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I was once told, quite confidently, that “feminism is outdated.” The speaker meant it as a statement of progress—"women have rights now," he said, sipping his coffee as if he had just dropped wisdom into my lap. And I get it, on paper we do. The Constitution says we’re equal. The law doesn’t stop us from voting, studying, working, or even becoming CEOs. But here’s the thing: equality on paper means nothing if the unwritten rules—the ones that live in our boardrooms, bedrooms, WhatsApp groups, and street corners—still haven’t caught up.
I was once told, quite confidently, that “feminism is outdated.” The speaker meant it as a statement of progress—"women have rights now," he said, sipping his coffee as if he had just dropped wisdom into my lap. And I get it, on paper we do. The Constitution says we’re equal. The law doesn’t stop us from voting, studying, working, or even becoming CEOs. But here’s the thing: equality on paper means nothing if the unwritten rules—the ones that live in our boardrooms, bedrooms, WhatsApp groups, and street corners—still haven’t caught up.
2025
We don’t need feminism in 2025 because the laws are different for men and women. We need feminism because the rules still are.
Because when a woman gets assaulted, the first question isn’t “Are you okay?” It’s “What were you wearing?” or “Why were you alone?”—as if her outfit or independence pulled the trigger. When a woman walks home at night, she doesn’t just walk—she calculates. She clutches her keys like a weapon, maps escape routes, shares her live location with friends, and prays that the car slowing down isn’t slowing for her. It’s a war-zone mentality—because in many ways, it is. And when a woman doesn’t get a raise, the blame lands squarely on her shoulders for not asking—never mind that those raises are mostly handed out by men, behind closed doors, in systems she’s been socialised not to disrupt.
The unspoken rules are everywhere, and they’re loud.
When a woman is assaulted by someone in a position of power, behind a closed door, she’s asked why she went in there alone… all while being told she should be more assertive and ask for promotions. We tell her to be confident, to network, to lean in—but never too much, never too loud, never too angry, never too emotional. Because we all know the rules change the second she does.
We know men don’t carry keys between their knuckles. They don’t walk with pepper spray, a taser, or a hidden knife in their handbag—just to feel like they might have a fighting chance to match a man in the dark. We know that when our bosses assault us, the questions circle back to Did you lead him on? Were you alone?—as if consent was something implied through friendliness, or revoked by a skirt. Because the rules never tell him to control himself. The rules tell us to always be on guard, always vigilant, always polite, always grateful—and always replaceable.
The rules say: if it happens to you, go to HR—often another woman paid under the same man’s authority, expected to protect the company before protecting you. The rules say: if that fails, go to the police—another room, another closed door, another man holding the power over what happens next.
And so we learn, quietly and quickly, that the systems aren’t built to protect our safety over a man’s reputation.
The power dynamic is never equal—not in a world where we’re expected to manage danger, hold our trauma lightly, and still smile in meetings the next day. So what do we do? We hold back the tears. We fade quietly to the back of the company, our presence shrinking until it’s easier to leave than to keep fighting. We disappear into the void of resignation, starting over—again—at a new job, from the bottom, building ourselves back up from scratch. Because no one did anything. Again.
And still, life doesn’t pause for healing. We go home, wipe our faces, and dive into the second shift—taking care of the kids, managing the household, helping with homework, pulling off the bake sale, remembering birthdays, packing lunchboxes, and loving our families with the last bit of energy we’ve got. And yet we’re told we’re not doing enough. That we’re bad mothers if we miss a school play. That we’re not committed if we take time off. That we’re too much if we speak up, too emotional if we cry, too cold if we don’t.
The guilt of being a woman in 2025 isn’t old news—it’s ever-present. The shame of being too much, the shame of being not enough. The invisible workload, the emotional labour, the mental load. And through it all, the blame never stops. It piles up quietly, whispered in performance reviews, shouted in tabloids, preached in WhatsApp groups and family dinners.
We are expected to carry it all—and to carry it with grace.
And this is why we still need feminism.
ONE IN THREE!
In South Africa, nearly one in three women has experienced some form of sexual or physical violence. One in three. But less than 15% of these assaults are ever reported—because most women have learned, painfully, that speaking up doesn't always equal being heard. We have hotlines and hashtags, but we also have deeply embedded systems that ask survivors to prove they were “victim enough” to be taken seriously.
And then there's the economic battlefield. Women make up almost half of South Africa’s workforce, yet they hold only about 25% of executive positions in top companies. Less than 3% of JSE-listed companies have female CEOs. And somehow, we’re still told the issue is a lack of ambition—as if women just don’t want the power. Meanwhile, women globally are starting businesses at record rates. In South Africa, women are flooding universities in higher numbers than ever before. We're not absent from the workforce—we’re blocked, stalled, and quietly pushed out.
Let’s not forget the gender pay gap, either. In 2025, women still earn around 78 cents for every rand a man earns in South Africa. It’s not just about salary; it’s about the value we place on women’s time, their ideas, and their contributions. It’s about unpaid caregiving, emotional labour, and the quiet, exhausting juggling act of being everything to everyone.
And yet, feminism still gets a bad rap. “Feminists hate men,” they say. “It’s just women wanting to dominate.” But feminism isn’t about hating men—it’s about hating the systems that hurt us all. The same systems that tell boys they can’t cry, that call men weak for needing help, that equate masculinity with silence and solitude. Feminism doesn’t just liberate women—it frees men from the armour they’ve been forced to wear since birth. It says: you don’t have to do it all alone.
Feminism in 2025 is about equity, not superiority. It’s about fairness. It’s about giving girls the safety to dream and boys the freedom to feel. It’s about protecting the right to choose—not just when it comes to reproductive healthcare (where, let’s be honest, nearly all the responsibility still falls on women)—but the right to choose who we want to be, how we want to live, and what we want to contribute without fear, judgement, or penalty.
What are the different eras of Feminism?
First Wave – Women's suffrage and property rights
Second Wave – Workplace rights, legal equality, reproductive rights
Third Wave – Intersectionality: race, sexuality, identity
Fourth Wave – Online activism; ending gender‑based violence; challenging tropes of masculinity and femininity
Feminism isn’t about hating men. It’s about rethinking systems that oppress women—and also lift restrictions on men. It’s about acknowledging emotional labor, mental health, and shifting toxic expectations that men must “be fine.”
Yes, feminism has a messy history. It hasn’t always been inclusive. It’s left behind women of colour, working-class women, queer voices, and those outside the Western ideal. It gave white women the microphone while expecting women of colour to clean the stage. That’s part of the truth too.
But the feminism we need today—the one we’re rebuilding—is intersectional, expansive, and deeply rooted in compassion. It’s not about being perfect.
It’s about being better.
So no, feminism isn’t outdated. It’s not irrelevant. It’s the scaffolding we still need to build a society where women are safe, where men are allowed to feel and be supported, and where our children don’t inherit the same silent burdens we’ve been carrying.
If you’ve ever loved a woman, raised a daughter, leaned on a sister, or found refuge in a friend, then you, too, have a stake in this.
Feminism isn’t just for women.
We started SheCreates Female-Led Business Networking—or SheCreates Networking, as we like to call it—because we were tired. Tired of surface-level spaces. Tired of sitting in rooms where women felt like they had to shrink, over-perform, or wear a polished mask just to be taken seriously. We wanted something real. A space where women could bring their whole selves: ambition, exhaustion, passion, confusion, confidence, burnout, spreadsheets, dreams… all of it.
We started SheCreates Female-Led Business Networking—or SheCreates Networking, as we like to call it—because we were tired. Tired of surface-level spaces. Tired of sitting in rooms where women felt like they had to shrink, over-perform, or wear a polished mask just to be taken seriously. We wanted something real. A space where women could bring their whole selves: ambition, exhaustion, passion, confusion, confidence, burnout, spreadsheets, dreams… all of it.
Our Goal
We wanted to build a space where a woman could walk in whether she was selling handmade scrunchies at a local market or running a company with 200 employees—and feel like she belonged. Where the woman juggling three kids and a side hustle could be seen and heard just as much as the woman with business cards and a boardroom. Because we believe every woman has something to teach and something to learn. And we wanted to create a support system for all of it.
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