From Representation to Selfhood: Becoming Florence

From Representation to Selfhood: Becoming Florence

Cinema has never been merely a medium that tells stories, but also a powerful artistic field that shapes social roles, identities, and representations. Some films carry a special meaning not only through what they tell, but also through how they tell it. Cléo from 5 to 7 is one of those films for me. This black-and-white film by Agnès Varda, shot in the 1960s, follows the waiting period of a Parisian pop singer, Cléo, between five and seven o’clock. During this time, we witness her inner journey as she awaits the result of a medical test. At first glance, this waiting may seem like the story of a woman confronting death. However, as the film progresses, it becomes clear that Cléo’s true fear is the possibility of losing her beauty, which has become a part of her existence. The film opens with tarot cards. This scene is the only colored sequence within the otherwise black-and-white narrative.

When we look at the content of the film, Cléo appears as a beautiful and elegant woman throughout. One of the most striking moments is her gaze into the mirror. The moment she says, “Run away, little butterfly. Ugliness is a form of death. As long as I am beautiful, I am alive,” makes us feel how beauty becomes not a choice, but a condition of existence. This sentence reveals to me how silent yet powerful the value system imposed on women is. At this point, I draw a parallel between the film and today. Today, mirrors have been replaced by screens. Through images, filters, and likes on social media, are we, like Cléo, constantly checking whether we are accepted? The gaze no longer belongs to a single observer, but to an anonymous, constant, and endless crowd. The narrative Agnès Varda constructed in the 1960s establishes a strong connection with today’s understanding of visibility. Social media silently standardizes beauty by determining which images are considered valuable. Beauty is no longer something that simply exists, but something that must be preserved, maintained, and continuously reproduced.

The scene in which Cléo sings the song “Sans Toi” creates an emotional turning point. As she sings, the people around her disappear from the frame, leaving only her voice, body, and emotions. In this moment, I feel her gaze beginning to change. The song ceases to be a performative act and turns into a crack opening into her inner world. She takes a small but significant step toward engaging with her own existence. By removing her wig, Cléo physically separates herself from her singer identity and begins to walk through the streets of Paris. For me, this walk carries the spirit of the film. As she walks through the crowd, she is both highly visible and deeply alone. Through shop windows, reflections, and gazes, the camera constantly reminds us of her body’s place in the public sphere. As these walks continue, Cléo’s way of seeing her surroundings gradually changes. The city becomes not only a place where she is seen, but also where she can see. I feel that her inner transformation unfolds alongside the everyday rhythm of Paris. Toward the end of the film, when she meets Antoine and reveals that her real name is Florence, another powerful moment of rupture occurs. The meaning of the name “Florence,” associated with blooming and rebirth, strengthens this transformation symbolically. This moment, in which she begins to distance herself from the imposed identity of Cléo, the singer, is simple yet deeply meaningful. She is no longer someone who exists merely to be looked at, but a woman who begins to exist through her own identity.

Cléo from 5 to 7 is a film that quietly yet powerfully makes visible a woman’s journey from being a representation shaped by others’ gazes to gaining her own selfhood. What we see in the film is how social roles and external expectations construct a restrictive identity over the individual. What Agnès Varda does is not to reproduce these values, but to make them visible. The strong black-and-white aesthetic cinematography deepens the film’s ideas visually. The story of transformation from Cléo to Florence does not belong only to the 1960s; it continues to resonate today as a powerful narrative that invites us to reflect on female representation and the gaze.