Based on the 2023 online novel of the same name, Romance in the Alley tells the story of a pair of women who, after fighting tooth and nail to secure employee housing for their family from the Suzhou Cotton Textile Factory in 1970s Jiangsu province, become neighbors and best friends. The drama’s English name belies the show’s more nuanced themes of female solidarity, especially compared with its Chinese name, the more straightforward “households in the alley (小巷人家).” In fact, much of what makes the show powerful is that it’s not about romance at all.

One woman is fiery, the other reserved, but both take charge as the heads of their families. Amid the gray, dusty alley homes they eventually earn, the audience watches as their stories unfold against the backdrop of what is considered “the golden era” of the reform and opening-up period, when the country underwent massive economic reform and exponential growth.

As with most shows set in this time, Romance plays on nostalgia for the era’s spirit of hope and growth, rooted in the classic belief that anything is possible through individual effort. Yet the show stands out from others of its kind by focusing deeply on its female characters, telling a story of friendship where the women emerge stronger for it. The narrative explores a generational struggle—from women who upheld patriarchal norms to those resigned to their circumstances to a new generation seeking independence—and offers a fresh perspective on women redefining their purpose and reclaiming their identities.

The portrayal of these characters’ friendship is vital, because if simply viewed through their own families, the two heroines—Huang Ling (Yan Ni) and Song Ying (Jiang Xin)—settle into gender tropes. Both play secondary roles within their families, where they serve their husbands, children, elders, and in-laws. Yet the friendship between Song and Huang is healthy and nourishing, where “girls help girls” becomes the norm, rather than the exception.

When Song and Huang meet in their new alley homes, the two women find solidarity, rather than competition. Instead of being alienated by family interests—as would often happen between neighbors during this period of rationing, public bathrooms, and material shortages—we see Huang and Song become kindred spirits because of their sympathy for each other’s plights.

Song, a bold and self-assured factory worker, often stands up for the tender Huang. When Huang is scolded by her husband for refusing to share food rations with her in-laws, Song rebukes him: “Sister Huang hasn’t enjoyed a single day of good life by marrying you! Has she ever considered herself? All she has considered is the children.” While others may see Song as the “hard bone (刺头)” of the neighborhood, Huang understands what lies beneath Song’s strong façade. She supports Song by looking after her son when both Song and her husband work late and lending the family money when needed.

Female friendship is rarely highlighted in serious Chinese dramas. When they are in the forefront, they are often reduced to rivalry or catfights over a man, essentially demonizing female friendships and pigeonholing women as submissive. Romance, on the other hand, avoids the trope of “plastic sisterhood,” an internet slang for fake but lasting friendship between female best friends. The more Song and Huang break from their secondary roles, the more precious and enduring their friendship becomes, despite the difficulties they face.

The show also gives its female characters depth. The audience can trace their growth step by step as they start to challenge the patriarchy in their lives. Under Song’s influence, Huang evolves from a subservient mother to a self-confident woman who learns to also take care of herself. In one scene, she jokes to Song, “Perhaps my son thinks I was born this way—ragged and ruffled, wired and programmed for housework with no personal desires. He never imagined I could sing and dance.” This marks a significant reflection for a character who began as a stereotype.

However, Romance has its limitations. In particular, the two women are rebelling against the family, yet still for the family. When they fight, they often fight against abusive relatives or greedy neighbors to benefit their nuclear family, not themselves. When a woman’s motivation is entirely tied to her family, she stops being truly independent and instead gets boxed into roles like wife and mother.

This is especially true when it comes to Huang, the doting mother of two. Her husband’s income is sent back to his birth family, so she is essentially her household’s breadwinner. She and her daughter aren’t allowed to eat at the main table during family gatherings, despite the fact that she prepares all the food. Her excessively filial husband never defends her in family matters. After enduring this for years, she snaps and threatens divorce only when her in-laws want her to take in her husband’s three nephews while using her daughter as domestic labor. The show tries to portray her independence by showing she can support her children with her own salary and housing, yet it still defines her worth through her family relationships.

When her in-laws eventually back down, she doesn’t feel triumphant or relieved. “[My husband] knew that I was right, and he hated me for it,” says Huang—a profound revelation that deserves more exploration. Yet the show merely hints at the agony of women being both morally right and emotionally dismissed, subtly steering them toward familial devotion despite the fractures in their marriages.

Song, on the other hand, is part of an archetypal “happy family”—too good to be true, as some viewers have complained. She is a woman with a strong sense of responsibility, excelling both as a worker and a mother, with a supportive husband and an intelligent son. However, her career still suffers after she causes a scene to secure employee housing for the family. Yet the show neatly sidesteps this issue; Song’s frustration is soothed by the kind words and actions of her husband and son, framing her sacrifice as virtuous rather than questioning the underlying system.

Another major criticism is that an early focus on the collective struggles of these women becomes completely overshadowed in the latter half of the show by the relationship drama between their children and the journey of Huang’s son, a favored child who, from the start, lacks empathy for his mother. His story unfolds like any other classic success business story in the 1980s and 90s.

Despite these shortcomings, Romance establishes itself as a compelling redux of the reform and opening-up era, resonating with modern viewers who might not have lived through the period. The show currently boasts an 8.2 out of 10 rating on the review platform Douban, which is known to be critical of domestic productions. Many millennial viewers see echoes of their own protective and sacrificial mothers in Huang’s plight. They see themselves in her daughter Xiaoting, who is precocious, helps with housework, needs very little care, and often has to stand up for her mom.

The show concludes with a fairy-tale ending, where everyone enjoys promising futures in their relationships and careers throughout the 1990s. However, the reality is far more complex, as the nation underwent profound changes that left a lasting impact on individual beliefs and traditional family values. Romance offers a captivating start to telling a multifaceted story, one that goes beyond just entrepreneurial triumphs.