While researching this book, I discovered just how much world history has culminated to give us what we now recognize as the icon of the Wicked Witch. Her evolution was absolutely fascinating to trace. We tend to think of witches in fiction as timeless villainesses who have “always” existed in a fixed way, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. The figure of the witch reaches back to ancient civilizations—where she could be feared, revered, or misunderstood—and over the centuries she has been shaped by religion, politics, gender norms, and folklore. What struck me most was how, in the last hundred years especially, the witch has transformed from a symbol of evil into one of independence and feminine strength.
That journey mirrors so much of women’s history itself: the push from suppression to empowerment, from being silenced to reclaiming voice and agency. Even on the set of The Wizard of Oz, you can see this cultural tension at play in the contrast between Margaret Hamilton’s “wicked” witch and Billie Burke’s “good” one—both the characters and the actresses were shaped by typecasting, the misogynistic “old studio system,” unrealistic beauty standards of the Golden Era of Hollywood, and class perceptions of their time. This was heartbreaking, yet important for me to better understand, because we—so many decades removed from their era—tend to see everyone in films like The Wizard of Oz as glamorous stars, but in real time, there were studio system biases that caused great woundedness for many like Hamilton who dared to be different. The harmful stereotyping in bygone eras not only shaped the icon of the Wicked Witch, but actresses like Hamilton who portrayed her.
Digging into these layers made me realize that the Wicked Witch isn’t just a fictional figure, she’s a cultural mirror. Every generation redefines her based on what it fears—or celebrates—about powerful women. That discovery gave the project a deeper meaning and made me fall even more in love with her story.
Wicked Witch of the West: The Enduring Legacy of a Feminist Icon
by Lona Bailey
October 2, 2025
Genre: Popular Culture in Social Sciences, Movie History, Literary Criticism & Theory
An empowering look at one of pop culture's most enduring feminist icons, The Wicked Witch of the West.
More than 125 years after her introduction, the Wicked Witch of the West remains an icon of popular culture. Known by many names-from “The Wicked Witch of the West” to Evillene, Elphaba, and Theodora-she consistently defies expectations and wields her power unapologetically. At the heart of her everlasting appeal is her embodiment of feminist ideals that resonate today.
In Wicked Witch of the West: The Enduring Legacy of a Feminist Icon, Lona Bailey explores the radical feministic undertones of one of the most enduring characters in popular culture. Introduced in 1900 through L. Frank Baum's The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, the Wicked Witch has captivated generations as both a symbol of fear and empowerment. More than just a villain, she embodies rebellion and resistance, refusing to conform to the roles historically assigned to women. This book traces her transformation over the past century, highlighting how she has evolved through countless adaptations from The Wizard of Oz to the film adaptation of Wicked while maintaining her core identity as a powerful, defiant figure.
To understand why the Witch remains captivating more than a century after her creation, Bailey delves into the radical feminism underlying her character and examines how she has been reinterpreted since her debut. From the suffrage movement to the fight for reproductive rights, and from the #MeToo movement to ongoing battles against gender stereotypes, the Witch symbolizes the struggles and triumphs women face. Her presence transcends mere performance; she serves as a reminder that the fight for justice, equality, and autonomy continues. By exploring the Witch's feminist evolution, readers will gain insight into why her character resonates with generations of women.
Excerpt:
It’s
quite impossible to explore the icon of the Wicked Witch without
acknowledging Margaret Hamilton’s unforgettable portrayal of the
character, as she is widely credited with introducing her to the world
in a way that has captivated audiences ever since. Was it the green
skin, broom, cackling laughter, exaggerated hook to her nose, or
sharp-tongued quips that embedded her into cultural consciousness?
Perhaps all of those things and more initially made the world fall fast
and hard for the fiendish character, but only in the context of Margaret
Hamilton’s simply splendid portrayal.
“I was walking down Fifth
Avenue in New York not long ago when a nice-looking young man called to
me. ‘Miss Hamilton,’ he said, ‘you don’t know me, but I know you. You
scared the pants off me when I was a little boy,’” Margaret Hamilton
recalled.1 The barely five-foot-tall Margaret “Maggie” Hamilton has
managed to terrify millions for more than eighty-five years in her
characterization of L. Frank Baum’s Wicked Witch of the West. What began
as a fairly one-dimensional antagonist with few descriptives beyond her
general reputation for wickedness, was suddenly and frighteningly
brought to life thirty-nine years after she was penned in Baum’s book
and the legend of The Wizard of Oz truly began. In following suit with
what “that little animation company” Walt Disney did in the successful
film adaptation of the children’s fantasy story Snow White and the Seven
Dwarfs, MGM bought the rights to adapt Baum’s novel The Wonderful
Wizard of Oz to brilliant Technicolor in 1938. The demigod of MGM, Louis
B. Mayer, purchased the book’s rights in the fall of 1937 upon the
suggestion of Mervyn LeRoy. Mayer saw grand potential in a musical
version of the children’s novel and with LeRoy and Arthur Freed on
board, revisions toward final production were initially promising. The
script went through a merry-go-round of revisions from its initial draft
to its on-screen presentation with cuts, edits, rewrites, and additions
from legions of hired, fired, and rehired writers.
The only
mainstays were the leading cast—well, sort of. Judy Garland was cast as
Dorothy, Frank Morgan as the Wizard (and several other supporting
roles), Ray Bolger as the Scarecrow/Hunk, Bert Lahr as the Lion/Zeke,
Jack Haley as the Tin Man/Hickory, Billie Burke as Glinda, and Hamilton
as the Wicked Witch of the West/Miss Gulch.
Originally, actress
Gale Sondergaard was cast as the Wicked Witch, but being a bit too
glamorous for such a haggy and undesirable part, Sondergaard withdrew
from the production and Hamilton was offered the role just three days
before filming began. Hamilton had appeared in several films for MGM by
1938, and with her distinct features and knack for spinster supports,
Director Victor Fleming thought she was a natural choice for the queen
of mean.
Whether or not Hamilton knew of Matilda Joslyn Gage as
“the woman behind the curtain” of Baum’s novel, in her portrayal, she
creatively matched the feministic intentions of the original story’s
creator. While the Technicolor Wizard of Oz fostered the stereotypical
image of what “witches” were believed to look like in the 1930s.
Witches
were generally considered sallow, sexless figures whose rebellious
and/or peculiar behavior had caused them to be ostracized by the general
public. One early exception to this is Edmund Spenser’s The Faerie
Queene (1590) with the character of Acrasia, the enchantress who uses
her beauty to seduce and corrupt knights. Unlike the longstanding,
older, and malevolent image of witches, Acrasia is described as
physically alluring and beguiling, using her appearance and charm as
weapons to achieve her goals. Though still a nonconformist in Spenser’s
story, Acrasia’s beauty masks her dangerous nature, a theme that has
been echoed in later depictions of witches in literature and folklore,
though most classic literature purports “witch” to be synonymous with
“ugly.”
Nonconformist characteristics (described in horrid
terms) usually included degrees of unsightly yellow or red complexions,
unkempt, stringy hair, exaggerated facial features, and of course,
warts. For example, William Shakespeare’s witches, the “Weird Sisters”
in Macbeth, are described as dirty, haggish rebels who live separately
from society and possess not only mystical powers but also distinctively
masculine features such as beards. Any beauty that was ascribed to a
witch before the postmodern reinvention of her image was usually only a
magical cover for her “true” haggish nature, which she ruthlessly used
to further her evil agenda. For better or for worse, MGM began the
reinvention process of the witch, and Margaret Hamilton’s face was the
canvas on which they painted—literally. With a hooked nose, green skin,
pointy chin, crystal ball to spy on her enemies, and dressed all in
black with a flying broom, Hamilton herself subtly fostered a more
progressive approach to villainy in that inch of redemption she gifted
the character through her own touch of feministic essence despite her
convincing malevolence on screen.
Contrary to most villainesses
in early literature, film, and television, the Wicked Witch was not a
masculine character. Perhaps we wouldn’t call her “pretty” in the green
paint and prosthetics, but still Hamilton brought a subtle, yet
undeniable femininity to the role that changed the “look” of a “witch”
in the general sense. The paradox of Hamilton’s portrayal in such a
traditional era was that she brought both femininity and feminism to the
characterization. Billie Burke, on the other hand, certainly brought
femininity to “Good Witch Glinda,” and her delicate, docile
characterization stuck closely by Baum’s original non-feministic “Good
Witch.” Burke seemed to naturally exude a dainty energy and sense of
glamour as Glinda, which is also what the role required, but as far as
MGM was concerned, Margaret Hamilton’s subtle artistic strokes of
feminism weren’t of importance just so long as she, as the “bad one” was
scary and not too “pretty.”
About the author
website
Dr. Lona Bailey is an award-winning, Amazon-bestselling author and a leading researcher on the Golden Age of Hollywood. Her books include Uncredited: The Life and Career of Actress Virginia Gregg, Voice of Villainy: The Betty Lou Gerson Story, Mrs. Radio: The Cathy Lewis Story, and Some Small Nobility: The Biography of Joan Banks Lovejoy. As a PhD and former therapist, Dr. Bailey is passionate about telling the untold stories of women who perhaps weren’t finished using their own voices during their earthly journeys. Her biographical works offer a balanced perspective on the multidimensional elements involved in feministic legacy maintenance, with particular interest in the preservation efforts surrounding the Golden Age of Hollywood.
Dr. Bailey's Voice of Villainy biography was a finalist in the 2023 International Book Awards and won the Gold Medal in Dan Poynter's Global Ebook Awards that same year. She has been featured on The Wolfe Den Show, in Film Daily, and The Los Angeles Tribune.
Dr. Bailey’s most recent books include Lead Thou Me On: Titanic's Countess of Rothes (Ambassador International) and The Wicked Witch of the West: The Enduring Legacy of a Feminist Icon (Bloomsbury), which Gregory Maguire praises as “a riveting analysis of one of the most fearful and beloved characters in our national psyche.” One of her upcoming books, Wasp Woman: Hollywood's Susan Cabot (Histria Press, 2026), is the basis for a recently completed docuseries with Embankment Films, set to premiere at the 2025 Sundance Film Festival.
