Coriolanus Snow and the Romanticization of the “Bad Boy”

Though the much-anticipated Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes has only been out for a few weeks, the young President Snow thirst edits have already become almost as inescapable as the Josh Hutcherson “Whistle” videos on Tiktok. 

Watching the original series, it seems impossible to imagine that the psychopathic, fascist dictator could gain such a new and enthused following in 2023. However, the abundant edits are enough to prove that villains—no matter how egregious their actions—are easy to sympathize with when they’re 1) male and 2) hot.

Everyone loves a rebel, and this is none the more true for the infamous bad boys of television and film. We love to hate them, but we hate holding them accountable even more. When it comes to the fictional bad boy, pretty privilege is irremovable from the conversation. Whether “bad” translates to a leather-jacket-wearing rebel to a full-fledged villain, audience members always seem able to excuse the bad boy’s more egregious actions so long as they are cushioned by a pretty face or dreamy actor playing the part. 

Snow is perhaps one of the most apparent examples of villain pretty privilege in recent years. Despite his crimes later in life—killing beloved character Finnick, hijacking Peeta’s mind, and, oh, I don’t know, sending children to annually fight to the death in an arena—young Snow is no saint in the prequel film either. Willing to turn on those who have shown him love and loyalty in a moment’s notice if it means he will prosper, Snow truly earns the title of “snake” throughout the prequel book and film. While some of his more disturbing attributes become lost in the film due to the absence of his inner monologue, the book really provides a clear look at his narcissistic, conniving, sociopathic tendencies every step of the way, to the point that “bad boy” seems far too kind a word to describe the young Snow.

Nonetheless, many fans seem more focused on Snow’s portrayal by newly crowned heartthrob Tom Blyth than the reality of his vile actions, falling into the very trap of his character. The whole point of Snow’s characterization is that he is a snake disguised as a songbird—charismatic, intelligent, handsome, it is so easy for the characters in the film and the audience to become taken in by him. Clearly, many audience members have allowed his exterior charm to sway them, as was the case with Lucy Gray, Sejanus, and all the others who wrongfully put their trust in Snow. 

The book makes it very clear that Snow’s narcissistic tendencies, to some extent, are ingrained character traits rather than a product of his environment or upbringing. While offering some insight into his past, such as his father and experiences growing up during the war, these background revelations are not very fleshed out in the book or film, and, in my opinion, this was an intentional choice. Instead of offering a look into how Snow becomes the villain he did, Collins seems to suggest that he more or less always has been self-serving and willing to do what it takes to ensure “Snow comes out on top” from the get go. Personally, I think this was a smart choice to (in theory) prevent readers from empathizing with such a despicable character or trying to justify his deplorable actions. 

However, many audience members have since taken to social media to do exactly that: to try to rationalize his behavior with a worrying “I can fix him” mentality, excusing the person he becomes because of his “trauma from the war,” or even trying to suggest that Lucy Gray was the manipulative one all along. 

And this kind of rationalization is nothing new in the world of cinema. Take Draco Malfoy and his TikTok Renaissance for example: a bully for the entirety of the series, liberal user of a slur which in the Wizarding World is equivalent to the ‘n’ word, and then member of a genocidal group equivalent to the n*zis, Draco is so often excused for his actions because “he didn’t have a choice” or “it was how he was raised.” It seems so easy to remove accountability and chalk these decisions up to external factors when the bad boy is, conveniently, played by a conventionally attractive actor. Would we so easily excuse them if they were “ugly?”

Edward Cullen is another prime example of a character who infamously benefits from his pretty face. Take his good looks away, and all that’s left is a guy who stalks a girl, sneaks into her room to watch her sleep, has literally murdered people, and constantly has to resist the urge to kill his girlfriend. Call me crazy, but that would not be on my ideal boyfriend dreamboard. Without Robert Pattinson in the role, the character doesn’t paint a very pretty picture, leading me to wonder, if he wasn’t conventionally attractive, would the audience—or even Bella—think he was such a dreamboat?

While it is true that people are products of how they are raised and where they live, this only extends so far when absolving individuals of their actions, especially when some of those actions are much more extreme than others (being the snitch of the century and literally getting your friend executed, for example). It’s worrying how quickly a fanbase can flip on a once-detested character as soon as a new, young, and handsome iteration of his character is released. 

At the end of the day, the Snow thirst edits are a funny Tik Tok trend that will fizzle out and be forgotten in weeks once the next trend takes its place. However, the worrying thing is that fictional bad guys aren’t the only ones constantly let off the hook—we see this time and time again in the political world, where male politicians are easily forgiven for the same mistakes that a female politician is never able to live down. The example of Coriolanus Snow and other fictional “bad boys” is just a microcosm for a larger problem of male privilege, especially when the man in question has good looks and charisma to hide his awful personality behind. 

• Coriolanus Snow
• entertainment
• hunger games
• movie tropes
• movies