Feminism after the girlboss: anxiety of the bimbo | Harbingers’ Magazine (2024)

The optic and political character of ‘TikTok bimbos’ has been both praised and condemned for its audacity within the online sphere — not surprisingly, as ‘bimbo Tok’ celebrates hyperfemininity and provocation.

Bimboism developed in the wake of corporate feminism’s decline in the post-2016 moral climate. Until then, rather than dismantle the existing institutions in power, feminism sought to suceed within patriarchal-defined frameworks and lacked awareness of its exclusionary embrace of women.

With a concentration on financial prosperity as a marker of success and object of ambition, the “lean in” ideology of corporate feminism exonerated capitalism by claiming that with enough drive and vocation, women could attain positions of power and be as exploitative as their male counterparts.

Feminism has digressed and morphed into numerous different presentations, and most recently, in the form of the self-proclaimed bimbos.

Using the term “bimbo” is controversial: historically, the pejorative has been employed to describe women as insipid and superficial. To some people, the aesthetics of bimbofication participates in female objectification; even though bimbo creators attempt to subvert the degrading perceptions associated with the bimbo image, they could unwillingly invite perpetuation of derogatory, oversexualising stereotypes of women.

At its essence, however, the bimbo label capitalises on polemics by satisfying the male gaze while simultaneously reclaiming their image through subversive politics.

Bimboism is the clear antithesis of the GirlBoss. Whereas the GirlBoss promoted careerism, hustle culture, and shoulder-padded power suits, bimbos reject work and even embrace vapidity.

Indeed, a core foundation of the bimbo identity is the concession that it is okay to be stupid. Many have criticised the videos’ projection of ignorance, claiming that the “dumb blonde” is a retrograde trope. In one TikTok, Chlapecka admits, “I don’t know what the economy is, I don’t know what supply and demand is. All I know is that our problems would be solved if we’d just print more money.”

And yet, the videos themselves seem conscious of their own frivolity — they ask simple questions in order to better understand issues, not lessen their complexity. If anything, basic inquiry illuminates the simplicity of the problem, demonstrating how serious concerns are rendered unnecessarily complicated to alienate regular people.

The principles of bimboism merely challenge the traditional elitist conceptions of intelligence and offer a somewhat gratifying idea that women – or people in general – don’t need to prove intellect in order to be deemed worthy.

Bimbofication relies on the premise that achieving a hyperfeminine image through the use of high-end, expensive beauty products enables female ownership of male-defined perceptions of beauty.

In this regard, the movement suffers in the same way other branches of feminism did — it ascribes a narrowly-defined appearance to successful female liberation; women who acquire the products advertised with language of “deserve” have succeeded within consumerist designations of merit. As a consequence, the substance of activism is displaced for the pursuit of commercial rewards.

The problem with any aestheticisation of feminism is that it particularises a narrow genre of problems that exist within patriarchy — ‘Me Too’, for instance, reduced sexism to issues of consent — and exploits its rhetoric to legitimise its position within established orthodoxy.

When feminism is commercialised and defined through visual models, the activism only superficially absorbs social justice language whilst the politics itself is domesticated, lessening its radical effect.