Star Trek Didn’t Need You to Be Palatable – Just Brilliantly You

Raised by Starfleet (and Slightly Terrifying Women)

I was four years old the first time I saw a Starfleet uniform. Not the classic Kirk-and-Spock stuff – that was my mum’s era. No, I grew up with The Next Generation, Deep Space Nine, and later, Voyager. And now? Lower Decks and Strange New Worlds have completely stolen my heart. I wasn’t drawn in because of the warp drives or the replicators (though, let’s be real, if I had a replicator, it’d be Laksa. Laksa everywhere!). It was the women of Star Trek. Strong, strange, wildly brilliant women who didn’t shrink themselves to fit someone else’s idea of femininity.

These weren’t just side characters or love interests with great hair (though they absolutely had great hair). They were doctors, engineers, ambassadors, starship captains. They ran whole sectors of space while still managing to look like they had time for a decent skincare routine. Watching Deanna Troi strut into the bridge in her purple jumpsuit and heels, offering both psychological insight and impeccable style? That changed something in me.

And honestly, it needed to. I was growing up in a world where TV women either baked pies or cried prettily. Star Trek said, “Nah, babes, you can drink raktajino, be emotionally intelligent, wear velvet, and still save the damn quadrant.” It gave me role models who were deeply human but also just a little bit extra. And I’ve been chasing that vibe ever since.

Smart, Strange, and Unapologetically Ourselves

Star Trek didn’t teach me how to be a woman. It taught me how to take up space without apologising for it. That you could be ambitious and soft. That intellect didn’t cancel out charisma. That you could have strong opinions, cry when needed, and still hold command. The women of Starfleet were never palatable. They weren’t trying to be. They were there to get things done, and they did it with charm, grace, and the occasional sarcastic one-liner.

Jadzia Dax wore earrings, flirted with Klingons, all whilst dealing with multiple personalities plucking at her psyche. B’Elanna Torres punched people and fixed engines while dealing with intergenerational trauma, and flirting with a retrosexual softboy with daddy issues. Kira Nerys was terrifying in the best way, and yet, in the mirror universe, she radiated this indelible sensuality that made you question your entire sexuality. Beverly Crusher once beamed a candlelit dinner into existence and still made time to outsmart a virus. These women had lives. Hobbies. Past traumas. Bad days. Good shoes. And none of it was watered down to make them easier to swallow.

And a special shout out to the one and only Lwaxana Troi, Daughter of the Fifth House, Holder of the Sacred Chalice of Rixx, Heir to the Holy Rings of Betazed. She who swanned through every corridor like it was a catwalk, glittered in her jewels, changed wigs like moods, and brought the absolute most to every moment. Behind the flamboyance, though, was a tenderness that cut through walls. A woman who loved deeply, grieved openly, flirted shamelessly, and mothered fiercely. And let’s not forget: she did all of that whilst being a perimenopausal woman in her damn prime. Iconic.

I didn’t know it at the time, but Star Trek was quietly handing me a blueprint. Not for perfection, but for wholeness. It said you don’t have to choose between being brilliant and being emotional, between being pretty and being respected. You can be all of it, and more. And most importantly, you never had to dim your light just to make other people more comfortable.

You Can Be the Damn Whole Galaxy

One of the most powerful things about the women in Star Trek is that they weren’t afraid to want it all. And the universe never punished them for it. They fell in love, had children, made mistakes, got promoted. Some wore miniskirts and teased their hair and some wore trousers and punched Cardassians. In fact, some did both in the same episode. It was never about fitting in. It was about showing up fully.

Even in the newer shows, that tradition continues. Tendi in Lower Decks is sunshine and science. Una in Strange New Worlds is disciplined, powerful, and still has time for Rodgers and Hammerstein. These characters aren’t perfect, but they’re real. They show us that excellence doesn’t mean erasing your quirks. It means embracing them.*

Growing up, I didn’t know how radical that was. That a girl could be weird, loud, clever, soft, and still worthy of being a main character. But Star Trek knew. And it quietly raised a generation of us to believe that we could be all those things and more. That we could walk onto a metaphorical bridge and say, “I’m here, and I’m brilliant,” without needing anyone’s permission.

*And no, this does not include Michael Burnham. No woman cries that damn much while saving the universe. That was a woman written by a man who just doesn’t get it, and never will. We’re not here for performative vulnerability. We’re here for competence, chaos, and the occasional glamorous meltdown, not a meltdown every time they reach Warp 5.

A Career in Starfleet (or EA, Close Enough)

These days, I work as an executive assistant, though the job title doesn’t even begin to cover it. I keep offices running like a well-oiled warp core, offer emotional support that borders on therapeutic, and gently nudge CEOs into doing their actual jobs while ensuring they feel like the captains they think they are. I have qualifications in mindfulness, emotional intelligence, and mindset mentoring – which basically makes me the Troi of the workplace.

Somehow, somewhere along the way, I became Deanna. And I’m okay with that. I wear big hair and pretty dresses, I manage people, emotions, calendars, and crises, I make things feel seamless when they’re anything but. And I offer tea and tough truths in equal measure. Now that I’m in my forties? My inner Lwaxana is definitely starting to show. There’s a little more sparkle, a little more flair, and a lot less patience for nonsense.

Maybe I didn’t end up on a starship. But I still show up every day, guiding the crew, keeping the peace, and holding space for the chaos and brilliance that makes us human. Starfleet would be proud. Or at the very least, slightly intimidated.

Lwaxana Troi: The Perimenopausal Icon We Deserve

Now, finally, let’s talk about the queen of perimenopause: Lwaxana Troi. She was bold, emotional, sensual, outspoken, loving, and absolutely unbothered by anyone else’s opinion. She had hot flashes and hotter outfits. Lwaxana cried when she needed to, flirted when she felt like it, and demanded better from everyone around her, and she brought chaos in a cloud of perfume and pearls, and we adored her for it.

She wasn’t just a side character for comic relief. She was a fully realised woman in her prime. Someone who refused to shrink, even as the world tried to make her quiet down. She was a reminder that life doesn’t stop after forty – if anything, it gets a bit more fabulous. And dramatic. And occasionally telepathic.

See, Star Trek wasn’t just about young women in their prime – it saw women in all of our glory, at every stage, every age, and it celebrated all of it. That was its quiet brilliance. And just perhaps, that telepathy was a reminder to all of us that by this age, we know how to read people. We see the facades, the posturing, the nonsense wrapped in fake pleasantries, and we’re not afraid to call a spade a spade.

Now that I’m in my forties, I feel her spirit bubbling up more often. The audacity. The glamour. The refusal to put up with nonsense. It’s not a crisis. It’s an era. And I’m just getting started.

Captain Janeway Didn’t Need a Plus One

And then there’s Kathryn Janeway. The woman who single-handedly proved that you don’t need to settle down and pop out babies to be fulfilled. You could be the captain. The boss. The final word. She didn’t apologise for her ambition, didn’t shrink herself to be more palatable, and didn’t hand over command because someone thought she smiled too little. Janeway held the line, made the impossible calls, and still had time for a bit of holodeck flirtation.

She showed us that you could lead with intelligence and intuition, that command didn’t require coldness, and that soft moments didn’t equal weakness. And yes, she absolutely flirted with the occasional cute alien who tickled her fancy. Because being powerful doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun.

Janeway was proof that being alone doesn’t mean being lonely. That you can be fulfilled, radiant, and self-contained at the top of your game. And if you happen to sip black coffee while fixing quantum problems before breakfast? That’s just part of the vibe.

Captain Freeman is Doing Her Best, Okay?

Let’s give a standing ovation to Carol Freeman. Unhinged? Absolutely. Chaotic? Deeply. But she’s also a captain, a mother to a delightfully unpredictable daughter with probable BPD, a wife to an admiral, and somehow still holding down her own Starfleet command. This woman has it all – and is keeping it all together, albeit with the occasional yelling match, mid-crisis breakdown, and strategic delegation.

She’s not the stoic, polished stereotype of a captain. She’s real. Relatable. She’s a woman trying to navigate the vast unknown of space and the even more mysterious terrain of work-life balance. And yet, despite the meltdowns, the parenting drama, and the constant chaos, she keeps getting promoted. Not because she pretends to have it all figured out, but because she understands the importance of teamwork, of feedback, of cultivating culture over control.

Freeman isn’t killing it despite her humanity – she’s killing it because of it. She’s proof that being a hot mess sometimes doesn’t mean you’re failing. It means you’re doing it with heart. With grit. With vulnerability and volume. And honestly, I’ve never related to a captain more.

Starfleet never asked us to be soft, small, or sweet – just bold enough to be ourselves, and brilliant enough to command the damn bridge in heels whilst boldly going where no man has gone before.

For the Girls Who Grew Up on Warp Drive

If you were one of those girlies who quoted Picard before you could spell “feminist,” or who practised your Vulcan salute at the dinner table, I see you. If you wore plastic communicator badges and believed that your best friend and you would one day be the next Dax’s and Janeway’s, you were right. You are. We are.

We were raised by replicators and stardust. By women who did not apologise for their power. And we learned that taking up space isn’t a crime, it’s a calling. Whether we’re working corporate jobs, creating art, raising families, building community, or all of the above, we’re still out here exploring strange new worlds, seeking new life, and not waiting to be given permission to be brilliant.

So no, Starfleet never needed you to be palatable. Just honest. Just passionate. Simply, unapologetically, gloriously, you.

And if you happen to save a galaxy or two while drinking a very strong coffee and wearing your favourite boots? Even better.