The Representation of the Feminine in Perception and in Text – International Women’s Day 2026

The Metaphysics of the Feminine 

First, let me say something extremely uncontroversial: Happy Women's Day, everyone! Cheers to the right to be equal human beings, to be human first and gender last. That should be uncontroversial, surely. But I've come to understand that what Women's Day represents, what we mean when we use the words connected to this day, varies from person to person. And when we disagree, we often start off on the wrong foot. So let's begin the right way:

The equality I am speaking for here is based on the idea that it is not a zero-sum game*. It is not a battle between the sexes, but a battle against all forms of oppression, rooted in a sincere interest in understanding the mechanisms that lead people to oppress one another. It seeks to uncover when the struggle for justice is driven by motives other than equality—when it is fueled by unrecognized egoism, hidden agendas, or resentment. It assumes that human beings are capable and flexible.

(*A zero-sum game is a term borrowed from game theory. It describes a way of thinking in which any increase in one party's gain necessarily entails an equivalent loss for one or more other parties.)

On the difficult days, it doesn't feel like that. On those days, I think:

So much we're expected to accept, so much "that's just how it is," so much "it's biology," so much shirking of responsibility instead of saying, "We're going to work on this; I believe in willingness, in listening, in taking things seriously, in challenging the parts of myself that pull me in a direction I know—and believe—is harmful to others." Weren't we supposed to be fighting for a better world?

So much "yes, you have your problem, but what about me?" (We take that seriously too, of course! But today is March 8th. November 19th is International Men's Day—a useful opportunity to highlight men's challenges in society, equality in general, and perhaps the similarities and differences between the two days. Because their foundations are different.)

So little curiosity, so much "this is uncomfortable for me, so you must be wrong." So little: "I know it hurts to learn."

So much "it's your fault too," so much concern with blame and self-interest. (Who made the mistakes is not very interesting, as long as we agree that now everyone is doing their best to make things better for everyone.)

So many claims dressed up as facts, statements made with no interest in history—history as told by women, by those who had to break free, who dared.

Let me remind you: this is on the difficult days.

Imagine — for what feels like half an eternity, women were not represented in literature. No. They were written about, yes—by men—but they were never the protagonists, did not write, were not published, did not describe what it was like to be a woman, could not learn about themselves by reading the thoughts of other women. Their experiences were not recorded. And if we know anything, it is that the written word has power, meaning, influence—that it comforts and teaches.

Imagine that: to be spoken about by others, but never to be allowed to speak; never to give the world an accurate picture of what it is like to be a woman in the real world. To express oneself is a fundamental part of being.

And so—so many misunderstandings, so much "why is this only about women?" It is "only about women" because improving women's lives improves people's lives—men's lives, everyone's lives. That is the goal; it must always be the goal. It is about women because the flawed and unfinished history of gender and injustice runs deep within us, because the mechanisms that turn women into secondary humans still lurk under the surface: we see how quickly women are pushed back into narrow categories and roles, how quickly they lose rights they have clearly said matter deeply to them, how quickly women's arguments are diminished simply because they come from women ("they just misunderstand how things really are or should be").

So much belief in "I don't see any oppression—therefore it doesn't exist. It doesn't exist because I don't understand it."

And it demands something of us—to understand oppressive systems. They often operate through language…

For what does it mean to be strong? What is right? How much risk is the right amount of risk? What is rational? What is the correct temperature in a room? At what point do we consider something a human life? What is good?

Within these questions lies something fundamental to the nature of feminism—of this feminism.

How we answer these questions,
Who gets to define them,
is decisive. It is everything.

Because the answers will differ between genders. And if one gender holds all the power to define these concepts for everyone else, then we do not get a fair representation of our shared reality. That representation has long been male. It has shaped us—for so long. It is implicit, underlying, invisible. Realizing this requires something of us.

To believe that the long arc of history and hierarchical systems has produced a finished and fair world that suddenly stopped influencing the present—that is simply implausible. It would, in fact, be strange.

Too much "women's struggle?"
A struggle against men… what a misunderstanding. Women's Day celebrates a struggle to bring men along, a struggle against a system that refuses to listen and learn.

We are fighting a system that reduces human flexibility and possibility, that decides on our behalf when men and women should be treated differently. We want to dismantle a system that does not believe we constantly change, that places its faith in the unchanging—the gendered—rather than the human desire to grow, to be part of a story of something better.

Yes, bring everyone along—help everyone understand that feminism is profound. It is profound because oppression operates in language, in ways of thinking, in historical trajectories, in ways that extend beyond concrete solutions to equal pay, quotas, or "who should receive swift help and resources in this specific case right now." It is clear that we can and should solve the immediate, practical issues that affect one gender or the other—and here, it is not the case that women's problems are the most important, or the most numerous. But!

But…

Injustice will not stop producing problems.

We must acknowledge that the way we use language and shape thought can place women as an appendage to men: subordinate, secondary, different, too much, too little—always in comparison to a man (as if what is typically male is always the standard, the baseline). This has happened, and for long periods—until very recently, really, and it has not quite disappeared from our worldview—we have seen a woman first and foremost as her gender and her role, as someone meant to fit into "my life." No human being is made to fit into someone else's life; two people meet and create something new together.

This matters because viewing another individual as something different from oneself—something secondary, a role rather than a person—makes it harder to relate to her. When people do not recognize themselves in the Other, it becomes easier to commit violence. And we cannot accept violence, violence against women executed by men. Of course we cannot. This is a struggle that continues. The violence destroys women, it destroys relationships, and it destroys the men who destroy their own relationships.

That is why I trace it back to the underlying structures that create the ways of thinking that also enable what is violent, harsh, and concrete.

The transition to the following is abrupt, but I still want to ask:

Are we speaking too positively about girls at the expense of boys? And what does that do to them and to their sense of self? These are essential questions; they are feminist questions as well.

Feminism goes far beyond the simple question: "Has feminism gone too far?"

Feminism has not gone too far. How could this feminism go too far? It is about ensuring, continuously, that men and women are equally subjects, taken seriously on equal terms, given a voice, given influence, given the chance to matter and to help shape the world of which they are half.

"Has feminism gone too far?" is a simplistic question—and a false one, designed for mass appeal, built on a misunderstanding, really meant to ask whether we are allocating resources correctly in society today—which is an important, but much narrower question.

But perhaps we have already started using the word feminism differently than before, more simply than it used to be used. Yet we still depend on feminism holding all its complexity and reach, and I would like to bring it back a bit, place it in a historical and philosophical context.

We need to talk more about what we mean by the words we use; we need to dig one level deeper and make sure we are speaking the same language.

Care and expectations

There is also a more personal and quiet challenge faced by women. It has to do with a certain kind of expectation, a particular kind of work — work that is both a privilege and, at the same time, more draining than jobs and studies and exercise and carrying sofas:

the traditionally feminine, often invisible, care work — in the broadest sense.

Not the voluntary kind of care, not the wonderful one,

but the kind that is taken for granted, that begins to drain the psyche by requiring the nervous system to be activated, as it do (feeling makes you remember, makes your sharper, is needed for this kind of work). This system needs rest, needs balance, needs sharing, and boundaries respected, boundaries exercised.

This is work that slips into worry and stress instead of effective care. These are the consequences of responsibility distributed unevenly.

It becomes problematic when only one partner carries the responsibility for interpreting the other, being understanding even when they do not understand, tending to the other's emotions. It becomes easy, then, to overlook oneself, to become self‑sacrificing. It is far better when all parties share responsibility, within reasonable limits. After all, there is great strength in being allowed to be there for others.

But the responsibility must not be distributed unevenly—

the responsibility for keeping full oversight of everyone's schedules, wishes, and needs.

The act of being there, always,

seeing everyone, thinking of everyone, keeping track, planning, facilitating, knowing, understanding, comforting, taking others into account — all of this that can hardly be done without your thoughts turning to others before they turn to yourself, that can hardly be done without worrying — first a little, then a lot. Because care so easily spills beyond its banks. Care is about the practical, yes, but also about the emotional. And emotional labor consumes energy in its own particular way and to its own particular extent.

Oh, to step out into the fresh air and chop wood!

Trunks without thoughts and emotions to care for, to create valued visible necessities, and muscles and still the ache for achievement!

Even physically or technically demanding (house)work is, quite simply, work. It takes time, it can be difficult and exhausting. Of course. What I want to highlight here, however, is the fundamental difference between work with and without an added mental burden.

Care work, oversight, and organizational workload constitute one type of strain. Physical and technical tasks constitute another. These two forms of work can be difficult to compare and distribute fairly between partners. Doing so requires an understanding of how the work actually affects us—our physical and mental health, our wellbeing, our stress levels, and more.

The invisible mental labor is about tending to the small things, the ones that not only drain energy but also give everyday life its structure and give life meaning. These small tasks often become visible and essential only when viewed collectively over time.

This can constitute something worth fighting for. For when women are expected to take primary responsibility for what we might, for simplicity's sake, call care, it becomes a women's struggle. And if it is said that

"well, then just stop doing the care work if it takes so much out of you,"

they have not understood how deeply ingrained it is, or the significance it has, or how sorely it would be missed if it stopped, or how dependent we all are on it. They have also misunderstood the goal. The goal is not to remove care, to remove love. Of course it isn't. The goal is to set healthy boundaries. The goal is to ensure that care is not made into something gendered, that the pressure does not become emotionally harmful — and thus settle into the body. The goal is that everyone understands that it costs, that it is needed, that it is happening.

This is a struggle women must take on in order to manage to take care of themselves, a struggle to manage to explain, and to set those famous boundaries without being crushed by guilt. It is also a struggle to be taken seriously.

We must begin by saying something: How are others — how are men — supposed to understand if we women do not speak up, if we quietly take on the responsibility, the responsibility of caring, worrying, stretching, adapting — without saying "it is too heavy to do this alone, it is too heavy to meet these unspoken expectations no matter what reasons you may have for giving this job to me (consciously or unconsciously), it is too heavy, even if you didn't know, even if you think there is no reason it should be so heavy." It does not help women to live like this, and it does not necessarily help those around them either.

And shouldn't someone have told Hamsun that women do not get up ten minutes after giving birth and go out to milk the cows? Shouldn't those "someones" have been the women themselves?

Well, perhaps they did, but were not heard. But I am speculating.

Equally important is this:

It does not help men that they miss out on the opportunity to be involved, to care, to take part, to take responsibility for this part of being human. When women are expected to carry the main responsibility for the emotional realm, men are deprived of a certain and important degree of meaning, substance, understanding, knowledge, and deeper relationships.

We often remain silent because we have been taught to, because the system works through us, imperceptibly and harmfully. And so it becomes unavoidable: our empathy is exploited — usually unconsciously — as an inexhaustible resource. For I do not believe it is exploited deliberately.

But what I am asking is this: Believe me when I say that something good can become harmful, and that avoiding this harm is itself a time-consuming and difficult task (often requiring professional help and/or great self-discipline and structured work). Care work does not simply switch off. It lives in the emotions, lives in us, is us, and is present all the time — and it is specialized: ancient, designed to pick up a crooked glance, a blink too many, to perceive and manage details. And it can become overwhelming.

So believe that it is unjust to place most of this labor on one gender. Believe that care is meaningful, but also heavy.

Believe that sharing care equally will give the lives of both genders an equal chance at living meaningfully, and a fair distribution of this particular kind of "work."

Believe it—even if you don't believe it yet—even if, as a man, you are accustomed to believing primarily in yourself (that men's opinions should be believed and matter is something history has taught us well—and that can be good! Women must be told the same, have finally begun to be told the same, and must continue to be told the same).

We must stop treating empathy as something inherently feminine. Yes, it is an unfamiliar thought. But the capacity for empathy is equal in boys and girls.

It is. If you search for differences, you'll find some. But here, as so often, the differences between individuals are greater than the differences between genders.

Yes.

But empathy has been "marketed" incorrectly, categorized by our fallible brains as a kind of feminine pastime, an unquestionable expectation placed on us. Empathy is a human ability that enables us to understand one another better and thus function together. It is not "a feeling women have more of because they give birth or express emotions differently than men."

Empathy creates vital bonds—in practical problem-solving, in relationships, in any form of group with a shared function. We have had too simple an understanding of what empathy actually is, until now. And that simplified understanding is why we say to little girls: "Look after your little sister, you're so kind, your dolls are so lovely, you're so good at taking care of the dog, you're so good at comforting." It's not necessarily wrong. But we can say these things to little boys too. Because, as we know, this kind of care is a source of meaning that both genders should have access to, even as it drains far more energy than changing a tire.

And isn't taking care of those around you also a masculine quality? Taking care of the women he loves, taking care of others? And shouldn't this protection be given where women say they need it—that is, where they say they need it—and not where men think they need it? And shouldn't the same apply in the opposite direction?

We must try harder to understand each other. But we cannot accept a desire from one gender that entails suppressing the other, that frames equality as a zero-sum game.

Happy Women's Day to each and every one of you!
Let us not lose sight of the broader picture. Let us not become one-sided. Let us not blame others or circumstances; let us take the responsibility we can take.

Astri/Amoversetter