There has been a recent spate of romantic comedies, most of them produced by Netflix. The most popular are three aimed at teenage audiences: The Kissing Booth, To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before, and Sierra Burgess is a Loser.

I am a fan of the romantic comedy genre. In a medium often dominated by male stories and perspectives, romantic comedies have ironically been rare examples of films that successfully pass the Bechdel Test (works that have at least two named female characters who talk to each other for at least two minutes about something other than a man). Because it is a genre aimed at women, female friendships often figure fairly prominently in the narratives, and conversations about something other than the male love interest, such as about work or family stress, do occasionally occur.

Of the three aforementioned movies, however, one stands out for its fairly egregious flouting of the Bechdel Test. The Kissing Booth only features four named female characters. Aside from the protagonist Elle, the other three are only named once, in passing, their names quickly forgotten, their individual identities subsumed by their group one, “the OMGs,” aka the popular mean girls clique. Every one of Elle’s conversations with these girls is about how she can convince her crush Noah to participate in the eponymous kissing booth. Even Elle’s conversations with her unfortunately anonymous female mentor (played by Molly Ringwald) are woefully male-centric: the emotional heart-to-heart between Elle and her surrogate mother figure centers entirely on Elle’s relationship with her best friend Lee and her love interest Noah. More problematic than the pervasive focus on men, however, is the vision the movie presents for male-female relationships. The way Noah displays his affection for Elle is by attempting to control her actions, dictating how other men may interact with her, what social situations she may participate in, and even how she may dress. Even her best friend exerts control over her, dictating who she may and may not date, and making that an explicit part of their friendship pact. Even though Elle supposedly exerts her own agency by occasionally behaving contrary to the mandates of the men in her life, hers is an existence largely delineated and defined by the whims of the men around her.

Sierra Burgess too presents problems. It does offer us a delightfully complex vision of female friendship: Veronica and Sierra’s friendship is far from perfect, marred with jealousy and cruelty, but it also displays moments of radical empathy and women helping women. The contradictory nature of their relationship is ultimately what makes it feel so real, and ultimately so relevant to its target audience (the throes of teenage angst, after all, often lead to discrepant behaviors ranging from the profoundly kind to the outright cruel). However, the movie botches its treatment of its central problem: the treatment and position of fat girls. Jamey’s supposedly swoon-worthy remark to her is that she may not be everyone’s type, but she’s his type, ultimately foreclosing her capacity for beauty. The movie’s conclusion is that Sierra’s beauty is conditional on finding someone who happens to find her physical appearance acceptable. Although this conclusion is true for everyone, regardless of physical appearance (skinny girls like Veronica aren’t actually a universal type), the movie frames it as only being true for fat girls. Only fat girls have a limited range of suitors, whereas skinny girls have their pick. It reinforces a false privilege for some, while reinforcing a false inferiority for others.

I have an unfettered admiration for To All the Boys, though. It has so many great moments of female friendship: between Lara Jean and Kitty (when they talk about her driving skills and social life), between Lara Jean and Margot (when they talk about Margot’s expectations for college and Lara Jean’s lack of communication while Margot was abroad), between Lara Jean and Chris (when they talk about Gen’s bullying and Lara Jean’s awesome style). And unlike Elle, Lara Jean has undeniable agency throughout the entire movie: she sets the terms for her relationship with Peter, literally drawing up a contract to that effect, delineating what physical contact she’s comfortable with, and even ending the relationship when it doesn’t stand up to her expectations. And, of course, the movie is refreshingly diverse, dealing adeptly and compellingly with Lara Jean’s multi-ethnicity, such as when her father attempts, however ineptly, to keep his daughters’ Korean heritage alive.

While I’m thrilled that Netflix has decided to reboot the rom-com genre, they should be conscious of their audience while doing so. They should strive to avoid the dangerous failures of Kissing Booth and Sierra Burgess, lest they set teenage girls up for abusive relationships (which Elle’s undeniably is) and negative, even harmful self-image (it should be noted that Netflix is already failing to accomplish this, as they have renewed Insatiable, a show whose awfulness is described in painfully astute and accurate detail by the wonderful Roxane Gay). They should instead seek to promote heroines like Lara Jean, who are flawed but self-aware agents of their own lives. They should represent the kind of girls they want to see in the future, girls who are strong, diverse, and responsible for their own choices.

To that end, Netflix should bring back Everything Sucks.