How To Break Stereotypes and Create Diverse Characters with Authenticity
A lot of us still think we’re past stereotypes.
We’ve read the theory, hired the sensitivity readers, and maybe even taught a workshop or two. But here’s the catch—the most persistent stereotypes are the ones that hide inside “good intentions.” They’re subtle.
They show up in second drafts, in side characters, in what we don’t say as much as what we do.
And audiences—especially younger ones—can spot a shallow character from miles away.
The stakes are high. We’re not just writing stories; we’re shaping how people see each other, themselves, and the world. That’s a huge responsibility. And even though most of us care deeply about getting it right, there’s still a big gap between “not stereotyping” and “writing fully human, culturally grounded characters.”
So in this post, I want to dig into how we can bridge that gap—starting with recognizing the traps we still fall into.
Spotting the Stereotypes We Think We’ve Outgrown
Let’s cut to it: a lot of modern stereotypes wear disguises. They’re not always offensive in the old-school, overt way—but they still flatten people. They still reduce lived experiences into digestible, easy-to-market fragments. That’s what I mean by “lazy defaults.”
I’ll walk you through a few that I keep seeing, even in otherwise progressive writing.
1. The Character as Cultural Placeholder
This is when we plug a character into a story to “add diversity,” but we don’t really write them. They exist to signal inclusion, not to be someone. Their culture is referenced, but never inhabited.
Example: You’ve got the South Asian best friend who randomly drops a reference to Bollywood or turmeric tea—without any sense of what that culture actually means to them. It’s aesthetic, not internal.
What’s missing here is specificity. What neighborhood did they grow up in? How do they code-switch? What don’t they say in front of their parents? That’s where character lives.
2. Trauma as Identity
This one’s tricky, because trauma is part of many marginalized identities—but it can’t be the whole story.
Too often, we give a character a background full of hardship (racism, abuse, poverty, war) and assume that’s enough to justify their depth. But identity isn’t just what hurts you—it’s how you laugh, who you love, the rules you break, the joy you find.
Example: The “stoic immigrant parent” trope is rooted in real experiences, sure—but when’s the last time you saw one with a goofy hobby, or an ex they still text sometimes? Let’s push for those layers.
3. Progressive Tropes That Still Flatten
You know the ones: the “girlboss Latina,” the “woke Black best friend,” the “queer-coded villain who turns good in the end.” These characters are meant to be empowering, but they’re still shorthand. They don’t get to be complex, flawed, or even boring.
Here’s a weird truth: even when the politics are good, the storytelling can still be bad. And that matters, because if our characters only ever exist as symbols of progress, we’re still not writing people.
4. Binary Framing: The “Good One” vs. “Bad Culture”
This one shows up when we contrast the protagonist with the “backwardness” of their heritage—religion, family, tradition. It’s the immigrant kid who has to “escape” their culture to be free, or the gay teen who has to flee their conservative town to be whole.
Is that a real story? Absolutely. But when it’s the only story we tell, it sends a message: liberation equals assimilation.
Let’s flip it. What about the queer kid who finds identity through their culture? Or the Black character whose community is complex and evolving—not just oppressive or redemptive?
How to Write Characters With Real Depth
Let’s get into the how. Once we’ve spotted those stereotype traps, what can we actually do to create layered, authentic characters? I’m not talking about throwing in random cultural details to check a box. I’m talking about building characters who feel like they exist beyond your script or page—people who could live entire lives without the story revolving around them.
Here’s what’s worked for me and a lot of other writers I trust. And no, it’s not magic. It’s just doing the work, deeply and consistently.
1. Identity Should Be Lived, Not Worn
We don’t experience our own identities as categories—we experience them as habits, memories, conflicts, joy, contradiction. A queer Jewish woman isn’t thinking “I am now performing my identities.” She’s making matzo ball soup while texting her partner about how her mom misgendered her friend again. Identity is woven in, not pinned on.
Write characters who carry their identity in their relationships, decisions, rituals, tensions—not just their dialogue.
Ask yourself:
- What tensions exist between this character and their community? What makes them proud?
- How do they celebrate?
- When do they feel most seen—or most invisible?
2. Use Specificity as a Tool of Truth
If you want a character to feel real, go deep on the details. Generalizations are where stereotypes live. But specificity is where humanity shows up.
It’s not just “this character is Mexican.” It’s: they grew up eating mole that their grandmother made only at Christmas, they pronounce their name differently at school and at home, they’ve memorized the smell of their father’s mechanic shop.
When people say, “Write what you know,” they’re not saying you can’t write outside your experience—they’re saying, if you don’t know what you’re writing about, don’t fake it. Go learn it until it lives in your gut.
3. Collaborate, Don’t Guess
Here’s the honest truth: you can’t research your way into authenticity. You can start there, but eventually, you have to engage with people who live the identity you’re writing.
That might mean:
- Working with cultural consultants before your final draft
- Doing deep interviews with people from a community you’re unfamiliar with
- Asking colleagues or co-creators with relevant lived experience for input—and actually listening
Just be careful not to outsource the emotional labor. You’re not owed someone’s trauma story just because you want to get it right. Make sure the exchange is mutual and respectful.
4. Let Them Change, Fail, and Contradict Themselves
This one is huge. A lot of creators overcorrect when trying to represent marginalized identities and make characters too perfect. No flaws, no conflict, just morally pure angels carrying the weight of centuries.
That’s not justice. That’s pressure. And it’s boring as hell.
Let your characters mess up. Let them grow. Let them be wrong about things. That’s how they become human.
We need disabled characters who are selfish sometimes. Muslim characters who question their faith. Trans characters who lie to their crush and have to own up to it. This isn’t disrespectful—it’s respect. Because it treats them like everyone else.
5. Reclaim and Reimagine Archetypes
Every story draws on archetypes. The trick is to reimagine them through new cultural lenses instead of discarding them altogether.
For example:
- Instead of the “wise elder” being an old white man in a cabin, make her a Jamaican grandmother who reads tarot and bakes plantain pie.
- Take the “tragic hero” and set him inside a refugee narrative, where fate is entangled with systemic failure—not just pride.
When we rework familiar structures with new voices, we’re not just breaking stereotypes—we’re building new mythologies.
Diversity Is Bigger Than Just Your Characters
Let’s zoom out. Because even if your characters are brilliantly written, if the process that created them is still rooted in a narrow pipeline, they’re not going to land the way they should. Real diversity can’t be confined to what’s on the page or screen. It has to live in how the work gets made.
Here’s what I mean.
1. Who’s In the Room Matters
This isn’t just about optics. The people shaping the creative vision behind a project will always shape the nuance of its stories. If you’ve got an all-white writers’ room telling a story about a multi-racial family, something will be off—even if everyone means well.
You need writers, editors, producers, directors, showrunners from a range of backgrounds. Not to be “fair,” but to be good.
Authenticity is a team sport.
2. Interrogate Your Gatekeeping
If you’re someone with decision-making power—publisher, showrunner, creative lead—ask yourself: What kinds of stories do I instinctively say yes to? What patterns show up in the pitches you pass on?
A lot of gatekeeping is unintentional. It sounds like:
- “I just didn’t relate to it.”
- “It’s too niche.”
- “I’m not sure there’s a market.”
Translation? You didn’t see yourself in the story. But maybe that’s the point.
3. Avoid “Diversity by Addition”
We’ve all seen this approach: one queer character here, one Asian sidekick there. A rainbow sprinkle of representation.
The problem? It treats diversity like seasoning instead of substance.
A better approach is to let diverse worldviews shape the entire creative process—from structure to themes to visual language. Don’t just write “a Muslim character.” Ask what a story might feel like if it were built from the ground up by a Muslim creator.
It’s a shift from inclusion to transformation.
4. Be Willing to Get Called Out—and Learn
Nobody gets it perfect, not even us experts. The question is: how do we respond when we miss the mark?
Defensiveness kills growth. But humility opens doors. If someone calls out a flat portrayal or harmful trope in your work, listen. Not to defend, but to understand.
And be honest with yourself: was that character rooted in curiosity? Or was it a shortcut?
This work isn’t about being “woke.” It’s about being real. It’s about storytelling that’s alive and evolving.
5. Challenge the Industry, Not Just Yourself
This part is harder, but more important than anything else. If we don’t change the systems that reward shallow stories and penalize complex ones, we’ll keep running in circles.
Support creators from marginalized communities.
Pass the mic when you can.
Call out the industry norms that uphold sameness.
Because if we only focus on writing better characters without fighting for better structures, we’re just decorating the problem.
And That’s the Work
If you’ve made it this far, thank you. Honestly. This is the kind of work that can’t be faked. It’s slower, messier, and way more meaningful.
You already know how to write well. What I hope you’re walking away with is a reminder that writing with cultural authenticity isn’t about following rules—it’s about deeper attention.
Deeper to the characters. Deeper to the world around you. Deeper to the ways we all live, contradict, and grow.
So keep pushing. Keep asking better questions. And let your characters surprise you.