I will never be a ‘gorgeous gorgeous girlie’. Nor a ‘book girlie’, a ‘country girlie’, or a ‘writer girlie’, despite being a bookish female who grew up semi-rurally and who still knows what her handwriting looks like. I will not be a girlie of any kind, and not merely because I am almost as old and as tired as I look. Rather, I will not be a girlie because I resist the term, and the attachment to girlhood associated with it. Girlhood can be great. But the present cultural ubiquity of ‘girlies’ signals something more troubling than mere tongue-in-cheek reclamation of femininity, or celebration of idealised female youth.
The term ‘girlies’ has been circulating around the internet and in person with renewed vigour since 2022. There’s nothing groundbreaking about the popularisation of slang, and it’s worth noting the ironic tone some slang possesses, especially depending on who is using it. A queer friend calling me ‘hun’ is likelier to come across as affectionate and slightly tongue-in-cheek – cognisant as we both are of gender stereotyping in language – than if it were my boss using the term, which would come across as demeaning and inappropriate. So it could seem excessive to analyse a linguistic quirk that signals collective identity and affection. However, the focus on youth and on being unmoulded that ‘girlies’ embodies – the ‘not yet’ quality to it in the context of a woman’s life – merits questioning.
I understand the desire to romanticise certain stages of life, and there is something beautiful about the mythology that surrounds girlhood: the sense of possibility, and that a whole life and a bright future lies ahead of the shining, Jo March-esque main character. Yet a focus on girlhood – potentially to the detriment of celebrating other, later stages of life – disturbs me. It reminds me of the overemphasis on female youth and beauty that causes so many women to struggle with self-worth as they age. It reminds me of how older women are often made to feel unimportant and invisible within society. It reminds me of how Pablo Picasso, when describing a relationship he had when he was 45 with a 17-year-old girl, said: “It was perfect – I was in my prime, she was in her prime.” If a 17-year-old girl is in her prime, what does that leave her in terms of the rest of her life?
If we celebrate the girl to this extent, we fail the woman. We fail the person she has yet to become.
In 2024, I’d argue that renewed attachment to girlhood and ‘girl-ness’ is one of attachment to the sense of potential, and of having a future, that girlhood embodies – even when being a girl or a teenager can be hard. Girls have their lives ahead of them; they can still be or do anything. During the pandemic and ensuing economic and geopolitical instability, many girls and women have felt their lives to be heavier and more burdensome than previously: specific examples include mothers taking on the domestic load further during the pandemic; a spike in domestic violence; and a rise in young women attempting suicide (at least in the UK). Girlhood and its associated possibility hold immense appeal, especially as girls are portrayed in popular culture and entertainment, forever on the cusp of stepping breathlessly over some aspirational threshold into the life of a successful creative, a student at her dream university, or a respected and valued pioneer ready for further adventures. Moreover, almost 100 years after Pablo Picasso pursued a 17-year-old “in her prime”, female youth remains as valued as ever. Is it any wonder so many of us embrace a widespread self-infantilisation – linguistically; in fashion; and in empty concepts that link us to more naïve, childlike, and (in some ways) socially approved versions of ourselves, such as ‘girl dinners’ and ‘girl maths’?
We need to imagine better futures for women, and to focus more on the possibilities and potential that exist at later stages of women’s lives too. We need better female characters in popular culture, in particular aged 30 up – ones that actually make women feel okay or even enthusiastic about growing older. Bridget Jones had her moment; so did Fleabag. They were celebrated for being ‘real’. Yet as examples of how diverse and exciting womanhood can be, they fail real women seeking to imagine their futures.
The embracing of ‘girlies’ indicates a sense that once a woman ages out of girlhood, her best days are behind her – an idea that feminists have long disputed. Even though being a woman can be an uphill battle, we need pop culture to represent more emotionally, ideologically, and professionally diverse female characters, and for wider culture to celebrate a broader cross-section of women, across all life stages. Girlies are a warning sign. Storytelling sectors and wider society need to listen and respond.
I will never be a ‘gorgeous gorgeous girlie’. Nor a ‘book girlie’, a ‘country girlie’, or a ‘writer girlie’, despite being a bookish female who grew up semi-rurally and who still knows what her handwriting looks like. I will not be a girlie of any kind, and not merely because I am almost as old and as tired as I look. Rather, I will not be a girlie because I resist the term, and the attachment to girlhood associated with it. Girlhood can be great. But the present cultural ubiquity of ‘girlies’ signals something more troubling than mere tongue-in-cheek reclamation of femininity, or celebration of idealised female youth.
The term ‘girlies’ has been circulating around the internet and in person with renewed vigour since 2022. There’s nothing groundbreaking about the popularisation of slang, and it’s worth noting the ironic tone some slang possesses, especially depending on who is using it. A queer friend calling me ‘hun’ is likelier to come across as affectionate and slightly tongue-in-cheek – cognizant as we both are of gender stereotyping in language – than if it were my boss using the term, which would come across as demeaning and inappropriate. So it could seem excessive to analyse a linguistic quirk that signals collective identity and affection. However, the focus on youth and on being unmoulded that ‘girlies’ embodies – the ‘not yet’ quality to it in the context of a woman’s life – merits questioning.
I understand the desire to romanticise certain stages of life, and there is something beautiful about the mythology that surrounds girlhood: the sense of possibility, and that a whole life and a bright future lies ahead of the shining, Jo March-esque main character. Yet a focus on girlhood – potentially to the detriment of celebrating other, later stages of life – disturbs me. It reminds me of the overemphasis on female youth and beauty that causes so many women to struggle with self-worth as they age. It reminds me of how older women are often made to feel unimportant and invisible within society. It reminds me of how Pablo Picasso, when describing a relationship he had when he was 45 with a 17-year-old girl, said: “It was perfect – I was in my prime, she was in her prime.” If a 17-year-old girl is in her prime, what does that leave her in terms of the rest of her life?
If we celebrate the girl to this extent, we fail the woman. We fail the person she has yet to become.
In 2024, I’d argue that renewed attachment to girlhood and ‘girl-ness’ is one of attachment to the sense of potential, and of having a future, that girlhood embodies – even when being a girl or a teenager can be hard. Girls have their lives ahead of them; they can still be or do anything. During the pandemic and ensuing economic and geopolitical instability, many girls and women have felt their lives to be heavier and more burdensome than previously: specific examples include mothers taking on the domestic load further during the pandemic; a spike in domestic violence; and a rise in young women attempting suicide (at least in the UK). Girlhood and its associated possibility hold immense appeal, especially as girls are portrayed in popular culture and entertainment, forever on the cusp of stepping breathlessly over some aspirational threshold into the life of a successful creative, a student at her dream university, or a respected and valued pioneer ready for further adventures. Moreover, almost 100 years after Pablo Picasso pursued a 17-year-old “in her prime”, female youth remains as valued as ever. Is it any wonder so many of us embrace a widespread self-infantilisation – linguistically; in fashion; and in empty concepts that link us to more naïve, childlike, and (in some ways) socially approved versions of ourselves, such as ‘girl dinners’ and ‘girl maths’?
We need to imagine better futures for women, and to focus more on the possibilities and potential that exist at later stages of women’s lives too. We need better female characters in popular culture, in particular aged 30 up – ones that actually make women feel okay or even enthusiastic about growing older. Bridget Jones had her moment; so did Fleabag. They were celebrated for being ‘real’. Yet as examples of how diverse and exciting womanhood can be, they fail real women seeking to imagine their futures.
The embracing of ‘girlies’ suggests that once a woman ages out of girlhood, her best days are behind her – an idea that feminists have long disputed. Even though being a woman can be an uphill battle, we need pop culture to represent more emotionally, ideologically, and professionally diverse female characters, and for wider culture to celebrate a broader cross-section of women, across all life stages. Girlies are a warning sign of incoming infantilisation. Storytelling sectors and wider society need to listen and respond.