Beyond the Surface: Why Traditionalist Backlash Against Inclusive Casting Misses the Point

In recent years, a wave of backlash has surfaced whenever a beloved fictional character is reimagined with a different racial identity. Whether it was Halle Bailey's casting as Ariel in The Little Mermaid (2023) or Rachel Zegler stepping into the role of Snow White, critics decry these decisions as a betrayal of the characters’ "established" appearances. They frame their objections as a defense of tradition, yet underneath this thin veneer lies a more uncomfortable truth: these complaints are rooted in outdated notions of race and gatekeeping of cultural narratives. By examining the flexible history of iconic character designs, it becomes clear that what many perceive as "sacred tradition" is often just the product of past creative choices — choices that were accepted, adapted, and even celebrated. In reality, storytelling has always evolved, and inclusive casting continues that tradition rather than betraying it.

Icons Are Built, Not Born

Take, for instance, the case of Disney’s Ariel. When The Little Mermaid was first published by Hans Christian Andersen in 1837, there was no mention of the mermaid’s hair color. Disney’s 1989 animated film made Ariel’s bright red hair iconic, but this was an invented detail, chosen to make Ariel stand out against the ocean's blue-green backdrop and to distinguish her from another popular red-haired mermaid character (Splash, starring Daryl Hannah). Today, many fans treat Ariel’s red hair as a non-negotiable element of her identity — forgetting that it was an artistic decision made just decades ago, not an immutable piece of folklore.

Similarly, Cinderella’s legendary blue ballgown wasn't originally blue at all. In Disney’s 1950 film, the dress was animated in silver and white hues; it only appeared distinctly blue later due to merchandising decisions. Generations of children grew up with blue-dressed Cinderella dolls and storybooks, cementing the idea of the "blue gown" in popular memory. Yet this so-called "essential" detail is a historical accident — a byproduct of mass marketing, not narrative necessity.

Characters, even those we consider "timeless," are often shaped by pragmatic, aesthetic, or commercial choices. What is seen as "traditional" is frequently a more recent invention than people realize. Therefore, when new interpretations arise, it is not a betrayal of a character’s "true" self; it is part of the natural evolution of storytelling.

The Myth of the “Faithful Adaptation”

Proponents of rigid traditionalism often argue that race-bending a character is a violation of the source material. However, if we were to apply such purist logic consistently, it would reveal the absurdity of the argument. Sherlock Holmes, one of literature's most famous detectives, is almost universally imagined with a deerstalker cap and curved pipe. Yet Arthur Conan Doyle’s original stories scarcely mention such details. The iconic visuals came from illustrators and stage productions, not from Doyle himself. Still, audiences accepted these adaptations — because they captured the spirit of Holmes, even if they invented the surface details.

The same holds true for Frankenstein’s monster. Mary Shelley's novel describes the creature as hideous but not with green skin, bolts in his neck, or a flat-topped head. Those elements arose from Boris Karloff’s portrayal in Universal’s 1931 film. It was an adaptation, not a faithful transcription of Shelley’s work, but it resonated powerfully with audiences. Changes were not only accepted but celebrated because they added to the cultural richness surrounding the character.

If adaptations have always taken liberties with physical traits — and been embraced for doing so — then the recent outrage about race reveals itself for what it is: not about fidelity to the source material, but discomfort with expanding racial representation in mainstream narratives.

Storytelling as a Living Tradition

Throughout history, storytelling has been a living, breathing tradition — one that changes as societies evolve. Greek myths, for instance, were constantly reinterpreted across regions and centuries, with gods and heroes taking on different appearances, personalities, and priorities depending on who was telling the story. Shakespeare’s plays have been adapted into countless forms, with diverse casts reimagining characters in ways the Bard himself likely never envisioned. No one insists that Othello must be portrayed by a white man to be "true" to the Elizabethan stage.

In modern times, Hamilton exploded onto Broadway by casting actors of color as America’s historically white Founding Fathers. Rather than diminishing the story, this casting choice breathed new life into old history, highlighting themes of immigration, identity, and revolution. Hamilton's critical and commercial success proves that audiences can connect more deeply with stories when they reflect the diversity of the society we actually live in.

Thus, inclusive casting is not an attack on tradition — it is tradition in action. It recognizes that stories grow richer when they are retold through different voices and perspectives.

Racism Disguised as Nostalgia

The most pernicious aspect of the backlash against inclusive casting is that it often masks itself as innocent nostalgia: a yearning for things to stay "as they were." Yet this longing is highly selective. Those who object to a Black actress playing Ariel often had no problem when Ariel's hair was changed to bright red in 1989 — because that shift aligned with their comfort zones. They embraced marketing-driven changes to Cinderella’s dress or Frankenstein’s appearance but resist changes that confront their assumptions about race.

This selective outrage reveals the true motive: a discomfort with seeing nonwhite actors in roles that have historically been reserved for white characters. In other words, the issue is not fidelity to fictional characters but an unwillingness to allow characters of color the same mythic, iconic status that white characters have enjoyed for generations.

When people argue that Snow White must be white because of her name and story, they ignore that "white as snow" was a metaphor for purity and innocence, not a racial classification. Modern retellings have the creative freedom — and indeed, the obligation — to reinterpret symbols in ways that are meaningful for contemporary audiences. The power of Snow White lies in her goodness and resilience, not the literal shade of her skin.

Moving Forward: A Richer Cultural Landscape

By embracing inclusive casting, we honour the deeper spirit of our favourite stories. We affirm that heroism, love, adventure, and magic are not confined to one race or appearance. They are universal — and seeing them portrayed by diverse actors enriches the cultural imagination, opening doors for more children to see themselves reflected in the heroes they admire.

The icons of our past were never set in stone; they were crafted, revised, and mythologized by generations before us. Today’s adaptations are simply the next chapter in that process. They invite us to expand our understanding of who can be the center of a fairy tale, the star of an epic, or the voice of a timeless legend.

In doing so, we are not erasing the past — we are building a future where the magic of storytelling belongs to everyone.