Jem and The Holograms || by Ricardo Montez

For too long, we've needed a little Texas in our collective scroll. For this month's special guest spot, we're honored to showcase the critical stylings of fellow Misfit Ricardo Montez. Keep reading if you've always felt that being truly outrageous wasn't what they had in mind. (ALOTR).

Days after I accepted a temporary post in academia, Netflix delivered quite the gem to my mailbox. In the wake of job market stress and commands to make difference legible according to institutional desires, I turned to Jem and the Holograms seeking relief in the form of dazzling animated pop. In the privacy of my bedroom I could revisit deeply satisfying musical numbers amidst complicated dramatic plots. I wanted to indulge in the nostalgic despite the fact that gushing over the greatness of Jem is really all too cliché amongst a certain hip set. Season 3, Disc 1 did deliver a satisfying escape to youth, but the pleasure of viewing was also marked by rather painful remembrances. I still love the show but in light of this most recent viewing, I must admit that I harbor some resentment and perhaps hatred (my yogic side resists) towards the title heroine.

Jem and the Holograms appeared on television between 1985 and 1988. I remember watching the series not in the usual Saturday morning slot but instead on early weekday mornings before school. Dwight D. Eisenhower Middle School in San Antonio, Texas provides the crucial backdrop against which Jem and The Holograms became a magical departure. My older, thinner, popular sister would also watch the show with me—validating my interest in a cartoon that may have been age-inappropriate at a time when I was learning the importance of being cool. Though I'm sure she called me a fag for liking it. Unlike Jem, I did not have a Synergy to make me over before I made a public appearance. No clever catchphrase and earring clutch was going to transform my chunky, effeminate, acne-ridden, brown body into an alter-ego capable of running a mile under 10 minutes or fitting into normal, non-Husky jeans. Maybe I resented Jem then too. She moved between skinny, professional, wealthy blonde (Jerrica Benton) and pink-haired rock star tart. She really did have it all.

Season 3 of Jem and the Holograms opens with a two-episode storyline titled “The Talent Search.” When Shana, the black Hologram, is given the opportunity to design clothing for a famous television actress, she leaves the band and Jem must find a new drummer. The band holds auditions through a talent search. The Misfits--those trashy, brazen bad girls whose songs really are better—are, of course, pissed off by this publicity stunt. News of the talent search spreads to a Mexican greenhouse owner with a Speedy Gonzalez accent. He excitedly relays the information to his daughter, Carmen a.k.a. Raya Alonso. With encouragement and crafty assistance from her father, Raya gets her audition. On her way out of Starlight Records, Raya realizes that her father left one of his prized black orchids behind and returns to the studio to collect it. Through a slightly ajar door, Raya unexpectedly witnesses Jem’s transformation back to Jerrica. She instantly recognizes this knowledge as an immense burden. The Misfits’s manager, Eric Raymond, senses Raya’s vulnerability and offers her a contract in exchange for Jem’s true identity. In the end, Raya keeps her secret. After bringing a piñata to Starlight mansion (Jem’s home for wayward girls) and proving her loyalty, Raya wins the competition and becomes a Hologram.


Jem and the Holograms reflects a Benetton age of hip multiculturalism. Their morally virtuous character is tied to a representation of inclusion. Shana and Aja, the Asian-American lead guitarist, are foster care sisters of Jerrica/Jem and her kid-sister Kimber, also a Hologram. In a show so dependent on ethnic visibility, Jem’s struggle to hide her true-identity is a curious plot device that drives every episode. Synergy, the hologram machine built by Jem’s father, transforms Jerrica to Jem, and through that transformation she promotes the financial success of Starlight Records. Synergy warns, “If the secrets your father built into me fall into the wrong hands, they could be used for evil purposes.” What are these secrets? What could happen with the abuse of makeover magic? A record producer’s daughter gets to be the only money-generating act of her father’s company. As his legacy, she is both the business owner and the star. Her foster siblings and newly acquired Mexican drummer must continually prove their loyalty to Jem by keeping her secret no matter what pressures may arise. Their moral character and continued access to showcase talent is a condition of silence—a silence that secures property rights and the control of wealth for the Benton daughters. During Raya’s audition, Kimber gleefully exclaims, “That’s just the beat I wanted for my new song!” And like that, Raya’s ethnic beat becomes hers.

In my youth, I may have been hailed by my Mexican sister’s struggle to succeed and taken comfort in Raya’s inclusion into the glamorous world of Jem. Today I watch the episode longing for a different kind of escape, another route for self-transformation. Perhaps she could take the money and join the Misfits. Not only would she be making better music, but she would reveal the arbitrariness of Jem’s moral world where increased revenue is dependent on the visible (and audible) ethnic’s silence.

Ricardo Montez is currently the Assistant Professor/Faculty Fellow in Latino Studies at NYU. Princeton, NJ will be the next stop on his tour.