Zendaya’s Representation in Dune Shows How Privilege and Fetishization Can Go Hand in Hand

Zendaya is a rising star. In 2021 alone, she has starred in Spider-Man: No Way Home (out December 17), the Netflix indie film Malcolm & Marie, and Denis Villeneuve’s science fiction epic Dune. Euphoria, for which Zendaya is the youngest person to win an Emmy for Best Lead Actress in a Drama, returns in January 2022. But of all these notable roles, it’s Zendaya’s turn in Dune that stands out to me — and not in a good way.

Dune captured the hearts of critics and the dollars of viewers this year, which is understandable. It is, in many ways, a compelling and exquisitely crafted film. But unfortunately, Dune also employs cultural appropriation in spades. It’s an example of Hollywood adapting an older source, Frank Herbert’s beloved 1965 novel, without confronting that source’s problematic undertones (*cough, white savior, cough*).

This dynamic is most notable via Zendaya’s character in Dune, Chani. She’s the love interest of Dune protagonist Paul, played by Timothée Chalamet. Chani is also viewers’ guide into the world of the Fremen, an oppressed desert tribe that essentially represents colonized people and whose story is packed with pointed parallels to real-world colonization. Chani’s voice opens Dune, narrating the story of her people’s persecution and resistance. Centering the perspective of an empowered woman fighting imperialism is a promising start, but, alas, the film is all downhill from there.

Except for a brief in-the-flesh appearance at the end of Dune, Chani spends most of the film as a hazy dream in Paul’s mind. She gazes evocatively at him from many angles in sweeping desert landscapes, seduces and then stabs him in a nightmare, and, as Denis Villeneuve explained in an interview, serves as a visual symbol for the bloody galactic war Paul is destined to unleash. In short, Chani is reduced to a literal dream girl whose only purpose is to motivate Paul and symbolize his journey. She is a fetishized tool of character development for a man.

According to Dune’s creative team and Zendaya herself, Chani will be more developed in Dune’s upcoming sequel; this matches the trajectory of Chani’s prominence in the original book series. But it doesn’t change that this first film minimizes Chani in its narrative — or that Zendaya was still central to the film’s marketing despite her minimal presence in Dune. Zendaya has essentially been used as an advertising gimmick, a palatable, desirable woman of color Dune can put on its poster.

It’s also notable that most of the actors of color with major roles in Dune — including Oscar Isaac, Jason Momoa, and Javier Bardem — are light-skinned. Zendaya is certainly no exception. Colorism is devastatingly real within and beyond Hollywood, and light-skinned folks have access to enormous privilege. Zendaya’s successful career is partly attributable to this, and, in fact, she has spoken eloquently about the privilege she possesses as a light-skinned and mixed-white Black woman.

The intersection of gender, race, and privilege is also evident in this film. Oscar Isaac, a man of color, is given a much weightier, multidimensional role in the film, as is white actress Rebecca Ferguson.

This type of media representation ultimately reflects and contributes to the fetishization and tokenization of light-skinned and mixed-white identifying people, especially for women and femmes. As a mixed-white Japanese woman, I have benefited enormously from light-skin privilege. Doors have opened for me and also many times benign conversations have taken a turn at the revelation of my racial identity, friendliness abruptly switching to discomforting lasciviousness. “How sexy!” is not something a stranger should say to a teenager, or anyone, regarding their race.

Zendaya’s treatment in Dune exemplifies aspects of colorist privilege and gendered racism. It also shows how shallow Hollywood diversity initiatives remain. The effects of both of these realities extend far beyond the entertainment industry, too; our culture shapes our everyday lives. But movies like Dune also allow us to call out these harmful dynamics in all aspects of our lives in a mainstream context. Dune’s representation of Zendaya’s character perpetuates racist and sexist stereotypes. Our conversations about Dune and Zendaya can do just the opposite, spurring nuanced dialogue about the intersections between race and gender, privilege and fetishization.