What happens when visibility improves, but understanding doesn’t?
That question sat at the center of Check Your Lens, a powerful Geena Davis Institute conversation exploring media representation and bias across entertainment, advertising, advocacy, and storytelling. The discussion challenged a difficult but necessary truth: representation alone does not guarantee accuracy, humanity, or equity.
For industry leaders, creators, and advocates, the conversation felt especially urgent. Audiences are demanding more authentic stories, yet harmful assumptions still shape who gets centered, who gets flattened into stereotype, and who gets excluded from authorship altogether. What made this event stand out was its specificity. Speakers didn’t discuss representation as an abstract ideal—they examined how bias operates in scripts, casting, advertising, humor, activism, and everyday perception.
The title of the event offered the first challenge: check your lens.
Not the lens of a camera.
Your lens.
The assumptions you carry into every story. The unconscious frameworks that shape who you trust, fear, pity, admire, or dismiss before a person even speaks.
That framing guided the entire evening.
Again and again, speakers returned to a central truth: representation is not just about visibility. It is about whether people are allowed to exist as full human beings—complex, contradictory, funny, flawed, ambitious, vulnerable, and real.
Madeline Di Nonno anchored the conversation in research and accountability, emphasizing that bias in media has measurable consequences. The stories audiences consume do not stay on screen. They influence assumptions, expectations, and social behavior.
That set the stage for a conversation about authorship.
Fawzia Mirza delivered one of the event’s clearest insights. A queer Muslim Pakistani creator, she reflected on growing up in a conservative family where becoming an artist was viewed as impractical, even impossible. She became a lawyer first, then slowly built a path into performance through improv, acting, and comedy. But her larger insight came from what she encountered in the industry.
The available roles were narrow.
Simplistic.
Predictable.
She described being offered reductive archetypes rather than fully realized characters. That experience eventually pushed her toward writing. Rather than waiting for someone else to imagine her community with nuance, she began creating those stories herself.
Her perspective sharpened one of the event’s core tensions: visibility without authorship can still reproduce bias.
A community can appear on screen and still remain misunderstood.
Mirza used Slumdog Millionaire as an example of that tension. The issue wasn’t simply representation. It was authorship—who gets to shape the story, whose perspective defines the narrative, and what gets aestheticized for outside consumption. Her critique illuminated the difference between being depicted and being understood.
The conversation then turned toward artistic courage.
Michael Patrick Thornton brought an equally powerful perspective through his work with The Gift Theatre. Growing up in Chicago, Thornton described theater as a transformative discovery—one that gave him a sense of possibility and belonging. But his most resonant contribution came through his philosophy of artistic curation.
At The Gift, they ask one question before choosing a play:
Is it impossible?
If the work feels safe, predictable, or easily achievable, they pass.
That philosophy reframed inclusion in a profound way. Great storytelling, Thornton argued, often emerges from attempting what feels difficult—sometimes impossible. He shared a story about a choreographer whose artistic vision was rooted in showing “the beauty and grace of human beings in the act of attempting something impossible.” That idea became one of the emotional anchors of the evening.
The event also highlighted how bias extends beyond scripted entertainment.
A representative from Burrell Communications discussed how advertising shapes public perception, including through campaigns like Black Is Human, which challenged dehumanizing narratives surrounding Black boys affected by gun violence.
Marlene Forte brought the conversation into survivor advocacy through her nonprofit, The Way Out, emphasizing the gap between awareness and actual recovery support for trafficking survivors. Her contribution underscored a difficult truth: storytelling can raise awareness, but meaningful care requires infrastructure.
Nikki M. James and other speakers reinforced another recurring theme: audiences are ready for more expansive storytelling. The limitation is rarely demand. More often, it is imagination within systems that still reward familiarity over truth.
By the end of the evening, the discussion had moved beyond media criticism.
It became a conversation about power.
Who gets to tell stories.
Who gets to shape meaning.
Who gets believed.
And who gets humanized.
Because the consequences of bias are not theoretical.
They shape empathy.
And empathy shapes culture.
As moderator and CEO of GDI, Di Nonno grounded the discussion in research and accountability. She framed representation as a measurable force that shapes real-world perception and opportunity.
Mirza brought a vital perspective on authorship and self-definition. Her journey from law to storytelling illustrated why creators from underrepresented communities often must build the roles and narratives they wish existed.
Thornton connected storytelling to artistic risk and community-building through his leadership at The Gift Theatre. His philosophy centered on pursuing work that feels impossible rather than merely achievable.
Forte brought survivor-centered advocacy into the conversation through her work with The Way Out. She emphasized the need to move beyond awareness toward long-term healing infrastructure.
James offered a performer’s perspective on risk, storytelling, and audience connection. Her contributions highlighted how meaningful art expands cultural imagination.
Burrell contributed an important perspective on the role of advertising in shaping cultural narratives. Their work demonstrates how brand storytelling can either reinforce harmful assumptions or help dismantle them.
Through Marlene Forte’s advocacy, The Way Out brought essential perspective on survivor care, trauma recovery, and the need for systems that support healing beyond awareness.
The entertainment industry often treats representation as a visibility problem.
Count the characters. Count the speaking roles. Count the leads.
Those numbers matter. GDI’s research proves that.
But Check Your Lens pushed the conversation further.
The deeper question is not only who appears on screen.
It is who shapes the narrative.
Who writes the script?
Who approves the cut?
Who decides what complexity stays—and what gets simplified?
That is where bias often hides.
Not in obvious exclusion.
In authorship gaps.
When communities are visible but lack narrative power, stereotypes do not disappear. They evolve into subtler forms.
That is why GDI’s work remains essential.
Research identifies the patterns.
Conversations like this reveal the human cost.
Ignoring this work means allowing media systems to continue shaping public perception through incomplete truths.
And incomplete truths carry real consequences.
They shape empathy.
They shape opportunity.
They shape power.
GDI membership offers access to more than events.
It offers access to the conversations shaping culture.
These gatherings convene the people making decisions across entertainment, advertising, media, and advocacy—not just discussing change, but actively influencing what gets made and how stories are told.
Membership connects you to exclusive research, high-impact conversations, and a values-driven community committed to building more accurate representation across media.
These insights are not widely accessible.
That access matters because the conversations matter, join here.
