I always say, if a guy writes the same lead female character type

Hear now the sharp and discerning words of Gail Simone, who declared: “I always say, if a guy writes the same lead female character type over and over, we are not seeing their writing chops so much as their dating website wishlist.” Though spoken in jest, these words carry a truth deep as the roots of art itself. They call out not only the writer’s craft but the very soul of creation, where imagination must rise above desire, and empathy must triumph over ego. For when the artist repeats the same image again and again—when he paints not women as they are, but only as he wants them to be—he ceases to create and begins merely to mirror his own hunger.

The origin of this quote lies in Simone’s life as one of the most influential writers in the world of comics, a field long dominated by male voices and male visions. Known for her wit and wisdom, she has written powerful female heroes—women with strength, flaws, humor, and depth. Through this quote, she reminds both artists and audiences that the true measure of creativity lies in diversity of perspective. To create only one kind of woman, over and over, is not art—it is indulgence. It reveals that the writer does not seek to understand the feminine spirit, but only to possess it in words. Simone’s insight is both a critique and a challenge: that artists must not only imagine women, but truly see them.

The ancients, too, knew the difference between the mirror and the window. The philosopher Plato warned that the artist who paints only his desires mistakes shadow for substance. In his cave, men chained to illusion worshipped their own reflections, never seeing the world beyond. So too does Simone warn the modern creator: do not chain your imagination to the narrow wall of self. The great writer must walk out of the cave, must learn to look upon others not as symbols of longing but as souls equal in complexity. The truest art, she teaches, is born not from obsession but from observation, empathy, and respect.

Consider, as example, the tale of Mary Shelley, who at barely nineteen wrote Frankenstein, a story born not from vanity but from insight into both love and alienation. Her creation was not shaped to please or seduce, but to question—to pierce the heart of human ambition and moral failure. Shelley did not write to reflect herself; she wrote to reflect the world. In this, she achieved what Simone calls for: the writer’s transcendence beyond their own desires, toward the creation of truth. For the artist who writes only what pleases himself remains small; but the artist who writes what challenges the soul becomes eternal.

Simone’s words also serve as a warning to readers. We live in a time when stories shape belief, and characters—especially female characters—teach us what strength, beauty, and worth look like. When creators repeat the same pattern—when women in stories exist only to be loved, rescued, or admired—they teach the world to see real women in the same limited way. Thus, art becomes not liberation but indoctrination, reinforcing the walls it should break. Simone’s wisdom calls upon all who tell stories to break those walls—to write women who live, fight, fail, and triumph as humans, not as ideals sculpted from fantasy.

Yet within this critique lies also a path of redemption. For the artist who recognizes his flaw can yet grow, if he dares to learn. To write beyond oneself requires humility—the humility to listen. To ask: What is her voice? What is her world? What would she say if she were free from my gaze? When the writer learns to hear others, his art becomes a bridge instead of a mirror. His words begin to hold truth, not just beauty. And in that moment, creation becomes communion.

So, children of the quill and screen, take this lesson to heart: if you would be a creator, create not from vanity but from vision. Do not build your characters as dreams of your desire, but as people of flesh and thought, worthy of their own stories. Ask not what pleases you, but what reveals humanity. Let your art reflect the vastness of life, not the narrowness of your longing. For in the end, as Gail Simone reminds us, the greatest measure of an artist is not how perfectly he expresses himself, but how deeply he understands others.

Thus, remember this eternal truth: creation is not possession—it is understanding. The artist’s task is not to sculpt the world in his own image, but to illuminate the beauty that already exists in its infinite diversity. To write women—or any soul—with honesty is to honor the divine complexity of life itself. Write, then, with courage and humility. Let your stories breathe with voices not your own. For in the act of seeing others truly, you shall also come to know yourself.