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Character Descriptions 101 (Or, the ugly truth about what really matters)

A lot of the appeal of being able to write your own book is being able to take all the characters you dream about and put them onto paper for everyone else to drool over as much as you do. You might create a character so iconic, they can be recognized by their hazy silhouette alone.


Not everyone designs Sherlock Holmes, though.


Not everyone needs to be Sherlock Holmes.


How well you describe your characters, especially your protagonist/opening narrator, says a lot more than you’d probably like about your experience as an author. I’ve got eight years of practice with my own works, twelve if you include my early days of fanfic – and resisting the urge to describe characters in the tried and true clichés is still hard.


So here’s the ugly truth about describing your characters, and some other pointers curated from the Internet you may have seen before.


At the end of the day, what is really important?


Unless you are writing in the genres of fantasy or sci-fi, or you aren’t writing humans, your character will likely be a very average looking human. Doesn’t matter if you think your special bean’s black hair/blue eye/snow white skin combo is unique – is the shape of his face, curve of his lips, how wide his shoulders are really that important outside of, I don’t know, a steamy romance novel?


I ask this because character descriptions fall into three camps: Thematically important beats, thematically unimportant beats, and “oh damn I have too many blondes, uh, here’s a redhead” beats.


I ask this, because “this character doesn’t look like they did in the book” arguments will never stop happening and we all have our sides on what matters and what doesn’t.


These details can be height, hair color, eye color, skin color, hair style, clothing, tone of voice, accent, birthmarks, scars, and tattoos, and anything in between. Sometimes, this trait is this person’s defining trait. Sometimes, the author just felt like it – sometimes the curtains are just blue.


But sometimes, a lot of times, they’re not.


My two cents: If that piece of their design is thematically important, the adaptation should respect it and include it. If it’s not, who cares?


Thematic Character Design


Thematic character design is the intent behind the choices the author makes when deciding how they will present their character to the world. This is why the character looks the way they do.


Visually, you see this in anime all the time. Crazy hair colors and styles help distinguish the cast when their faces might otherwise be too similar, or when drawing them from a distance. Sometimes the protagonist will have the most unique, or the loudest hair style (think Yu-gi-oh). Or the Important Lady Character will have pink hair. Or the sad angsty anime boy will have white hair.


In the written medium, you can “show don’t tell” a few different ways cliché ways:


  • Give the villain a facial scar

  • Make your femme fatale a redhead

  • Make your hero blonde/blue-eyed

But hey, they’re tropes for a reason, everyone knows what you mean when you write them. You might give your character green eyes like their mother, a trait Very Important when a redeemed-ish villain dies. You might give your character a brunette French braid that goes on to become the style of the rebellion. You might make your Illegal Divine Children the only three black-haired major characters in a sea of brown and blonde because they are the Three Illegal Divine Children. You make all your grisled fantasy men have beards and your elves clean shaven.


The existence of these traits serve the plot and the themes of the story. It matters because these traits make them look like the villain, or the dead legacy they must live up to. These traits ostracize them from their community, or help define their culture. These traits are the hallmark of a chosen one, or a pariah. These traits are emblematic of a special power or handicap, religion, faction, rebel cause.


These are the details fans complain about when adaptations get it wrong, and it’s not without merit. But what happens when those details aren’t all that important, no matter how much you think otherwise?


Unthematic character design


Everyone lost their minds when Hunger Games was being adapted and to everyone’s unnecessary horror, Jennifer Lawrence is blonde. Everyone got mad because it’s the little details you have to get right, otherwise you’re disrespecting the source material, yada yada. Is it really so hard to wear a wig, if you can’t get this tiny thing right, what else will you mess up, etc.


Question: Was the color of her hair more important, or the style that it was in?

She dyed it anyway to stay faithful, but which detail mattered to the plot, versus just being what the author picked for her?


Dare I wade into the “this character was white in the book” cesspool? Reluctantly, yes. And all I will say is this: Does their skin color serve any legitimate purpose to the plot or how they define themselves? No? Then shush and let the actors do their thing.


… But what if race does matter?


Is this a slice of life novel about some plucky high schoolers in your average American town? If the story isn’t any deeper than prom dates and football games, the skin color of your character is not important. Is this a treatise on segregation and the struggles of womanhood in repressed societies? Then yeah, the skin color of your character might affect their outlook on life a little bit.


In other words: Does your character care what they look like, and does their appearance affect the trajectory of the story?


Yes, it’s disappointing when you see your favorite character on screen and have to be told that’s them because it just doesn’t look like them. But what’s important is if they fit the spirit of the character, even if they don’t quite match their looks (a lesson I, too, need constant reminding of).


Character Descriptions in Fantasy and Sci-Fi


If making sure the adaptation stays faithful to the character design matters anywhere, it’s in these two genres. Why? Because you have free reign as an author to describe your mythic creatures, your aliens, your supernatural entities however you choose, and you worked hard trying to make them distinct from every other fantasy series out there.


But hold your horses on how specific you get.


Generally speaking, the traits that most authors describe first are hair, eye, and skin color, because it’s the easiest to get out of the way and everyone knows what humans look like to fill in the blanks. When you enter the realm of non-human characters, you have a lot more legwork to do to make sure your audience imagines what you want them to.


Maybe they have slit pupils like a housecat or a snake, or they have really floppy elephant ears, or they have antennae that twitch when they’re angry, or they have wings like a bat, a bird, a dragonfly. Or they have distinctive tattoos from their tribe. They have scales or feathers or fur and you want everyone to know how fluffy it is. You want your audience to know how tall they are, how heavy, how lanky, how robust. The shape of their face, their hands, if they have fingers like a pianist or a catcher’s glove.


Or, it matters because you’ve written an allegory on race, class, colonialism/imperialism, a World War, Apartheid, what have you, and your made-up nationalities need their own traits to be bigots about.


Answer: Hire a sensitivity reader before you design an insulting stereotype.


Otherwise, feel free to add as much fluff as you’d like. You go out there and you give exact measurements, constant similes about the textures of their skin, write an essay on cultural wardrobe, take two paragraphs to describe that ballgown and masquerade mask… and accept the fact that your readers will happily go SKIP!


Because description and exposition are also entwined with tone and the purpose of the story. I am writing an 18th century royal ball scene in a steamy romance novel and my hero is about to get her man – my audience might care about things like a sweetheart neckline, perfume, what kind of flowers are in the lacework, how it hugs her body, how the pink looks so damn sexy in the candlelight, how the skirts sweep so elegantly, every piece of jewelry she's wearing and how expensive it is and exactly how she did her hair.


Or, I am writing a fantasy adventure that happens to feature a pitstop at a royal ball—Your audience does not give one flying f*ck about what flowers are on that dress. Describe the color and something cool and eye-catching and move on.


The Ugly Truth: Does. It. Matter?


You can wax poetic about the minutiae of your absolutely unique and like no other fairies no one else has ever written before. Maybe you designed them less like Tinker Bell and more like anthropomorphised flowers—that matters!


You want your hot love interest to have a cupid’s bow and to remind the audience of that detail at least four times throughout the narrative? Not important unless the narrator is weirdly obsessive over it (or, again, romance/erotica).


The same thing goes for fantastical settings.


At what point are you describing the color of the grass, the kind of marble in the walls and floors, the exact shade of blue paint they used, the gables and the roofing tiles and the scalloping on the columns to unnecessary ends?


This also affects pacing.


If your entire story is set in a beautiful castle and the heroes never leave? Describe as much as your little heart desires. Is it just a pit stop on the way? Call it a castle, maybe it’s in ruins, give one uniquely defining trait that’s thematically relevant, and move on.


Side characters too: If you don’t even bother naming the poor schmuck, give their gender and maybe one fun fact and move on.


You’d be surprised how little character descriptions, or lack thereof, are even noticed. The amount of fanart head-cannoning a character being Not-White because the author technically never clarified is everywhere. I just reread the first two PJO books and Chiron’s human half is never described beyond his age and his beard. Everyone who read it filled in the missing details with what they wanted or expected to see and that doesn’t impact his character one bit.


Pacing your descriptions


Everyone knows the trope of the narrator waking up, gazing into a mirror and describing themselves to the audience. It’s cheap, it’s fast, it’s dirty, it’s effective.


So why do people hate it?


I think it’s less because it’s overdone, and more because it’s robbed of potential. When I wrote about pacing, I said every scene should be pulling double duty—character descriptions fall under exposition, and should do the same.


If you really want to have your hero describe herself to you via mirror, don’t just write a textbook, give it flavor. Is she self-conscious about her looks, saying she has choppy blonde hair but wishes it was some long, luxurious brown like some girl she’s jealous of? Does she have a big nose and wish it was smaller because she’s bullied? Or, does she love her green eyes, because her late father had them and she loves the connection they share?


Good pacing isn’t about how many or how few words you take to describe something, it’s how efficiently you use those words. Short doesn’t always mean it’s bland, long doesn’t always mean it’s profound. Don’t take 300 words to say something that could be said in 30—but some things do deserve 300 words.


Examples:

A: She woke and rolled out of bed and stared at herself in the mirror. She had hazel eyes and blonde, curly hair that she pulled up into a ponytail.

B: She woke on the third alarm and rolled out of bed. Staring back at her in her vanity were tired hazel eyes beneath a mop of dishwater blonde curls and crease marks from her pillow.

C: She woke on the third alarm and dragged herself out of bed. Her vanity mirror glared back at her – a rats nest of dishwater blonde and crease marks from her pillow. She scowled and rubbed the sleep from her hazel eyes and raked her curls up into a messy ponytail to be dealt with after coffee.

Or, go even longer, really weave those details into the action of the scene, I didn’t here because this is a blog, not a book.


No matter what, best practice is to not infodump the description, spread it out—another criticism of the mirror trope. There is no one size fits all for any writing advice but if you’re spending more than four consecutive sentences describing a single character, object, or building, break that hot pile of exposition up and look how much better it reads.


Similes for describing your character, like any comparison, should serve a purpose. Think about describing an intimidating queen with snow white skin versus bone white skin—what vibes do you get from one simple word change?


You have a long time to describe your narrator, it’s okay if we don’t know what they look like on the first page. Give the details as they become relevant. If you open en media res and the hero is in a nasty fight scene—describe their hair as it flops in their eyes, describe their skin as it’s covered in sweat or scratches or bullet holes, describe their eyes as they patch themselves up and one is now black and blue—or describe their color full of fear, hate, malice, grief.


Describe them against another character so you get two birds with one stone. Whether the narrator is jealous of, attracted to, or appreciative of their fellow character’s appearance. Describe them self-conscious about trying to impress a crush, their spouse, a superior, interviewer, parent, the public, the press. Or describe them unhappy about how they’re being forced to look compared to how they usually are, e.g. a school uniform, prisoner’s uniform, fancy dress/suit, skimpy undercover costume, bargain bin, ugly hand-me-downs, holiday costume, sleepwear, full face of makeup, or no makeup.


All of these are motivated details that will read better than halting the narration to drop textbook lines of exposition.


Lastly, do not let your characters get side-tracked describing themselves when they have more important and prescient concerns. In the above hypothetical fight scene, a “she swept her blonde hair from her eyes and got back to her feet,” is going to read smoother than “she swept her blonde hair aside. It was short and choppy, cheap highlights fading and flyaways tickling her face. She got back to her feet.”


And even then, personally, I think this reads better still: “She swept her hair from her face and got back to her feet, sweaty blonde tangles stuck to her skin.”


Have intent, make it motivated, and the less it feels like awkward exposition.


Pitfalls to avoid


Full disclosure, I am white, from a long line of the whitest white Europeans. I do not write a pasty white cast of characters. Boy, was it an eye-opening experience realizing how harmful my earlier descriptions used to be, just from the books I grew up reading and through no ill-intent of my own.


So another detail in the realm of “does it really matter”: Not all brown skin is the same shade of brown, but resist the urge to compare it to any flavor of food or chocolate. I just reread a favorite kids’ book of mine and saw “chocolate milk” and as a kid, I never noticed or cared, but you bet I zeroed in on that little beat as an adult.


Is this hard? Kind of, yeah. I suppose you could go scorched earth with the food comparisons and describe all your characters in their flavor of milk. Pale skin has a lot of options: Snow, frost, paper, bone, fair, pale, lily, sandy, fawn, etc. and of course, milk, cream and sugar to boot.


The “brown skin like milk chocolate” is tempting, but dehumanizing particularly when only brown characters are described with food. Decide if the exact shade of brown is important, then get respectfully creative with the comparisons. The same goes with hair styles and textures.


Related to skin color: Be careful with what idioms and metaphors you use when describing characters who aren’t supposed to be white, doing things only possible or noticeable with light skin.


A certain famous author really tried to tell the world Hermione wasn’t technically white and the HP fans went and pulled page numbers proving that she has to be based on the behavior of her skin.


I’ve caught myself (and had to be told) a few times describing a not-white character “white-knuckling” something as shorthand for being stressed and tense. Faces blanching, paling, reddening, blushing, turning green, looking sun-burnt and bruised and scarred all look different depending on how dark their pigment is.


I am not at all an expert on what you should do for non-white characters so I will say this once again: Do your research and get a small army of sensitivity readers. Even if you don’t think you’re being racist, you might be. Accept the constructive criticism, and change it without complaint. Do not lie down and die on a milk-chocolate hill.


The Beautiful Truth


In the written medium, unless you canonize character art and take no constructive criticism, all your audience has to go on is suggestion. That means that your audience has the freedom to imagine their favorite characters however they want.


That means you get a million variations of the hero in their fan art—that’s amazing! If you never described the protagonist’s skin color? You get an audience that makes him or her or them the hero that they want to see and how you’ve inspired them—that’s amazing!


That’s what I mean when I ask if it really matters. You will always know how your literary darlings look. Is it more important that everyone else draws a million different paintings in their mind of the exact same face like a photocopier, or that you now have an audience giving you a million unique paintings of your life’s work immortalized in the grand literary canon?

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