved of. And being “wicked” is sometimes the price of being just.

• So be unruly.
• Be inconvenient.
• Be willing to challenge the story you’re told.
• Be willing to disappoint the comfortable.

Be a little more like Elphaba. Let them call you “wicked”. It usually means you’re finally doing something right.