What if the feminist revolution we’ve been sold is just a glittery, individualistic fantasy? The rise of “main character energy” feminism has turned liberation into a solo performance—where the spotlight is always on *you*, the heroine of your own Instagram reel. But what happens when the revolution isn’t a monologue? What happens when it’s a chorus?
The Illusion of the Lone Warrior
“Main character energy” feminism sells us a seductive myth: that change is a solo act, that empowerment is measured in likes, and that the path to equality is paved with personal brand deals and viral hashtags. It’s the feminism of the influencer, where the revolution is a filter, and sisterhood is a caption. But this narrative is a trap. It reduces collective struggle to a performance, where the real work of dismantling oppression is outsourced to algorithms and aesthetic consistency.
Consider the woman who posts #GirlBoss quotes but refuses to pay her interns. Or the activist who demands visibility but ignores the labor of the women of color who’ve been doing the work long before she arrived. Main character feminism isn’t just self-centered—it’s a neoliberal co-optation of radical politics, where liberation is repackaged as a marketable identity.
The Tyranny of Visibility
In this economy of attention, visibility is currency. But what happens when the most marginalized voices are the least visible? Main character feminism thrives on the illusion that representation equals justice, that seeing a woman CEO on a magazine cover is the same as dismantling the systems that keep her there. It’s a hollow victory.
What about the undocumented worker? The single mother working two jobs? The disabled woman fighting for basic accommodations? Their struggles don’t fit neatly into a 30-second reel. Main character feminism demands a certain kind of visibility—one that’s palatable, marketable, and, above all, *individual*. It’s a feminism that celebrates the exception while ignoring the rule.
The Myth of the Self-Made Woman
The cult of the self-made woman is a capitalist fantasy, and feminism has been all too eager to adopt it. Main character feminism tells us that if we just work hard enough, if we just believe in ourselves enough, we can overcome any obstacle. But this ignores the fact that systemic oppression isn’t a personal failing—it’s a structural one.
What about the woman who *does* work hard but still can’t afford childcare? What about the Black woman passed over for promotions despite her qualifications? What about the queer person fired for their identity? Main character feminism offers no answers here—only the hollow promise that if they just *lean in* harder, they’ll get there. It’s a cruel joke.
The Danger of Performative Activism
Performative activism isn’t just annoying—it’s dangerous. When feminism becomes a series of aesthetic choices rather than a commitment to justice, it erodes the very foundations of solidarity. Main character feminism turns allyship into a trend, solidarity into a flex, and revolution into a brand.
What happens when the women leading the charge are the ones least invested in the collective? What happens when the movement becomes a popularity contest? Performative activism doesn’t just fail to create change—it actively undermines it by replacing real work with empty gestures.
The Radical Power of Community Care
What if, instead of chasing the spotlight, we focused on the people beside us? What if feminism wasn’t about being the main character, but about being a good co-star? Community care isn’t just a buzzword—it’s the antidote to the loneliness of individualism. It’s the recognition that no one succeeds alone, and that liberation is a collective project.
Community care means showing up for the women who’ve been doing the work long before you arrived. It means centering the voices of the most marginalized, not just when it’s convenient. It means rejecting the idea that empowerment is a solo act and embracing the radical potential of interdependence.
Imagine a feminism where the goal isn’t to be the heroine of your own story, but to write a story where everyone gets a speaking part. Where the revolution isn’t a monologue, but a symphony. Where the work of liberation isn’t outsourced to algorithms, but shared among those who need it most.
The Challenge: Can We Let Go of the Spotlight?
Here’s the uncomfortable truth: main character feminism is easier. It’s easier to post a black square than to dismantle white supremacy. It’s easier to share a hashtag than to show up for a strike. It’s easier to be the heroine of your own story than to admit that you need help.
But real change isn’t about being the main character. It’s about being part of the ensemble. It’s about recognizing that your liberation is bound up in the liberation of others. It’s about rejecting the neoliberal fantasy of the self-made woman and embracing the radical potential of community care.
So here’s the challenge: Can we let go of the spotlight? Can we stop chasing the fleeting high of viral validation and start doing the slow, steady work of building something real? Can we stop performing feminism and start living it?
The revolution won’t be televised. But it might just be livestreamed—if we’re lucky enough to have someone filming the right angle.
