I Know Where All the Girlbosses Went
A few months ago, Marisa Meltzer asked in Vanity Fair: Where have all the Girlbosses gone? She was referring to the cadre of up-and-coming, highly public female founders of the 2010s, many of whom maintained a certain cult of personality in popular media. Beginning in the 2020s, they—one by one—fell from grace.
I know where they’ve gone. But before I tell you, I must admit something I’ve been holding in for too long about their male equivalent, the thinkboi: a community of grown men online who seem to dominate the conversation through a referral network of hype.
These men—typically ex-financiers-turned-content-creators or founders—refer to one another on a first (or last) name basis: “Hormozi,” “Sahil,” “Huberman,” “Naval.” They quote one another in their own work frequently, support one another openly, admire one another publicly—with a near-religious devotion.
“The thinkbois seem to recognize that, in boosting one another’s work, they align themselves with power.”
When two thinkbois face off (like when Nassim Taleb attacked Lex Fridman, unprovoked, violating the cardinal rule of always accepting podcast invites), it was an affront to the solid, united core. The aggressor, Taleb, was mostly shouted down for his slight, and armies of Fridman fans flocked to his defense.
This isn’t my way of saying I think the thinkboi support network is a bad thing—on the contrary, I wish there were more women benefiting from the same. The thinkboi network is, after all, heavy on the “boi.” They outwardly and effusively weave a web of mentions, backlinks, and namedrops, nary a lady in sight.
To be fair, I don’t think anyone is intentionally excluding women—but because online idea market share operates on a power law where 90% of the attention concentrates around 10% of the voices, it’s a self-sustaining centrifuge that has the effect of pushing everyone else to the periphery.
The warm and fuzzy feelings of inclusivity and connectedness between the thinkbois are great, but it’s not just about feeling good: These support networks are valuable. They lead to real opportunities. These men are one or two degrees of separation away from some of the most prolific builders and wealthiest venture capitalists in the world. The thinkbois seem to recognize that, in boosting one another’s work, they align themselves with power.
“The difference in dynamics between the ThinkBoi Aristocracy and the ‘Girlboss Gotcha’ exposé culture is stark.”
Where did all the girlbosses go? Well, look no further than the litany of Gaslight Gatekeep Girlboss Downfall thinkpieces for breadcrumbs.
Dan Frommer wrote for the New Consumer that “female founders get publicly flogged for managerial flaws that range, depending on the situation, from petty nonsense to securities fraud. These stories perform well for their publications, are seen as ‘telling truth to power,’ and occasionally serve the broader public—see: Theranos—so they’ll continue to be published.”
The difference in dynamics between the ThinkBoi Aristocracy and the “Girlboss Gotcha” exposé culture is stark. The former is—while occasionally reductive and unintentionally satirical—ultimately a generative source, while the latter feels eager to catch someone sending an insensitive email.
There’s a schadenfreude that accompanies the news that a beloved female founder was actually a hard-charging tyrant from a privileged background with unrealistic expectations. Hardly any founder has been more publicly scrutinized than Sophia Amoruso, an entrepreneur who bootstrapped her first business to $100 million in just a few years and then went on to build two more successful operations.
To be sure, some of the allegations against these women were serious—but there’s a funhouse mirror effect to much of the coverage, where the substantive criticism blurs with thinly veiled misogyny. Once open season began on the girlbosses for their legitimately harmful missteps, the mediagenic female founder became a meme. To be worthy of power, we seemed to collectively decide, a woman must be perfect.
It didn’t come into focus for me until I read Meltzer’s book, Glossy, which told the story of “ambition, beauty, and the inside story of [another prominent female founder] Emily Weiss’s Glossier.” There was something that didn’t quite sit right with me—it was framed like a tell-all, but didn’t seem to reveal much in the way of genuinely problematic behavior from Weiss.
Ashley Mayer, former head of communications at Glossier, wrote a reaction piece that went viral after Glossy dropped. “While [the book] isn’t another female founder ‘takedown,’ it also isn’t a book that would be written about a male CEO. The dominant critiques of Emily focus on her privilege and ambition, two traits I can’t imagine being used to undermine the successes of her male peers.”
Of course, exploitation, harassment, and discrimination should be rooted out regardless of the perpetrator—the criticism is not, “Well, women should be allowed to treat people like shit, too.” But as Mayer wrote, “When even the most successful women leaders are picked apart, there’s a widespread silencing effect.”
Some suggest this is a good thing. Elizabeth Segran, witnessing the pile-ons the first generation of girlbosses suffered, advised us in Fast Company to keep going, but just do it…more quietly. As in, Be a little more ladylike about it.
But in a world where only 10% of Fortune 500 CEOs are women (despite making up 47% of the workforce) and only 2% of venture capital funding goes to female founders, our ambitions will only be as strong as the interconnected support system we can build around them.
We need to be careful about deducing that the solution is to fly under the radar. Doing so keeps us isolated; separated.
Instead, we must loudly, proudly, and publicly align ourselves with one another. For all their internet philosophizing, I think that’s the most important lesson we can learn from the thinkbois.
“Your network is your net worth.”
In that vein, I want to shout out some amazing women in my network, and some who I haven’t met yet but whose work blows me away:
I love what Simran Kaur is doing with Girls That Invest, and her Instagram presence is consistently inspiring.
My BOSSY cohost, Tara Reed, helps underdogs break into tech by teaching them how to build apps without code. I’ve learned a tremendous amount simply from breathing the same air that she does.
Chelsea Fagan consistently puts her money where her mouth is with The Financial Diet’s four-day workweek and being the fifth-highest earner within her own company (despite being CEO).
Cinneah El-Amin is teaching people how to job-hop their way to the salaries they deserve with unmatched flair.
Tori Dunlap trailblazed the space we now play in with Her First 100K and has achieved more than just about any other young woman in personal finance.
Corporate Natalie makes some of the most relatable work TikToks I’ve ever seen, and is always doing fun collabs with Vivian Tu of Your Rich BFF, who has absolutely mastered the art of virality and consumable “quick hit”-style financial tips.
Kyla Scanlon is the economic voice that Gen Z so desperately needs, and her rise to prominence has been incredible to witness (see also: the deservedly breathless coverage of her in Fast Company).
Sana Javeri Kadri disrupted a historically fraught space—the Indian spice trade—by starting an ethically sourced spice company, Diaspora Co. She faces off with a logistical nightmare of global supply chain management that few professionals could imagine (or manage).
I doubt if anyone will ever break Alex Cooper’s record deal at Spotify, securing a $60 million three-year contract. Her new venture, the Unwell Network, is a huge inspiration to me.
I’d be honored to create with, retweet, and join the podcasts of any of these women. I want to shout their accomplishments from the rooftops—because as the thinkbois have shown us, when they win, I win, too.
Here’s to building the next, better era of “girlbossery.”
