Catégorie : Societal Issues

Have you ever thought about power and femininity? It’s rare, and that’s not insignificant, because power is often associated with seriousness, while femininity has always been considered frivolous and superficial. This dichotomy is an insidious way of controlling the perception of femininity and ensuring its exclusion from positions of power. The only woman to date who is universally known for not having had to choose between femininity and power is the great Anna Wintour. The departure of the editor-in-chief of US Vogue, after nearly 40 years in power, is an opportunity to take a closer look at the fashion industry and the many societal issues it raises, particularly in terms of female power and the representation of femininity.

Anna Wintour represents a very unique vision of female power. She has dominated the fashion world for nearly 40 years as editor-in-chief of US Vogue. She has also made her mark by creating the Met Gala, a cultural event that has become a symbol of the soft power she wields in this world. Anna has often been criticised for her apparent coldness and her ability to dismiss members of her team without scruples. These judgements were all the harsher because she was twice as exposed as her team. This is a reality that Anna understood well. But beyond that, she had to juggle factors that are rarely highlighted in the fashion world.

She had to evolve in a world that presented a largely feminine façade, but where the most powerful and influential positions were held by men, under the Condé Nast umbrella. This is a perfect example of how majority does not necessarily equate to power. Vogue magazine belongs to the Condé Nast group, which has been owned by the Newhouse family since the 1960s. Donald Newhouse, Robert A. Sauerberg and Charles H. Townsend are the men at the helm of this empire.

All are men whose fortunes have been built in part through magazine publishing. They are never in the spotlight, but make no mistake: their decision-making role is powerful and highly influential. It is with this set of invisible dynamics that Anna Wintour has had to juggle, always committed to high standards in terms of results and professionalism. None of these men are defined by artistic or visual creative talent, a talent often highlighted in fashion magazines. Yet they are the ones who control the budgets and a set of financial and economic parameters that Anna had to reconcile and respect during her 40-year reign.

Anna has always represented a dissonance in the perception of spaces of power. She has been elevated to the status of a powerful female figure in a world that, beneath its glitz and glamour, is in reality designed and built according to the strict rules of corporate culture. They are the real big bosses. And Anna, in order to reign for so long, has never ignored or underestimated this.

She has been criticised for her lack of warmth and apparent coldness, while forgetting that corporate culture is built on social dynamics that are both brutally and insidiously violent. This often manifests itself in very passive-aggressive actions or behaviours, which can make even the gentlest of souls intractable when confronted with these dominant dynamics.

Anna arrived confident, with a clear understanding of what she wanted and who she was. But that is not enough to provide a powerful shield against the corporate monster, in which the individual is not the master but merely a player. Sometimes cruel, sometimes brutal, this system leaves wounds even on the toughest and most prepared among us.

He is steeped in a highly structured and defined hierarchical system, leaving no room for the human and emotional aspects, but rather focusing on the rational and reasonable aspects of human nature. Thus, even Anna has had to deal with, sometimes warned, sometimes not, actions or behaviours from her superiors that must have hurt her deeply or put her to the test.

Whether it was due to coverage, reduced staff numbers, a lack of equipment or budgetary issues, it may seem trivial. However, everything is crucial, and it is the ability to coordinate and bring together several departments simultaneously that, when they work well and fit together, enables a good result. These departments must be able to meet the demands and needs of the various departments, while ensuring an excellent and profitable result.

In this world, artistic representation and visibility can only emerge from a creative and powerful combination of aesthetics and living art. This is a reality that Anna has faced throughout her reign. To secure her place and her triumph, she responded to cold, icy and passive-aggressive dynamics. Not unintentionally, but inevitably, in order to maintain and occupy a prominent position.

Known for her repeated dismissals, she simply responded with the weapons of this environment that she had learned to master. She controlled the artistic narrative with the approval of Condé Nast’s big bosses. Yes, she was cold and unfair on many occasions, but the structure of Vogue, despite its majestic appearance, is a corporate world designed and governed by men.

Anna knew and understood this because she is a woman, and because each of her decisions or actions would have had double or even triple the impact in the event of failure or fiasco. Her genius lay in her iron grip, while understanding the social and political power of every fabric, colour and symbol. These elements are capable of giving rise to a visual aesthetic, the expression of an artistic novel whose intensity and story can be read in the eyes.

To fully understand this constant pressure and demand, what better than to talk about its pop archetype par excellence, Miranda Priestly, inspired by the last editor-in-chief of Vogue. The film The Devil Wears Prada, which has become a must-see, clearly shows the duality and challenges of publishing a fashion magazine. It reveals fashion as a social and cultural power, a means of expression and aesthetic representation for men and women.

This political language is non-verbal, but it is nonetheless a tool for controlling and perceiving individuals in social dynamics. Every aesthetic is both an affirmation of identity and a coded language, subject to the demands of corporate culture. The latter does not escape the powerful and cold Miranda, who knows how to read power and dynamics, even the most invisible ones.

One of the most memorable scenes in the film, which demonstrates Miranda’s keen analytical skills, is the one involving the blue belts. Andy laughs because she doesn’t understand the importance of the differences in shades of blue. To her, the two belts are similar. Miranda, like a fashion surgeon, dissects the story behind these two colours with a scalpel. She shows her that these nuances embody artistic, economic and human challenges.

It is then that Andy understands that, despite her degree in writing, fashion requires a lot of skills. It demands a keen sense of analysis and creativity, as well as structured, almost scientific reasoning. She feels humiliated, and rightly so: this humiliation is subtle, beneath the innocuous appearance of blue tones.

Miranda teaches Andy that even when she thinks she is free to make her own choices and is not interested in her appearance, the reality is different. What she wears has been designed by men whose creativity and decision-making power directly influence her wardrobe.

In just a few minutes, Miranda delivers a sociological analysis of fashion that overturns Andy’s personal reasoning. Andy believed she was above the influence of fashion, but in reality, she has never been free. Her choices have always been dictated by decisions made by people she doesn’t even know exist, even though their influence is significant.

Anna is often presented as a figure of female power, even hyper-feminine power. It would be incorrect to deny her strategic intelligence and the influence her achievements have had on the fashion industry. However, when it comes to the representation of female power, what is sometimes referred to as such does not always refer to the expression of power conceived, shaped or exercised according to feminine codes. It is often a woman placed under the yoke of a fundamentally masculine vision of power, an ancient, firmly entrenched vision that has simply survived the ages while retaining its own logic. This power has not changed in nature; it has only changed its face. And as long as strategic structures continue to be governed by these same foundations, the emergence of female figures at the top, however striking they may be, will not necessarily reflect a reversal of established dynamics, but rather a form of silent adaptation to their requirements.

This structural violence, although rarely named, is deeply normalised. It settles into the interstices of social and professional life, integrated as an unspoken given that must be adapted to in order to survive and advance. Often invisible and insidious, it manifests itself through implicit rules, unspoken expectations, and passive-aggressive behaviour—all mechanisms that silently shape power relations. Recognising this reality also opens the door to broader reflection: rethinking power, success, and the place of women in these spaces.

What if the power you hold lives in your femininity? Then yes, but not under the guise of a deeply masculine vision.

https://sunshine-empowerment.com/2025/04/20/barbie-tool-of-patriarchy-or-symbol-of-femininity/

Do Barbie films sell an illusory reality, or do they offer a chance to believe in the power of the feminine? Barbie: Princess Charm School reframes a narrative often seen as distant from emancipation, one where being a woman, and believing in one’s femininity, is not an obstacle to independence, but a true pillar of self-empowerment.

Blair, in Barbie: Princess Charm School, is always kind, pleasant, and helpful. She tries to earn a living with dignity, despite the many family responsibilities she shoulders. She keeps going with a smile, holding onto hope through hardship. One day, her life takes a turn: her little sister enters her into a competition to join a princess school. Surprised, Blair decides to seize this opportunity, hoping to offer a better life for herself and her family.

But this isn’t just about a dream  it’s about what the narrative represents: a form of independence through education. The lessons in etiquette and decorum are not meant to conform or constrain, but rather to help these young girls develop deep self-esteem. This refinement, often dismissed as superficial, is actually a subtle way of teaching self-respect, a fundamental condition for building a strong, whole personality capable of ensuring emotional and material security.

When Blair arrives at the school, she is quiet, almost invisible. She withdraws in the face of adversity. But the lessons taught by Miss Privet go beyond posture and grace. They shape a new awareness of herself, a clearer vision of what she deserves, of her own worth. Gradually, she asserts herself, not by changing to please others, but by standing tall, adopting a posture that reflects self-love and self-respect. This may be, consciously or not, the reason why so many young girls remain deeply attached to this film. It’s not simply the dream of becoming a princess that resonates with them, but what it symbolizes: the possibility of existing with nobility, dignity, and gentle strength.

Blair becomes more assertive, less likely to run from adversity. She learns to face it  not out of pride, but because her education has nurtured a sense of her own value. Through learning, discipline, and a well-cultivated and confident femininity, she embodies self-investment. This film, often reduced to a childish fantasy, actually conveys an alternative feminine archetype, one in which femininity becomes a posture of power, a language through which to affirm one’s worth, and a tool to detect unhealthy dynamics, even when they come wrapped in appealing disguises.

Because self-respect and self-love are weapons against invisible violence those moments when we accept the unacceptable in exchange for a dream, a promise, or a false sense of security. A woman who truly values herself will never choose a path that denies her worth. She will not limit herself to a narrow vision of who she is, nor settle for a job or relationship that demands she abandon self-love. Far from being trivial, this film teaches girls that femininity, far from being a weakness, can be a strength, a form of protection, a key to elevation. In a world shaped by and for masculine structures  where women are constantly asked to give up parts of themselves to be accepted this stance is revolutionary.

In a society where being a woman almost inevitably involves experiencing some form of violence, it is through embracing genuine self-respect that we learn to decode the most insidious dynamics: the silent violences hidden behind charming appearances.

Femininity and feminism are often seen as opposites. But what if rethinking femininity this long-reduced, belittled, and judged posture  were actually one of the most powerful feminist acts? What if the power you hold, the one that allows you to resist, rise, and transform lives in your femininity?

The Silent Violence of Justice: Thamila’s Story

Whether a victim is dead or alive, there is no relief and no true justice for the majority of women subjected to gender-based and sexual violence  even after filing a complaint.

Thamila is a young woman in whom many of us can see ourselves. In the short film “Sans Suite”, she finds herself in a shelter for victims of gender-based and sexual violence. Alongside other young women, she tries to rebuild what one might call a normal life through simple, light-hearted moments shared among girls: shopping trips, nights out, evenings in the center filled with laughter and a sense of breathing again.

Because we must never forget: they are women before all else. Women who love to laugh, to have fun, to enjoy their youth without constantly thinking about the harshness and cruelty of the world they’ve encountered. These precious moments allow them to reconnect with a part of themselves that the violence tried to tear away.

These moments of sisterhood forge deep, almost inseparable bonds. A space without judgment, where each can finally be fully herself. They rediscover themselves in each other, but also for themselves, focusing on physical and emotional wellbeing. They take care of themselves, reclaiming bodies and identities that had been denied or made invisible by their attackers identities they weren’t even sure still had meaning.

These women seek justice. But what they truly long for is something deeper: to reclaim what their aggressors methodically tried to steal their life as women. Justice is supposed to be a process of reparation. A means for society to publicly recognize that these women have the right to exist fully, to say no, to be protected. A process where consent or its absence  is acknowledged, heard, and condemned.

But how can these women truly walk that path when the only concrete power offered to them leads nowhere to just another entry in the statistics? A procedure often cold, impersonal, applying the law rigidly, without humanity.

Before even reaching justice, these women must face numerous agents of public authority. They’re forced to recount the facts again and again to people whose names they barely know. They must expose the deepest terror of their intimacy as if describing a bicycle ride. Yet each word carries a memory so stubborn that it becomes a brick of trauma. Each sentence is pain, humiliation, dissociation.

This lack of recognition the refusal to listen, to believe, to understand  is like taking a second bullet to the heart. As if the first weren’t enough. As if to make sure the soul truly leaves the body, and that the identity  already so battered disappears as well.The dismissal of Thamila’s case had that effect: a second bullet to the heart, to ensure her light was truly extinguished.

And so, Thamila, robbed of her last breath of hope, chooses what she believes to be the only way out: she stops fighting for her soul to survive. She lets it go. She throws herself out the window of her room, no longer seeing her existence as something to rebuild, but as a countdown triggered by that second bullet  the legal case dismissed without further action.

Thamila, like so many other women in that shelter, endured violence that any of us could face. And the problem remains the same: escaping one form of violence does not mean being free from it. Worse, experiencing one kind of violence doesn’t prevent you from enduring others  sometimes simultaneously, sometimes one after another.

Thamila suffered sexual violence, but also another kind quieter, institutional, often ignored: the violence of the justice system. A cold violence that dissects trauma not to heal it, but to expose it. A violence that lays bare without ever offering care or any form of identity resuscitation. A violence that demands these women summon titanic strength simply to keep living.You may now wonder: how can femininity be a force in such a context  especially when it seems, at best, to offer partial joy, or at worst, to mask inner pain and rage?

But maybe we need to rethink what femininity truly means. Long viewed as superficial, femininity has often been stripped of strength, intelligence, or emancipatory potential. And yet femininity, your femininity can and must be reimagined as a way to carve a path, not to conceal wounds, but to rebuild from them.

Your femininity can become the path that brings you back to yourself. It can be a way to learn how to love yourself deeply, to value yourself independently of external relationships. It doesn’t distract from the pain it helps you tame it, allowing you to become the subject of your own story again. A femininity unique to each woman, one that serves as a vehicle for empowerment and self-knowledge a way to exist without tying one’s identity to the gaze of others. A femininity that teaches you to define your worth, not through others, but through self-esteem and self-love.

When femininity becomes this identity quest a gentle yet determined force that drives us to truly love ourselves then yes, it becomes fair to ask: What if the power you hold lives in your femininity?

The idea that a feminine woman cannot be intelligent is a way of guaranteeing the reductive idea that femininity is superfluous and weakens the capacity to express pertinent and constructed intellectual reasoning because a beautiful, kind and intelligent woman is something inconceivable in society.

With her dazzling smile, flamboyant blonde hair and body sculpted by rigorous discipline, Shelley is the embodiment of hyper-femininity in Superblonde. Her style, both sexy and girly, is reflected in brightly coloured outfits and imposing accessories, reflecting a particular attention to aesthetics. Yet this expression of femininity is immediately perceived as superficial by those around her, reducing her personality to an appearance deemed frivolous. But this aesthetic is not insignificant: it reflects an identity that society struggles to accept.

Shelley is gentle, smiling and sociable. Her interests revolve mainly around aesthetic well-being, a passion that is often scorned because it does not fit into the fields traditionally considered “intellectual”. She doesn’t feel the need to justify her worth with sophisticated language or academic references. Yet her appearance alone is enough to label her a ‘scatterbrained’ woman, as if her intelligence had to be expressed through socially recognised and validated codes.

This contempt does not only come from men: it is also shared by some women, who are convinced that exaggerated femininity is a submission to patriarchy. The prevailing idea is that a woman who attaches importance to her appearance can only be at the service of male desire, and that she is thus sacrificing all personal ambition. This perception stems from an internalised misogyny that reduces women’s choices to a single alternative: seduce men or try to look like them in order to be taken seriously. In both cases, women cannot exist for themselves.

Faced with these contradictory injunctions, Shelley gradually gives up her identity. She adopts a more neutral attitude, trying to erase what made her a visible, striking woman. This denial is a form of insidious violence that is omnipresent in society: the violence that pushes women to play down their femininity in order to be judged as competent and intelligent. In the professional world, this pressure is blatant. With a few exceptions, working environments are built on a masculine vision of seriousness and rigour, leaving little room for overly assertive expressions of femininity.

Shelley is the perfect embodiment of the triple thread: beautiful, kind and intelligent. And that is precisely why she is despised. As if, in the collective unconscious, a woman possessing all these qualities were necessarily unreal, too perfect to be true. It becomes inconceivable to accept this reality, so we prefer to refute it by creating the idea of a well-hidden flaw that would allow us to ‘see more clearly’ about her. This contempt is reinforced by aggravating the slightest of her faults, by magnifying every imperfection or error, as if to prove that she cannot really combine all these qualities. At all costs, she has to be brought down to a more “human”, more accessible level, as if her mere existence threatens the balance of everyone’s insecurities.

What’s more, in a patriarchal society based on the idea that a woman cannot exist on her own, it is inconceivable that she can shine without benefiting others, directly or indirectly. A woman is not supposed to exist for herself, let alone shine by her very presence and her own qualities. Her existence must necessarily serve a framework, a structure, a hierarchy. When a woman embodies several valued qualities while remaining independent, she escapes this logic and becomes a disturbing anomaly. She doesn’t fit into any easy-to-decipher box, and to make her more graspable, more attainable, we naturally mistrust her. This mistrust is simply a reflection of the insecurities projected onto these women, like an unconscious refusal to accept that they can exist fully for themselves, without external justification. It’s as if a woman who possesses several qualities is necessarily suspect, because we’ve been taught that feminine perfection must always hide a downside.

Shelley is us. We, the women who, consciously or unconsciously, try to conform to a more acceptable image. Because a woman who embraces her femininity is all too often judged as a lightweight, we end up turning our backs on an essential part of ourselves, a source of wellbeing and fulfilment. Society sees femininity not as an asset in itself, but as a mere embellishment. What if the power you hold lives in your femininity?

The big question is: does Barbie encourage the growth and development of women, or does she condition them to an oppressive and repressive male ideal?

The choice of introducing this series of articles with a reflection on Barbie is not insignificant for me. It underlines a need to share and express a social vision of what Barbie represents in today’s society. As a young woman from generation Z, cradled by the animated films Barbie Fairytopia, Barbie the Princess Apprentice and many others, I grew up with a figure who, for nearly six decades, has embodied a certain vision of women symbolising femininity. However, over the generations, this image has often been perceived as limiting and reductive. Although her evolution reflects the social and political issues of each era, she remains a catalyst for debate in the ongoing struggle for women’s emancipation.

Yet Barbie has long been scorned by women and men alike for her attachment to a femininity that is rarely seen as a strength, but rather as a superficial expression. Many feminists have seen it as a tool of oppression, shaped by a male vision seeking to maintain control over women’s place in society. Paradoxically, men have often been fascinated by this hyper-feminine aesthetic while reducing it to something frivolous, without any real reflection or depth.

But I no longer want this definition of femininity, which is limiting and devoid of substance. I sincerely believe that we haven’t yet explored all the creative forces it contains. Femininity is not simply a matter of aesthetics designed to accentuate a woman’s beauty, or of highlighting her features to attract attention. It is above all a matter of physical and mental well-being, a process of acceptance and personal fulfilment, free from any quest for external validation.

Re-questioning the definition of femininity highlights the way in which it has historically been used to oppress and control women. Femininity in itself is not the issue. The real issue is that, in a patriarchal society, it is inconceivable to attribute to femininity an intrinsic strength that is not conditioned by male or societal validation. When we define femininity as superficial, we pave the way for its oppression, reinforcing male domination. By reducing femininity to a simple aestheticism without depth, society is actually appropriating this aestheticism, the value of which depends exclusively on the male gaze.

What we need to understand is that femininity, through its natural and creative aestheticism, is a form of power. It is scientifically proven that what is aesthetically pleasing naturally attracts the human eye. Yet this disdain for femininity has created the illusion that its value comes only from social approval, and not from its creative power.

By despising this aesthetic, society perpetuates a cycle of oppression in which femininity is reduced not for what it is, but because it is inevitably associated with WOMAN, and because it is an aesthetic associated with WOMAN, femininity is despised. This form of normalised violence lies in the fact that by defining femininity as superficial, it is robbed of its true potential or denatured of all forms of deep intellectual thought.

Perhaps it’s time, if I may borrow an English term, to be an « alchemist » and transform this reductive vision of femininity. It has been shaped for too long by norms that condition women’s existence on male validation and deserves to be re-appropriated. What if the power you hold lives in your femininity?