Why I’ve Outgrown Women Don’t Owe You Pretty—And That’s a Good Thing

We All Deserve a Feminism That Evolves With Us.

Let’s get real.

This isn’t a takedown. It’s not a cancellation, a clapback, or some holier-than-thou soapbox moment. It’s a conversation. A reckoning. A love letter to growth. And yes, it’s about Women Don’t Owe You Pretty by Florence Given—and why I don’t see it the same way I once did.

When I first read the book, I felt like someone had ripped the blindfold off my face and yelled, “Wake up, babe—it’s patriarchy o’clock!”

It was fierce. Loud. Instagrammable. It challenged years of self-doubt, perfectionism, and the idea that I existed to be “palatable.” It made me want to wear red lipstick just to ruin a man’s day. And at that time? That was exactly what I needed. It was my first real introduction to feminism that felt modern, personal, and unapologetically for me. I celebrated Florence. I reposted the quotes. I called it life-changing—and it was.

But growth? Growth is inconvenient. It doesn’t care about your favourite influencers. It doesn’t care how many pink hardback copies you own. Growth shows up, uninvited, and whispers, “Hey… you ready to go deeper?”

And I was.

Back then, I thought I was a girls’ girl. But living alone in London, navigating real adulthood, I realized I wasn’t just craving aesthetics or affirmations—I was craving sisterhood. Real, raw, untidy sisterhood. The kind that holds you accountable, not just holds your hand.

It was around that time that I began to see the cracks—not just in the book, but in a certain kind of feminism altogether. The kind that’s easy to package. The kind that fits neatly in a carousel post or a pastel-hued TikTok. The kind that centres individual empowerment while quietly ignoring systemic inequality.

And that’s the thing: empowerment is important. But liberation is the goal.

Let me be clear: Women Don’t Owe You Pretty did its job. It kicked down the door for thousands of women—including me—to step into feminism for the first time. That matters. That’s valid.

But here’s where I stand now: feminism that doesn’t centre intersectionality isn’t feminism.

It’s branding.

Florence Given’s work, for all its energy and aesthetic punch, largely reflects the lens of a white, cis, able-bodied, conventionally attractive woman. It doesn’t interrogate race. It barely touches on class. It skirts around queerness, disability, global inequality, and trans womanhood.

And in 2025? That’s not just a gap. It’s a chasm.

Feminism isn’t just about how we feel in our own skin—it’s about how that skin is treated in the world. And for Black, brown, queer, disabled, working-class, and immigrant women, that experience is wildly different. When their stories aren’t front and centre, feminism becomes just another club with velvet ropes and a curated guest list.

Another hard truth: when Florence moved to LA, a city grappling with homelessness, environmental collapse, and deep racial inequality, her content shifted—sharply. Suddenly, the conversation became about vintage belts and vibey cafés. And look, I love a good outfit. I am not anti-aesthetic. But when your platform is built on the backs of women’s empowerment, you don’t get to pivot to “hot girl healing” and forget the politics of that power. Not when people are still fighting for the basics—bodily autonomy, safety, education, clean air.

Influence is not neutral. And feminism cannot afford to be shallow.

These days, I want more. I demand more. I don’t just want to feel seen—I want to feel radicalized. I want to learn. I want to unlearn. I want my feminism to make me uncomfortable in the best possible way.

Here’s what I’m reading instead. Here's who I’m listening to:

• Bell Hooks – Ain’t I a Woman? (Required reading. No excuses.)

• Audre Lorde – Sister Outsider (Don’t just quote her—read her.)

• Angela Davis – Women, Race, & Class (Essential intersectional analysis.)

• Roxane Gay – Bad Feminist (Sharp, funny, and brilliantly self-aware.)

• Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie – We Should All Be Feminists (Short but unforgettable.)

• Malala Yousafzai – I Am Malala (Because girls’ education is feminist work.)

  
  

These aren’t just authors. They’re architects of a feminism that includes all women—not just the ones with a platform and good lighting.

If you’re reading this and thinking, “Wait, I loved Women Don’t Owe You Pretty. Does that make me a bad feminist?” No. It makes you human.

It’s okay to outgrow ideas. It’s okay to change your mind about the people who once inspired you. That doesn’t make your past enthusiasm wrong—it makes your current awareness right.

Feminism isn’t a brand. It’s not a colour palette. It’s not something we “perform” for social media. It’s a living, breathing, ever-expanding movement. And it only grows when we do.

So no, I don’t hate Florence Given. I’m grateful for what her work unlocked in me. But I’ve moved on. I’ve widened the lens. I’m not just fighting for my own power—I’m fighting for ours.

And I think that’s the whole point.

Feminism shouldn’t stop at the mirror. It doesn’t end when you finally feel “empowered.” It starts when you ask, “Who’s not in the room with me? Whose voice am I not hearing? Who doesn’t get to just feel empowered, but has to fight just to survive?”

If that’s the feminism you’re ready for—one that’s intersectional, inclusive, and unapologetically about collective liberation—you’re in the right place.

Let’s keep growing. Let’s keep listening. Let’s keep showing up.

Because women don’t owe anyone pretty. But we do owe each other honesty, solidarity, and a feminism that fights for all of us.

—Your Ever-Evolving, Still-Learning Book BFF