Jeri Ryan may have initially been hired for her stunning looks, but it didn’t take long for Star Trek fans—and even the show’s harshest critics—to realize that Seven of Nine was more than just eye candy. She quickly became one of the most compelling, well-developed characters in the Star Trek universe. Yes, watching her glide through the corridors of Voyager in her form-fitting catsuits was captivating, but it was her layered performance that truly drew viewers in. Beneath the sleek exterior was a character rich with complexity, and Ryan brought her to life with skill and nuance.
What many people don’t realize, however, is that behind the scenes, Ryan had a hidden adversary—one that made her time on the show far from smooth sailing. When she joined the cast of Star Trek: Voyager in 1997, the series was struggling. Ratings were slipping, and the producers knew they needed a bold move to revive the show’s popularity. Enter Seven of Nine, a former Borg drone cut off from the hive mind, now grappling with what it meant to be human. The moment she appeared in season four, the impact was immediate—ratings shot up by a jaw-dropping 60%. The gamble had paid off. The network banked on Ryan’s presence to draw attention, and it worked better than anyone could have predicted.
Yet what truly set her apart wasn’t the costume—it was her acting chops. Ryan didn’t just wear Seven’s signature catsuit; she became the character, slowly peeling back layers of vulnerability beneath the cold, mechanical façade. One particular episode highlighted her talent brilliantly. In it, Seven, fractured by a surge of multiple personalities, shifted rapidly from one identity to another. It was a tour de force, a performance that showcased Ryan’s depth as an actress and could have easily earned her critical acclaim beyond the sci-fi genre. They cast her to rescue the show, but what they got was far more: a performance that elevated the entire series.
Interestingly, Jeri Ryan didn’t jump at the chance to play Seven. In fact, she declined the role four separate times. At the time, she was a relative unknown, having moved to Los Angeles to pursue acting after college. When the Voyager producers first approached her, she had never even seen the show. Curious, she watched an episode—and wasn’t impressed. In fact, she called it “the worst hour of television” she had ever seen. Producers also gave her a copy of the film First Contact so she could understand the Borg and even supplied her with the Star Trek encyclopedia to get her up to speed. Still, it wasn’t until executive producer Jeri Taylor persisted that Ryan finally agreed to take on the now-iconic role of Seven of Nine.
However, once on set, Ryan quickly found herself in a tense situation—especially with co-star Kate Mulgrew, who played Captain Janeway. Ryan could sense the unease before cameras even rolled. It wasn’t stage fright—it was a heavy, unspoken tension that made every shared scene with Mulgrew difficult. The friction was real. Mulgrew, having spent years building Janeway into a strong, independent leader, wasn’t thrilled with the show’s sudden pivot toward a more sexualized character meant to boost ratings. For Mulgrew, it was about integrity. She wanted Star Trek to focus on intellect and exploration, not glamor. Ryan, the newcomer, bore the brunt of this silent conflict, showing up every day, delivering stellar performances while carrying the weight of the strain behind the scenes.
Over time, though, things changed. Mulgrew eventually recognized the impact of her actions and the difficulty she had caused. With humility, she acknowledged her part in the tension and extended a heartfelt apology to Ryan, praising her for excelling in such a demanding role. The past was forgiven, and the two have since appeared together at conventions, sharing laughs and proving that even the deepest divides can be bridged.
One thing Ryan never made peace with, however, was Seven’s infamous catsuit. While it looked incredible on screen, wearing it was pure agony. The corset was so tight that she often had to lie down between takes to catch her breath. There was no zipper, meaning she had to be sewn into the outfit each time—and getting out of it was equally taxing. Even a simple bathroom break turned into a 20-minute ordeal, prompting the crew to create a special radio call for it: “Code Jeri-Twenty.” By the time Voyager wrapped, Ryan had had enough. She made sure she’d never have to deal with that catsuit again—by burning it.
Life on a sci-fi set also brought unexpected challenges. One of the more amusing ones was the art of “force field acting.” In scenes requiring actors to react to invisible energy barriers, they had to hurl themselves at empty space and make it look convincing. One particularly awkward moment occurred in The Gift, where Ryan had to throw herself at an imaginary force field. The result? A hilarious mix of flailing limbs and mock pain that became an inside joke among the cast and crew.
As for Seven’s place in Star Trek, Ryan sees her as a catalyst. Before Seven’s arrival, Voyager’s crew had grown too comfortable, lacking internal conflict. Seven disrupted that harmony, forcing everyone to reexamine themselves. Like Spock and Data before her, Seven provided a lens through which the show could explore humanity, identity, and moral dilemmas. She wasn’t just a crewmember—she was a symbol of change.
And the heels? Ryan has a simple answer: “All the female characters wore boots with heels. If you’re going to walk around in a body stocking, flats just aren’t going to cut it.”
So next time you think of Seven of Nine, remember the woman behind the character—a talented actress who brought depth to a role that could have easily been one-dimensional, and whose journey through Voyager left an indelible mark on Star Trek history.
