There’s always a new Anti-Feminist Influencer™ making waves online.
Like clockwork, every two or three years, a new voice rises to prominence. She positions herself as a brave truth-teller, the woman who dares to “tell it like it is” about feminism’s supposed failings. The game has an in-built protection mechanism. When other women challenge her views, they’re swiftly dismissed as overly emotional, jealous or threatened—just more “intrasexual competition.”
There is, undeniably, a market for this type of discourse. Alice Evans, who documents the impact of feminist activism globally, has noticed a pattern: “My comparative research reveals a global trend: threats to status, assaults on core values, and exclusionary tribalism can ignite organised resistance. All this is exacerbated by social media.”
“Exclusionary tribalism” is one tactic at which liberal feminism has excelled. Championing women, smashing glass ceilings, and gaining ground without consideration for the feathers it will ruffle—reasonably or unreasonably—is a recipe for backlash. From Seoul to Cairo and to the United States, feminism faces opposition as a destabilizing force that some claim severs women from their traditional social roles.
We are currently in a deep trough of this cycle. After the 2000s’ liberal acceleration delivered heavy-handed DEI legislation and introspective cultural criticism in publications like Jezebel, the 2020s were ripe for a new generation of anti-feminist influencers. As Evans notes, social media and its primary ideological vector, the influencer, are essential components in this latest wave of reaction.
The cycle is remarkably predictable: these influencers dominate discourse until suddenly they don’t. Some burn out. Others lose their audience’s attention for remarkably mundane reasons—a slight change in appearance, an unexpected relationship reveal, or perhaps just one wrong take. When the discourse you participate in is about limiting the ways it is appropriate to live as a woman, every deviation from the pattern becomes a reason to be judged by your audience and your detractors, who are often the same people. Under the pay-per-click model, fans and haters both make you money—but boredom is a killer. Each fallen influencer is replaced with a new model, who delivers the same message in fresh, flashy packaging.
Anti-Feminist Foremothers
This dance is as old as feminism itself, though the steps have evolved with each era. In nineteenth-century America, suffragists faced formidable opposition from figures like Catharine Beecher, an educator who insisted women’s moral influence belonged firmly in the home, not at the ballot box. Beecher cast suffragists as disruptors of social harmony, though she wrapped her criticism in concerns about virtue and domestic stability.
In the 1960s and 70s, second-wave feminism was countered by Phyllis Schlafly, who proved a masterful opponent of the Equal Rights Amendment (ERA). Schlafly warned of feminism’s dire consequences, from women being drafted into combat to the dissolution of traditional family life. She skillfully mobilized religious and conservative groups, effectively halting the ERA’s ratification while positioning herself as the defender of “real women” against what she characterized as feminism’s ungrateful demands.
The 1990s brought a more provocative flavor to anti-feminist critique, with figures like Camille Paglia and Shaharazad Ali becoming sought-after voices for daytime television. Paglia delivered blistering critiques of modern feminism, arguing that it infantilized women while demonizing men. Her classical references and sharp rhetoric drew devoted followers who felt alienated by feminism’s progressive evolution. Ali, speaking primarily to Black audiences, stirred controversy by suggesting Black women should accept certain relationship compromises to preserve male dignity. Pulitzer-Prize-winning journalist Susan Faludi’s 1991 book, Backlash, masterfully analyzed these voices, particularly Paglia’s, revealing how their critiques fed into broader cultural pushback against feminist progress.
What Drives Today’s Anti-Feminist Influencers?
Notably, these earlier critics seemed genuinely motivated by their convictions rather than audience metrics. They were fighting to preserve values they genuinely believed were worth protecting. In many ways, today’s online anti-feminist personalities follow this lineage, but their sincerity is often more ambiguous. Take Pearl Davis’s provocative calls to “Repeal the 19th”: whether this reflects genuine belief or calculated controversy for clicks is anyone’s guess, though her swift pivot to entertainment suggests the latter.
Each new influencer arrives on the scene as a supposed renegade, boldly defying political correctness to deliver the “real truth” about feminism’s shortcomings, origins, or modernity’s broader failures. Their talking points form a familiar chorus: criticisms of women’s career ambitions, claims of male marginalization, and calls to “return to tradition” as the cure for social discord. Once the novelty wears thin, audiences drift away, ready for a fresh voice to repackage the same message.
Dig deeper, and you’ll often find personal motivations driving these figures’ rise. Many openly acknowledge difficulties with female relationships or complicated maternal dynamics. Some begin with legitimate concerns—frustrations with corporate culture, toxic workplace politics, or genuine interest in men’s issues like fathers’ rights and social isolation. But these starting points frequently calcify into broader resentment toward women’s social and economic advancement. While they preach “feminine grace” and “traditional values,” many display precisely the combative, contrarian qualities they criticize in feminist discourse as the masculine qualities of “modern women.” This edge, however, is their secret sauce. Sharp critiques of feminism resonate particularly well with male audiences seeking validation of their concerns about women’s changing social status.
Social media’s engagement economy intensifies this dynamic through audience capture. An influencer who gains initial traction lambasting feminism often faces pressure to dial up the drama. Nuance gives way to increasingly bold proclamations: feminism isn’t just flawed but fundamentally destructive, and even absolutely “demonic” at its origins. Over time, many become almost caricatures of their initial positions, ironically embodying the very combative stance they once criticized in “feminist extremists.”
Idealized Traditionalism vs. Lived Reality
While many idealize domestic life as the antidote to modern chaos, these visions rarely survive contact with reality. The anti-feminist influencer often begins proselytizing before having a family, from the stance that “feminism” is the thing that stands in her way. The actual demands of motherhood and homemaking frequently expose the naiveté of their assumptions, from the strenuous reality of child-rearing to the financial pressures of single-income households. Some quietly fade from view, while others double down, maintaining an increasingly strained façade as fatigue and practical pressures mount.
Faludi’s insights in Backlash remain razor-sharp here. The promise of returning to an idealized past holds particular appeal during times of economic and cultural upheaval. But that nostalgia crumbles under scrutiny, and more importantly, the gender tensions anti-feminists decry today have roots far deeper than women’s career advancement or changing social roles.
The most telling irony is that these influencers’ careers embody everything they claim to stand against. They’re entrepreneurs building personal brands, seeking spotlight and status, monetizing controversy, and often prioritizing work over traditional domestic life. They’ve carved out lucrative niches in the attention economy while preaching against women’s professional ambitions. Their success depends on the very feminist gains they denounce—the freedom to speak publicly, to build businesses, to influence social discourse. They’re selling rebellion against modern womanhood, but their ability to sell it at all is thoroughly, unmistakably modern.
The next wave of anti-feminist voices is undoubtedly already warming up in the wings, armed with fresh packaging for age-old arguments. They’ll likely rack up millions of views explaining why women were happier before they had rights, or how feminism is blocking their path to traditional wifehood, or whatever variant of these greatest hits resonates with the algorithm this time around.
The pattern is clear, but so too is its context: when movements for social change push hard and fast, some degree of pushback is inevitable. While liberal feminism’s sometimes aggressive stride toward progress has created real opportunities and advances, it has also, perhaps unavoidably, generated resistance from those who feel threatened or left behind. But here’s what hasn’t changed: the gap between these influencers’ performative traditionalism and their very contemporary pursuit of influence, between their prescribed ideals and their lived reality.
In that gap lies the truth about this endless cycle of anti-feminist influencers. They’re not actually selling a return to tradition. They’re selling entertainment, dressed up as enlightenment, to an audience grappling with rapid social change and eager to believe that women’s success is to blame for their discontent.
