“You Can’t Sit With Us”: What Mean Girls Taught Me About Girlhood, Power, and Popularity

By Destinie Lockett

I was just a little girl when I first watched Mean Girls. Too young to understand most of the jokes. Too innocent to grasp the layers of sarcasm and sexual innuendos. But something about it stuck. The energy, the characters, the glittering yet vicious world of high school—it felt like a secret universe I was being invited into. Even if I didn’t fully get it yet, I was captivated. Looking back now, I realize Mean Girls wasn’t just a comedy about high school drama—it was a mirror. A reflection of girlhood in all its messy, radiant, painful, and powerful glory. It gave voice to something many of us felt long before we had the words for it: the complexity of being a girl in a world obsessed with labels.

The Spell of the Plastics

The Plastics were intoxicating. Regina George was everything I feared and admired—confident, cruel, beautiful, and dangerous. Watching her felt like staring at fire: mesmerizing and a little scary. But what I didn’t realize at the time was how much every girl sees a piece of themselves in each Plastic. Gretchen, desperate to be liked. Karen, a little lost, just going with the flow. And Cady—sweet, awkward, smart—slowly getting swallowed up by the allure of power. It showed us how easy it is to lose yourself when you just want to belong.

Girls, Power, and Pain

What Mean Girls did so well was unmask the unspoken rules of girlhood. The power plays. The coded language. The performative kindness. It was never just about lip gloss or lunch tables. It was about survival.

There’s something hauntingly real about watching girls weaponize beauty, friendship, and secrets against each other—because we’ve all seen it. Some of us have lived it. The movie made it okay to admit that female friendships can be both nurturing and brutal. And that sometimes, the people who hurt you most are the ones who sit right next to you in math class.

Popularity as a Disguise

The brilliance of the film was how it showed popularity not as power—but as a performance. Regina was worshipped and feared, but deeply insecure. Cady gained influence, but lost herself. It made me ask: What are we willing to trade for approval? I watched those girls lie, manipulate, diet, and smile through pain—because being liked felt more important than being real. And even now, in a world of curated selfies and “girl boss” branding, that lesson still hits.