The Performance of Weakness

Make no mistake—woman has always been powerful.

But rather than own it outright, she’s learned to operate under the table. She’s mastered the art of consequence without admission, of seduction without responsibility. Of manipulation dressed in morality.

And when any woman dares to break code—to reveal the source of her influence, to speak plainly, to stand visibly in her force—she faces the takedown.

The feminine form 
of aggression is character assassination. The embargo on Eros is her unspoken control over the creative economy. Sisterhood becomes an extortion ring, a syndicate where everyone agrees to pretend. Protection in exchange 
for complicity. A whole host of ready-made costumes exist for the woman who cannot yet stand in her power:
The torch-wielding heroine. The eagle-eyed feminist meter maid. The wounded martyr. The long-suffering muse.

What present as identities are simple camouflage.
Unclaimed, her power comes at her as fate or force. Taken up, received as her vocation—it becomes the literal salvation of the world.

And that is the paradox.We fear our power so deeply that we perform weakness. We organize ourselves around powerlessness. And in doing so, we create the very chains we claim to resist. But true power has no need for theater.
It does not beg, seduce, or withhold.

It simply is.