written by: Silvia

According to Wikipedia

“Solidarity … is an awareness of shared interests, objectives, standards, and sympathies creating a psychological sense of unity of groups or classes.”

We love that definition on paper. In practice, a lot of what gets sold to us as “solidarity” is just branding with better lighting.

We recognize that women having the freedom to do whatever they want, using their free will, and being independent counts as more than just following "norms" or "tradition." It's about realizing your worth as equal to men and refusing to be policed by other women who still want to play tradition police while calling it feminism. And since it's almost 2026 in six hours, let's dive into my "outstanding" experiences with so-called experts on feminism — the ones who can quote bell hooks, but turn into HR for patriarchy the second their image is at risk.

Experience 1 – When “I Can Handle Criticism” Has Conditions

There is a situation I keep replaying in my head.

I used to be close to someone who often said they were comfortable with criticism. They were active online and created content, and they liked to say that if you put yourself out there, you have to accept whatever people say. They even had a friend who regularly corrected their English, and they framed that as support and self‑improvement. In their story about themselves, they were "the kind of person who can take feedback."

But I learned that this openness had limits.

In a group call with mutual friends, we ended up talking about a conflict they'd had with another person in our circle. I shared my view that their reactions were shaped by patriarchal thinking and were unfair toward the other person. I also mentioned their way of speaking English, not just as a technical language point, but as part of the image they were performing. I wasn't only correcting pronunciation. I was questioning the gap between how they presented themselves and how they actually treated other people, especially other women.

Another person in that call agreed with me. In the moment, it felt like an honest conversation where we were trying to name what we saw. Later, though, when parts of that conversation were repeated back to them, the story changed. The political part disappeared. The shared agreement vanished. What remained was a caricature of me: someone who had "talked behind their back" and "attacked their English."

The fallout was loud and one‑sided. The next day, there was a call where they raised their voice and talked over me until there was no space left for my version of events. Another friend stepped in to "speak for them," but instead of mediating, simply joined their side and quietly ended our friendship too.

A month later, I decided to be the bigger person and apologized. I thought that if I took responsibility for my part, things might soften. Instead, the story did not end there.

One night, in the middle of a random livestream, that same mutual friend asked again what had actually happened. It was two in the morning. I repeated the story as calmly as I could, including the part where they had agreed, at the time, that the behavior we were talking about was patriarchal. Their response was a flat, almost amused: "Oh, really?"

In that moment, I realized I wasn't just dealing with hurt feelings. I was dealing with people who would happily gaslight their own memories to keep a cute little “I’m so open to feedback” brand intact. We had started with a conversation about patriarchy and hypocrisy out there, but the clearest example was right in front of me-in how quickly my reality could be rewritten, and how easily I could be turned into the sole villain in a story that had never belonged only to me.

We had started with a conversation about patriarchy and hypocrisy out there, but the clearest example was right in front of me-in how quickly my reality could be rewritten, and how easily I could be turned into the sole villain in a story that had never belonged only to me.

Even more confusing was how easily they could name when another woman refused to follow a patriarchal script, yet completely rejected the same analysis when it was applied to their own behavior. They could recognize resistance in someone else, but never see the patriarchy in the way they defended certain men or punished certain women.

Our friendship did end. I apologized, but I never spoke to them again. What stayed with me was not just the loss of the relationship, but the realization of how fragile some people's "I can handle criticism" really is when the critique comes from someone close and threatens the story they tell about themselves.

As bell hooks writes when she talks about false sisterhood, some versions of "sisterhood" are built on image, not accountability. They look like solidarity, but they fall apart the moment honesty disrupts comfort. In my case, I learned that the problem was never criticism itself. The problem was who is allowed to speak, what we’re allowed to name, and how quickly the language of feminism can turn into a Halloween costume: worn for the aesthetic, thrown away the second it gets uncomfortable.

I had also been posting makeup content long before this friend ever opened a camera. For a while it felt like we were simply two people sharing the same hobby. Everything shifted when they moved abroad, got married, and suddenly became an "influencer." PR packages started arriving for them. I still didn't receive PR, but small brands noticed me, reacted to my videos, and sometimes shared my content. Instead of that creating a sense of mutual pride-two of us existing in the same creative space-it turned into something sharper. From their new position, they could look down on what I was doing and even diss me for being in the same lane they had once entered after me. It was exactly what feminist writers describe as competitive femininity: women taught to measure their value by visibility and status, and then to see other women not as allies, but as rivals to be quietly pushed aside.

Experience 2 – When “I Don’t Want Friends Who Gossip” Becomes Its Own Performance

Years before any of this, I watched someone build a whole personality out of a lesson they had not actually learned. They made a piece of content about how they did not want to be friends with people who gossiped a lot. On the surface, it sounded principled: “I’m above drama, I choose peace, I have boundaries.” The comments treated it like a TED Talk. Apparently all you have to do to be morally pure is say you hate gossip while still snacking on it in private.

What that video did not show was how much of their own social life ran on the same thing they claimed to despise. The conversations where other people’s names were brought up as entertainment. The way private information about friends could suddenly become content, as long as the details were blurred just enough to protect their image. The way someone could be reduced to a cautionary tale, while they stayed safely framed as the wise one who had "outgrown" messy people.

It was not that they were uniquely cruel. If anything, that is what made it more unsettling. They were saying out loud what a lot of us are taught to believe: that the "good" person is the one who distances themselves from drama, even if they quietly benefit from it. That you can gossip as long as you call it "venting," or "processing," or "raising awareness." That you can participate in the same dynamics you publicly condemn, as long as you package them in the language of self‑growth and boundaries.

Looking back, what stays with me is not just the irony of that content, but what it revealed about the divide between branding and behavior. In the video, gossip was something other people did, a flaw they refused to tolerate in friends. In real life, gossip was still their favorite currency — they just laundered it through words like “venting” and “processing.” That disconnect-between the person we are on camera and the person we are in conversations no one records-is exactly the gap I keep running into when I think about performative solidarity. It is easy to denounce "toxic" women in theory. It is much harder to admit when we are the ones turning other women into stories to protect ourselves.

Experience 3 – “I Don’t Like People Who Talk Bad About Me”

It is not limited to people with an audience. Even inside my own family, I see the same distance between what someone says they refuse to tolerate and what they quietly participate in. There is a relative who often repeats that they do not like people who talk badly about them and that they do not want to stay close to anyone who does. The boundary sounds firm: no gossip, no insults, no speaking behind backs.

Recently, I found out that this same person, together with their sibling, had been talking to an older family member about me—about my weight, the way I walk, the way I talk, and how much I supposedly resemble them. None of it was framed as concern. It was comparison and commentary, a small, casual dissection of my body and mannerisms when I was not in the room.

On its own, it’s the kind of conversation many families would shrug off as “just joking” or “just talking,” right before reminding you to not be so sensitive. That is exactly what makes it revealing. Writers like Roxane Gay have pointed out how easy it is to condemn certain behaviors in theory while still benefitting from them in practice, especially when it comes to how women are judged and policed. The person who claims to draw a hard line against people "talking bad" about them has no issue doing the same thing to another woman in a setting they assume is private enough to never be named. Again, the principle is not that the behavior is wrong. The real rule is simpler: it only becomes “disrespectful” when they are the ones on the menu.

https://youtu.be/oFDWOXV6iEM?si=U2-XW5wIzFz0zkNB

The Pattern I Started To See

Placed side by side, these stories stop looking like isolated contradictions and start to look like a playbook.

The friend who swears they can “handle criticism” but rewrites the whole timeline the second the critique lands too close to their ego. The creator who denounces “gossipy friends” while quietly mining other people’s lives for content. The relative who claims they “can’t stand people talking bad about them,” then dissects my body and voice like it’s a family pastime.

In each case, the rule is the same: the behavior is only disgusting when someone else does it. Their cruelty is always “context.” Their gossip is always “concern.” Their performative feminism is always “just trying their best.”

What I started to see is how easily feminist language, “no drama” language, and “no gossip” language become props. Not tools for care or accountability, but weapons to decide who gets labeled toxic, messy, or dangerous while their own behavior floats above the story, untouched.

This is the fake solidarity I’m tired of. The kind that loves theory, loves aesthetics, loves calling out “problematic” women at a safe distance — but cannot tolerate looking in the mirror for more than five seconds.

If your feminism only works when you’re the victim, it’s not feminism. It’s PR.

On Performative Feminism & Authenticity:

• Feminist Movements in the Age of Social Media: Crossing the Thin Line Between Authentic and Performative Activism - Explores the difference between genuine activism and performance on social media[1]
• How Performative Became the Most Searing Callout in 2020 - Analysis of how "performative" became a powerful critique of inauthentic allyship[2]
• Branding the Self as an "Authentic Feminist" - Academic paper on negotiating feminist values in digital culture[3]

On "Girl" Culture & Modern Feminism:

• Everyone Is a Girl Online (WIRED) - Cultural analysis of digital "girl" culture and what it means[4]
• Digital "Girl" Culture: Postfeminist Sensibilities of Social Media "Girl" Trends - Academic examination of "clean girl," "girl dinner," and similar trends[5]
• The Joy of Communal Girlhood, the Anguish of Teen Girls (NY Times Opinion) - On the complexity of female friendship and solidarity[6]
• Woman in Retrograde (The Cut) - Critical look at 2023's "girl" culture moment[7]

On Internalized Misogyny & Female Competition:

• Why Women Compete With Each Other (NY Times Opinion) - Personal essay on competition among women and its origins[8]
• Internalized Misogyny: The Hate We Don't Know We Hold - Accessible explanation of internalized misogyny[9]
• Girls Hating Girls: Understanding and Overcoming Internalised Misogyny - Practical guide to recognizing and addressing internalized misogyny[10]
• The Manifestation of Internalized Sexism in the "Pick Me Girl" Trend on TikTok (PDF) - Academic paper analyzing the "pick me" phenomenon[11]
• When "Girl Drama" Isn't Just Drama: The Hidden Toll of Female Bullying - On relational aggression and social bullying among women[12]

On Feminist Solidarity (Academic):

• Feminist Solidarities: Theoretical and Practical Complexities - Academic paper on the challenges of building genuine solidarity[13]
• Language Policing and Twitter Wars: Why Modern Feminism is Failing Us (The Guardian) - Critical perspective on contemporary feminist movements[14]

Recommended Books:

• Girl on Girl: How Pop Culture Turned a Generation of Women Against Themselves by Sophie Gilbert - Recent book examining competitive dynamics among women[15]