I am GenZ: Not a Feminist

Two hours before the first light, I was up. Suhoor, then in a quiet room, softly reading Quran under a red light. The air was cool, still in the early morning, just the far off cars passing on the road behind my room, and my siblings bustling for dugsi. Asma’s voice, a sharp, insistent alarm yelling, “Wake up! We’re late!” to call sleepy boys.” I was the one who was late. However, it was still lingering in the echoes of last night’s Iftar. The warm glow of shared dates and the lively discussions with friends, and that persistent, almost insistent voice: “Eeh, Suad, you’re a feminist.” Am I? A big question mark?

Before I could delve deeper, the pragmatic voice of necessity reminded me, ‘I have to run for work,’ but not before my preparations, though it wouldn’t take long. A quick glance in the mirror after my bath, and the truth stared back – a truth about me. Skincare routines? A  plenty of serums and creams? Not really for me. Perhaps I am too lazy. The world would have to accept me as I am a woman with zero interest in skincare and other beautifying products, a woman who prefers her mornings simple. And now, with my morning routine done, I took off in a rapid run to work.

I’ve been thinking about labels. Specifically, the one that seems to cling to every woman with an opinion: feminist. I am, and am not, a feminist. I am genZ woman. It’s not a declaration of war, nor is it an apology. It’s simply a statement of fact. It is not the same as how we define the word feminist. “I am a woman, and I get to define what that means.” Swati Sharma, once said. I will not be confined by your definitions. I’ve watched the word morph, twist, and contort itself into a thousand different meanings, each more fraught than the last. The feminist narrative, as I often see it, is labeled as driving another culture. A woman building her future and saying NO to other social burdens is seen as driving another culture. Yes, she’s a feminist in your definitions. She’s not ‘driving another culture,’ rather reclaiming the culture that was always rightfully hers. She is redefining what you predefined. She is saying ‘fuck off’ to the culture that told her to be silent and not to show her opinion. She is saying ‘bullshit’ to the culture that limits her freedom.

” I am saying ‘bullshit’ to the culture that limits her freedom.”

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I acknowledge the historical and ongoing systemic inequalities that women face in the workplace. I advocate for letting girls to the ladder. Fair compensation and access to leadership positions. I believe women should have the absolute right to make decisions free from interference. I recognize the damage caused by rigid gender roles and the need to dismantle these societal expectations that limit women’s potential, and I stand by the necessity of challenging harmful stereotypes. I believe that choosing to embrace roles of motherhood or homemaking, should be a valid and respected choice, not a sign of oppression.

This isn’t about creating some radical, alien concept of womanhood. It is not about disbelieving religious duties. It’s about dismantling the fallacies that have shackled generations. I’m not interested in going far, but in tearing down the structures that exist.  I believe in equality, of course. Who doesn’t? I respect my Islamic religious duties and behavior, but not accepting the misconceptions and misinterpretations around it. I’m simply interested in justice, in autonomy, in the right of every woman to live a life free from dependence, free from the weight of societal expectations.

Feminism, in its purest form, is not a blueprint for a ‘new woman,’ but against the old, crumbling walls of societal burdens, what I call for (Dhoodhoob bulsho) societal myth. It’s about shattering the glass ceilings that confined ambition, the whispers that silenced voices, the invisible chains that bound bodies and minds. I and WE are not inventing new ways to be women. We are simply remembering the ways we always were, before the world told us we were something else. We are stripping away the masks of compliance, the costumes of subservience. We are not defined by your limitations. And that, in its essence, is not ‘driving another culture,’ but reclaiming the very heart of humanity.

I am not a feminist. I am just a woman who wants to sit in her favorite coffee shop, to sip her Espresso without being asked, “Where is your man?” and without expecting a man to pay her receipt. If a man opens a door for me, I’ll thank him, but I don’t wish for it. I am a woman who doesn’t want her male colleague to feel emasculated if I pay for our food. Masculinity, as Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie said, is a small, tight, ugly cage; we should break that cage and then rebuild it. For me, sharing is caring; you are not obligated to pay my bills. As far as I can pay, it is me, as a person, who will cover that, not you as a man. I am just a woman who wants to live her life without predefined expectations and roles. And that, for me, is enough.

I am not a feminist. I am just a woman who wants to sit in her favorite coffee shop, to sip her Espresso without being asked, Where is your man?

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If I advise the woman left pregnant, that her strength is her own, that she could raise her child and has the right to demand support. For the woman whose partner’s pockets are empty, that her resources are hers, that her love does not demand financial sacrifice, and not to invest over him. If I support a girl who refuses to be silenced in a classroom. I am not ‘driving another culture.’ I am claiming the right to learn, to think, to contribute. When a woman says NO, she isn’t disobedient, she’s choosing her own path, she’s not ‘driving another culture.’ She’s asserting her autonomy, her right to define her own happiness. If you call that feminism? Perhaps, let me be so.

If I select a girl over a boy for employment, it’s not about devaluing his qualifications. He is undeniably talented. But talent, in a vacuum, is not enough. It’s a moment of acknowledging the disproportionate privileges that have shaped our world, a chance to redress the imbalance, even if only in this small, contained space. Think of the classrooms where her voice was discouraged. Think of the boardrooms where her ideas were overlooked, then repeated by a male colleague. Think of the societal expectations that often burdened her with disproportionate caregiving responsibilities.

He matters more. He’s given the benefit of the doubt, the extra chance. But for her, she must prove herself, again and again, to earn the same respect. He’s seen as an investment, a legacy, a continuation of the family name. She’s seen as a fleeting chapter, a temporary resident, destined to belong to another. The weight of these expectations settles on her shoulders, a burden she carries silently. So, I chose her. Not out of pity. It is a small step towards a world where the scales of justice are truly balanced, where opportunity – be it in education, professional advancement, or any other sphere of life – is not a privilege, but a right.

If I’m raising twins, a boy and a girl, I will not teach my daughter to be well-mannered while my son learns to conquer. My son will learn that a woman’s ‘no’ is a sacred boundary. Tat she’s not obliged to cook for him. I will not tell my daughter to wear what societies expect, to limit her explorations. I will teach my son to not be the source of fear, his role is not to offend, but to offer respectful space. I will not tell my daughter that her dreams are secondary, that her ambitions are frivolous, that her voice is too loud. I will tell my twins that their dreams are valid, their ambitions are worthy, their voices are essential, that they can swing as high as their heart desires.

If the threads I wear trouble your vision, then let me weave you a story. Some days, I paint myself in the softness of a Dirac Somali. Other days, I choose the sharp, tailored lines of a power suit. I choose to be draped in a simple, elegant dress, a personal choice. No matter the garment, it’s mine. It’s an extension of my soul, a reflection of my mood, a testament to my autonomy. It’s not a performance for others, not a plea for approval, not a concession to expectation. It’s a choice made freely, without apology, without explanation.

In the world of relationships, I recall a dude, before we got into a relationship, said to me, “Bal Qiiroo,” which means “Be Soft.” But I hit the decline button, and thank God, that was the time I stepped out of his truck. He was all “women are supposed to be…” and I was like, “Supposed to be what?” Hear this clearly; feminine energy isn’t a 24/7 hotline. It’s a part of me, and it manifests in a million different ways. I’m not your emotional chef. Sometimes it’s a soft glow, Sometimes it’s me telling you to get your own cooked meal. Don’t call me honey, if you can’t afford the actual honey for my pancakes. Don’t expect me to be your soft-spoken angel, when you can’t even be a decent human.

“Don’t call me honey, if you can’t afford the actual honey for my pancakes.“

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When I speak of women’s rights. Speaking of rape. Speaking of failed marriages and single mothers raising abandoned children. I feel the echoes of their pain, their fear, their tearing eyes. My heart and soul cannot remain untouched by the echoes of their silent screams, the invisible scars etched on their souls, the weight of judgment they carry on their shoulders.  “Kor naageed kabbo isma dheera”. We are bound by unseen threads. When one woman bleeds, we all feel the sting. When one woman rises, we all soar. It is about us. It is about fighting a world where every woman’s story is one of dignity, respect, and liberation.

Above all, you might call me a feminist. You might call me a rebel. But honestly? I’m just someone who has boundaries. I want the same respect men expect as a baseline. I carry the weight of our history, yet I refuse to be bound by it. I don’t want privilege because I’m a woman; I want what I earn. And the same applies, not to offend, because I am a woman. I am not afraid to challenge the status quo, to question ‘because that’s how it’s always been.’ I’m a Gen Z woman; I am not the defined feminist in your head. We don’t do expectational obedience. We do boundaries, we do respect, and we demand to be treated as equals.

“We are bound by unseen threads. When one woman bleeds, we all feel the sting. When one woman rises, we all soar. It is about us.”

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