I remember the first time I hated a girl. I despised her. We were in competition with each other at eight or nine years old, fighting over a dupatta to use for praying (there was only one!), on the ground kicking and pulling each other’s hair. I think we wanted to prove who was more likely to be the “good” girl. We wanted praise, and we were conditioned to seek it ruthlessly if need be.
Another early memory I have of feeling anger towards another girl occurred around the same age. We both wanted the approval of an older, sister-like figure. We were on the beach in Spain and when our elder asked one of us to apply sunblock on her back, we fought over the bottle in a battle of tug-and-war. Eventually she told us to share the job, and we begrudgingly accepted the truce.
This was also around the time I started exploring my queerness: playing “doctor-doctor” with girls my age, reenacting the sex scene from Titanic, and generally exploring our bodies in unison. Many people I know—irrespective of gender identity—experienced similar situations when they were children. I believe a curiousity about our bodies is healthy, if not natural. But then I got caught and punished for it, which created a shield of shame around my queerness for years.
As an adult, however, this competition with women and femmes looked a lot different. It’s usually linked to male approval, and less the approval of our elders (at least for me). I think belonging to a culture that praises young women on how obedient and “good” they are instills and conditions us to fight for that title. I am good, I am pure, I am virtuous. At the end of the day, it’s all patriarchal violence.
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I’ve been thinking about this more and more because of the ways in which a handful of femme friendships ended. Many of us are targets of misogyny from other women. Many of these women are often unaware they are being violent. Cultivating self-awareness and setting loving, relational boundaries, are non-linear learning curves for chronically traumatized women.
I also believe it stems from watching women hate other women around us. Listening to the way they try to rip each other apart with envy, jealousy, and anything they could to prove to themselves that they are the better, more deserving one. As a teenager, my only reprieve from it, I thought, were the all-girls schools I went to. But even then I was bullied by prettier, smarter, more popular girls, and our teachers would invade our privacy, silently judge and punish us—all of which is the result of a conditioning that quietly sides with men.
Watching women submit and obey men, especially in Pakistan, enraged me. But so many women need to do it in order to survive (and many actually want to). For those who could not decide their fate, there is rarely an escape from the prism of patriarchy unless you’re privileged and supported by many. A maze of coerced motherhood, domestic labour, and an unknowing of female pleasure.
The most insidious form of women hating women that I have witnessed, however, is women from the upper echelons of society (often through marriage!!) oppressing women from lower—if not the lowest—echelons. Watching rich women subjugating their domestic workers, ‘parlour waalis,’ and others who provide a service to them. It was a harrowing thing to witness the venom that came out of these wealthy women’s mouths, even the occassional physical strike.
Otherwise, it’s been about impressing men. Feeling seen. Who can maintain their attention and gain their approval the longest, the most sincerely, and why the fuck are you looking at him, wh*re? Even though I seldom sought the penetration of the male gaze, I have still tried to obtain it—as if it were a grand prize—just so I could put a woman in her place and show her that I’m not to be fucked with.
If she tried to bully me, I would gladly show her how small I can make her feel.
I’ve successfully managed to ostracize women from social groups, and I’ve had the same done to me. How fucked up is all of this? Cancelling each other as brown, South Asian, or even Muslim women and femmes—because of men? Because of how your worth is—sadly—so intrinsically tied to men’s opinions of and desire towards you? I sit here astonished at myself and others. It’s tragic.
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I blame capitalism for the rise of the puritanical woman alongside male supremacists (and for everything, really). As Silvia Federici writes in Caliban and The Witch, “the degradation of women are necessary conditions for the existence of capitalism at all times.” And with the development of capitalism, she elaborates, “the construction of a new world order, making of women the servants of the male work-force, was a major aspect of capitalist development.”
I recently checked my Instagram insights. 75% of my 11.8k followers are women (woman-identifying? how do they get these stats!!), and unsurprsingly, women are the ones who police me the most on social media. Usually, it’s for appearing irreligious or causing shame. But causing shame to who? My family? Myself? Or to you, somehow, as if I’m an extension of you. Who I am is not your concern..
A lot of this feigned concern, or this performative feminism and allyship, is rooted in carrying shame towards oneself. We need to make peace with ourselves.
And alongside capitalism, the institution of marriage has been a battlefield for women for a long time now. Capitalism itself has exacerbated the wedding industrial-complex, linking women’s value and worth to their weddings, partners, and themselves. Some will argue that ‘intrasexual female competition’ is innate and biological, but as the most sentient beings on the planet—we can do better. And this theory is rooted in rigid gender roles, of which Indigenous folks, for example, did not adhere to. It was the colonizers who convinced Indigenous folks (through oppression) that women are lesser than men.
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Unlearning internalized misogyny takes time and support from other women and femmes. The reason I am able to have these realizations today is because of the inspirational women I’ve been fortunate to be surrounded by, including my mother. It’s also the result of being unable to trust most women and isolating myself from a lot of femme friendships. It’s also deeply rooted in the acknowledgment of having our own identities. I don’t judge other women for their choices. I understand this world is not safe to us. How dare I add to that?
Protecting, not shaming, each other is what will help us grow stronger. As brown women and femmes. As survivors of trauma and oppression. As community seekers.
We do not exist to serve men, or anyone for that matter. If we choose to, that decision should be left solely to us. But we are sentient beings, like the animals, the birds in the trees, the flowers that grow, and like men as well. Our sole purpose is not to reproduce or submit to men. Our purpose is to bloom in unison with all things around us—and we cannot grow until we are all free from oppression.
Our oppressors will keep us all small (yes, all women). Patriarchy and capitalism’s ultimate goal is to keep us small. It’s in the stats, if you think I sound superfluous—reproductive and endocrine disorders have been on the rise since the 1960s, an era referred to as the advent of capitalism and industrialization.
With the rise of teflon-use during our parent’s ubringing, microplastics in literally everything during ours, hormone disruptors in our food, makeup, skincare products and everyday household supplies, capitalism is literally making us sick. Capitalism is toxic. Capitalism kills. Capitalism breeds competition. And this is why it is necessary to recognize this, and work towards collective liberation. And while there is no ethical consumption under capitalism, I urge you to read more on the topic of anti-capitalism. Another world can exist.
Our politicians—mostly incompetent and saturated wealthy men—will not save the world. Don’t believe what they say. We were told prisons keep us safe from criminals, but really all they do is provide profits into these men’s pockets. The prison industrial-complex serves them more than it will ever serve us. And it certainly does not serve the imprisoned. So much of our existence is a game to them. We are rats stuck in a shitty experiment, caged in metropolitan cities, living paycheque to paycheque to survive—or being unable to survive at all.
We will be the ones to plant the seeds. We will be the ones to save ourselves.
A playlist of songs I made for brown women, femmes, comrades. I love you ❤
To my friend Iman, for proofreading and suggesting edits for this essay, and to Silvia Federici, whose work cemented the idea that I am a Marxist-feminist.
Women Who Hate Women
Great insights! Wish I could help my extremely Islamic mother and sisters understand these underlying themes of my oh-so-great culture and religion. It's time for women to own themselves without shame and approval from men. Thanks for writing this!