Why do women feel like they need to compete with each other?
The first thing that comes to mind is this: we've been force-fed a narrative that there’s only space for one:
It’s either me or you.
It’s literal pick me energy — and not the basic bitch trope we see flung around like chimp shit online. It’s deeper than that. Darker. It’s sad, when you really sit with it.
It’s I need the man to choose me instead of her, because that means I have value.
But here’s the thing: that need for validation — that desperate want to be chosen — isn’t a flaw in us. It’s not weakness. It’s the patriarchy working exactly as intended. We were taught that our worth depends on being seen, wanted, selected — by men, for men. Not by each other. Not for ourselves.
Seeking validation from men isn’t vanity; it’s survival. It’s what we were conditioned to believe would keep us safe when we had ZERO rights. I mean even with all of the rights we have now compared to 200 years ago…nvm.
The patriarchy encourages women to think individually and compete. Meanwhile, men are taught to move collectively — boys’ clubs, locker room chats etc. They build networks while we’re taught to build walls between ourselves. By believing we must "go it alone," we stay isolated, mistrusting, weaker.
Because divided women are easier to control. Easier to dismiss. Easier to replace. When women see each other as threats, we stay too busy competing to build anything together — and that’s exactly how the system likes it.
Individualism keeps us separate. But sisterhood?
Sisterhood is dangerous to them.
Choosing the loner path isn’t empowerment — it’s survival under a system designed to keep us isolated. It’s sabotage — of ourselves, and of what we could be if we moved together.
And yet still, individualism offers a shiny promise: if you stand out enough, if you are exceptional enough, you’ll be chosen. And with that validation comes security. Safety.
And honestly, when I look back, I can see how easily I fell for it.
I remember being 18, working at a phone shop on Oxford Street. I was standing in the "kitchen" — a narrow, fluorescent-lit room that had all the charm of a basement office with a microwave shoved in the corner. Chai latte in one hand and a cinnamon bun in the other (breakfast of champions), I was riding a solid wave of dopamine, not thinking about the awful customers who would inevitably walk in later and demand I refunded their phone bill like it was my dad’s shop.
One of the managers wandered in to give us the morning briefing before the shop doors opened — and introduced a new starter, another 18-year-old girl like me. The other manager looked her up and down, looked at me, and with a smile that would make a dog growl, said, “Oh, competition.”
Instantly, my good mood evaporated.
It was like all of my insecurities were reflected back at me through this girl I had only just learned existed. She was taller, slimmer, had fairer skin. She mentioned she was bilingual.
I thought, Fuck.
In that moment, I didn’t just feel insecure — I felt disposable.
I didn’t realise until then that my value could hinge so easily on another woman simply existing.
So I went into that relationship not just thinking, but knowing, that I had to outshine her. For me, that meant more sales, better product knowledge, taking every opportunity to prove that I was more. I was friendly, bubbly, a "great" colleague — always helping, teaching, supporting. But no matter how kind I was, the thought never left me: I have to be better.
She left after a few months — probably because she realised the place was a toxic hellscape and had the sense to get out. We didn’t keep in touch. I’m not saying we would have been besties. But would the dynamic between us have been different if I hadn’t been told — before she even said hello — that she was my competition?
I mean... probably.
But it does make me wonder: why was my instinctive reaction to compete, rather than tell the manager to sit on a spike and spin?
In fairness, I was 18 — my confidence and critical thinking skills just weren’t where they are now.
But even so, there’s something about individualism that is tempting. Especially for women.
And it’s not like we invented that instinct ourselves.
Lets have a look at some films we grew up on:
She’s the Man — where success means outperforming both the boys and the girls by pretending to be one of them.
Twilight — where Bella’s entire value is tied to being desired by two supernatural men, despite having no real personality of her own.
The Hunger Games — where Katniss becomes a symbol, but her survival — and her power — depends on standing apart from everyone else.
Scott Pilgrim vs. the World — where Ramona Flowers is the ultimate "cool girl," emotionally detached, unknowable, a prize for the male protagonist.
Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind — the OG manic pixie dream girl - where Clementine exists to spark joy and self-reflection in the male lead, while having almost no agency of her own.
Different stories, but the same core message:
The girl who wins is the girl who stands alone.
The girl who is "not like the others."
The girl who earns her worth not through community, but through being exceptional, isolated, and desirable to men.
Even when these stories were written by women, they were still shaped, adapted, packaged, and sold inside a system built by men, for men — a system that rewards stories where women stay small, quiet, desirable, and alone.
Characters with no real friendships.
No real community.
It’s palatable loneliness. It’s survival, packaged as specialness.
Here’s my simplistic way of seeing it:
when a wolf gets separated from its pack, the other predators don’t see strength. They don’t see an alpha.
They see weakness.
A lone wolf isn’t powerful. A lone wolf is vulnerable.
And it’s the same with women.
You can see it in the faces of men when a woman slips into that pick me character — trying to prove something, trying to earn something.
There’s that smirk, smeared across their faces.
Smugness so thick they could spread it on toast.
They know we’re performing for them.
Urgh,
All of this to say: sorority isn’t a dirty word.
The next time you find yourself judging the shit out of a woman — at your run club, your book club, in the office, at the gym, wherever the fuck — pause. Ask yourself if you’re being hyper-critical of her. And then ask yourself why.
The answer might just make you go: for fuck’s sake i did an internalised misogyny…again.
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🫶🏻 Love this! My mindset definitely shifted in my late 20s and 30s — thankfully. Life isn’t a pie with no pieces left if other people have a slice. 😅😘