Feminism as a Convenient Façade

When Lynn Parramore published an op-ed in Business Insider about the gap between feminist language and labor realities, the backlash was swift—and predictable. In the comments, she was accused of "splitting the movement," of "toxicity," of "betraying solidarity." One writer, known for publishing extensively on women’s economic rights, messaged her directly: "This doesn’t help. Now is the time to unite, not divide."

He was a man. His work focuses on inequality. He has spoken at conferences about "toxic corporate cultures" where women are silenced. But when the subject turned to the pay gap between him and the women in his newsroom—he stayed silent.

This is where much of the unspoken begins: with men who use feminist rhetoric not to fight inequality, but to retain power. They say the right things, sit on panels, like posts about sisterhood and diversity—and then decide who gets fired, who’s let go, and who doesn’t get promoted.

Formal "visibility" does not guarantee actual influence. Many women we spoke to described the same experience: they were invited to moderate discussions, lead diversity groups, write blogs about equality—but not to take part in decisions about how resources were distributed.

The case of Kristen Mahan at Condé Nast is telling. She led an internal gender equity initiative and took part in reviewing complaints about sexism. A few months later, her position was eliminated. "They asked me to be the face of change, but not a participant in decisions. When I tried to change the rules themselves, I was told I’d crossed a line," Mahan told NYMag. Management later stated that "all transformations require a balance of interests." None of her initiatives were ever implemented.

Statistics reinforce these stories. According to the 2024 Women in the Workplace report by McKinsey and LeanIn, just 28% of C-suite roles in the U.S. are held by women, and in tech companies, the figure is 16%. In Europe’s media industry, the gender pay gap reaches 17.2%, according to Eurostat (2024).

These numbers reveal why "visibility" is convenient: public-facing progress without a shift in power is inexpensive.

Many of the women we interviewed for this article described the same feeling: they were formally "heard," but had no real influence over company policy, budgets, or strategic decisions. They were invited to discussions, asked to write columns, appointed as facilitators of diversity groups. But when it came to actual levers of power—promotions, resources, veto rights—others were making the calls.

This was the case for Kristen Mahan, a former employee at Condé Nast. She led an internal gender equity initiative and participated in auditing complaints of sexism. A few months later, her position was eliminated. In an interview with NYMag, she said: "They asked me to be the face of change, but not a participant in decisions. When I tried to change the rules themselves, I was told I’d crossed a line."

Management later stated that "all transformations require a balance of interests." None of Mahan’s proposals were ever implemented.

Paradoxically, the men most fluent in progressive rhetoric often prove the least open to criticism. Their allyship becomes armor. Challenging them publicly is difficult—they are "on your side." They face less scrutiny. They set the tone of the conversation, decide who gets heard, who gets invited, and who does not.

In 2023, the UN awarded an international prize to the Swedish project Men for Gender Equality. Its leader regularly spoke on women’s rights panels and led trainings for NGOs. But three former participants told The Guardian that the organization had no women in key leadership roles, and one left after her ideas were repeatedly dismissed. Her feedback was rejected with phrases like: "That’s too emotional" or "We’ve already discussed this."

Representatives of the project said that "all voices within the organization matter." But how decisions were actually made was never explained.

At the other end of the spectrum are men who genuinely see themselves as allies. They read the right books, quote bell hooks, and write op-eds about gender. And yet, when it comes to power—promotions, funding, accountability—the structure remains unchanged.

This was the case at a tech platform that described itself as "a space for women’s digital safety." At an international conference in 2023, its founder gave a speech about harassment, trolling, and the right of women to be online without threats. His remarks received a standing ovation. But it later emerged that not a single woman held a leadership position at the company, and internal complaints from female employees about male sabotage of their projects had been ignored.

One former employee said that after raising the issue of budget allocation, she was removed from internal chats. Another woman was denied a contract extension. Meanwhile, the company continued to post public content about online safety for women.

Technically, none of these cases involved explicit discrimination. No one said "there’s no place for women here." On the contrary—the language was progressive: "We’re working on it," "These things take time," "We have to move forward together." This kind of rhetoric is difficult to challenge. It disarms criticism. It creates the illusion of progress that cannot be questioned without sounding extreme.

As Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie once said: "The problem is not that men don’t hear women. The problem is that they’re not handing over the microphone."