Why We Often Relate More To Supporting Characters Than The Stars 

We don’t always connect with the characters we’re told to admire.

You know, the ones who take up space, who command attention, who seem destined to have the world bend in their favor. They’re easy to spot – they’re the protagonist, the star, the one whose choices drive the plot forward. And for a long time, we’re encouraged to imagine ourselves in their place. To want what they have. To believe that being the center of attention is the ultimate proof that we matter. 

But if you sit with a story long enough, your eyes start to drift away from the bright light at the center. You notice the characters standing just out of focus. The friend who waits, the one who listens, the character who gives more than they take. Although they don’t ask for the spotlight, they start to feel more familiar than the stars ever did. Because in their quiet struggles and overlooked victories, we see a version of ourselves that feels far more real. 

The Myth of the Main Character 

There’s a cultural obsession, especially in recent years, with “main character energy.” It’s an alluring concept that at any given moment, you are the protagonist, the universe conspiring to orbit around you. Instagram captions tell you to romanticize your coffee runs. TikToks encourage you to strut through the world like everyone’s watching. But here’s the thing. Most of us don’t actually feel like the star of the show. 

Most of us aren’t the chosen ones whose lives play out in sweeping arcs of love and glory. We’re the supporting cast in someone else’s saga, quietly figuring out who we are in the spaces in between. Supporting characters often offer a truth that main characters can’t. Their struggles aren’t always grand or glamorous. They’re about longing, invisibility, and feeling like you’ll never measure up. And in doing so, they speak to the parts of us that wonder if we’re always going to be on the outside looking in. 

Jenny Humphrey: The Girl Who Wanted In

Jenny Humphrey from Gossip Girl is one of the best examples of the ultimate outsider. Jenny isn’t the kind of character you’re supposed to admire – at least not in the way the show wanted you to admire Serena or Blair. She’s insecure and ambitious in a way that feels more desperate than inspiring. Jenny starts out as an invisible girl peering into a glittering world of privilege, and her journey is marked by an aching hunger to belong. 

She schemes her way into parties and remakes herself again and again, convinced that if she can just crack the code, she’ll finally matter. But in doing so, Jenny loses pieces of herself, which makes the character very recognizable. Many of us know what it feels like to sit at the edges of the room, hoping to be noticed. Jenny’s story is about class, yes, but it’s also about the cost of trying to become someone you’re not just to feel worthy. It’s a reminder that ambition rooted in insecurity only leads to self erasure.

Caroline Forbes: The Girl Who Was Always Second 

Caroline Forbes from The Vampire Diaries is another girl who is never anyone’s first choice. Caroline is the friend who tries too hard, the girl who organizes the party but rarely gets the guy. She’s kind, loyal, and overlooked. And for so long, she’s painfully aware of it. Where Elena moves through the world with effortless magnetism, Caroline hustles for every scrap of affection or recognition. She’s never chosen first, and that fact haunts her. 

But Caroline’s transformation (emotionally, then supernaturally) is one of the most powerful arcs in the series. Becoming a vampire doesn’t just make her stronger, it forces her to confront the parts of herself she spent so long suppressing. She learns to set boundaries, to claim space, and to find power in her vulnerabilities. Caroline speaks to the experience of being seen last and, through that pain, becoming someone who no longer needs to be chosen to feel worthy. 

Why We Remember The Quiet Ones 

Supporting characters like Jenny and Caroline often become the emotional anchors of the stories they inhabit. They’re the ones who remember the birthdays, who clean up the messes, who listen when no one else does, often at the expense of their own needs. They grow quietly in the background while the main characters burn brightly and crash. They don’t need grand storylines to matter. They matter because they remind us of ourselves. 

As teenagers, we might have dreamed of being the star. We wanted to be the Elenas of the world, to have people fall in love with us at first sight. We wanted the sweeping gestures, the epic love stories. But as we grow older, we start to understand the resilience it takes to be the observer, the friend, the one who watches and waits. We see ourselves in their small victories and private grief. We see how much strength it takes to keep showing up when no one’s really looking. And sometimes, that’s more than enough.