Gloria Steinem died trusting that the arc of women's liberation would bend forward without her — a faith forged across more than fifty years of movement-building. Yet the world she leaves behind is one where that arc is contested not merely by inertia but by organized, algorithmically amplified opposition. The manosphere has given millions of young men a counter-narrative to feminism, one that spreads with the speed and precision of modern platforms. Whether the next generation can sustain Steinem's vision in this fractured landscape is among the defining social questions of the decade.
Gloria Steinem's Legacy Faces Test as Feminism Confronts Rising Manosphere
Once you name an injustice, does the logic of equality become self-evident?
So Steinem believed women would just naturally continue the work. What made her think that?
She'd seen what happens when you name something that was previously invisible. Once women understood they had power, she thought that understanding would persist. It seemed logical.
But that assumes people stay in the same information environment. She couldn't have predicted how the internet would sort people into opposing camps.
Is the manosphere actually that large, or is it just loud?
It's both. The numbers are real—millions of people consume this content regularly. But the loudness also matters. It shapes what people think is normal to believe.
We should be careful here. "Manosphere" is a broad category. Not everyone in men's rights spaces is the same. Some are genuinely discussing real issues. Others are explicitly anti-feminist. We can't treat it as monolithic.
What would Steinem do if she were alive now?
Honestly, we don't know. She was adaptive, but this particular challenge—algorithmic radicalization, decentralized opposition—is new.
And feminism itself is more fragmented now. There's no single movement to defend. That's both a strength and a weakness.
So the question is whether the next generation can build something that lasts?
Yes. And whether they can do it while the other side is also organizing, also building infrastructure.
The real test is whether feminism can offer a vision that speaks to people's actual concerns, not just dismiss opposition as illegitimate.
Il Polso
- Steinem's death has left feminism without one of its most recognizable moral anchors at precisely the moment the movement faces its most technologically sophisticated opposition.
- The manosphere — a sprawling network of podcasts, forums, and social media channels — has transformed gender backlash from a fringe sentiment into a mainstream cultural force with real institutional reach.
- Young men are not stumbling onto anti-feminist content by chance; algorithms are delivering it to them in sustained, reinforcing loops designed to maximize engagement and deepen conviction.
- Feminism itself has grown decentralized and leaderless, which makes it resilient but also leaves it without a unified strategy to counter the manosphere's cohesive and emotionally resonant messaging.
- The unresolved question is whether a new generation of activists will build durable institutions, craft inclusive narratives, and reach people before oppositional identities harden — or whether Steinem's legacy will become memorial rather than movement.
Gloria Steinem died trusting that the arc of women's liberation would bend forward without her — a faith forged across more than fifty years of movement-building. Yet the world she leaves behind is one where that arc is contested not merely by inertia but by organized, algorithmically amplified opposition. The manosphere has given millions of young men a counter-narrative to feminism, one that spreads with the speed and precision of modern platforms. Whether the next generation can sustain Steinem's vision in this fractured landscape is among the defining social questions of the decade.
Gloria Steinem died believing the work would continue — that the movement she had spent more than fifty years shaping would outlast her, carried forward by those who came after. The question now is whether that confidence was warranted.
Feminism in the mid-2020s has won real ground. Women vote, work, own property, and speak publicly without the social penalties they once faced. But the terrain has fractured. The manosphere — a loosely connected ecosystem of men's rights forums, YouTube channels, and podcasts — has grown into a significant cultural force that explicitly positions itself against the feminist project. It offers young men a compelling narrative: that they are disadvantaged, that their concerns are ignored, that feminism has gone too far. Whether or not those claims hold up, they resonate with millions of people who consume this content daily, algorithmically, by design.
Steinem's optimism rested on a belief that naming injustice clearly enough would move people forward. But she was writing and speaking before platforms could sort people into ideological silos and monetize opposition at scale. The challenge facing feminism now is not simply that resistance exists — it always has. The challenge is that the resistance has infrastructure, reach, and a narrative tailored to people who feel unmoored by rapid social change.
The feminist movement, meanwhile, has become more diffuse. There is no single organization, no unified leadership, no agreed-upon set of demands the way there was during Steinem's era. This decentralization has strengths, but it also means there is no coordinated response to the manosphere's rise.
What remains uncertain is whether a new generation will build institutions that outlast individual leaders, find ways to reach people before oppositional identities harden, and articulate a vision of equality that speaks honestly to the anxieties people feel. These are not rhetorical questions. Their answers will determine whether Steinem's legacy endures as a living force — or becomes something people honor without carrying forward.
Gloria Steinem died believing the work would continue. She had spent more than half a century building a movement, naming its principles, and insisting that women's liberation was not a moment but a direction—something that would outlast her, carried forward by those who came after. The question now, in the years following her death, is whether that confidence was warranted.
Feminism in the mid-2020s faces headwinds that would have been difficult to predict in Steinem's early years of activism. The movement has won legal victories and shifted cultural norms in ways that seemed impossible in the 1960s. Women vote, work, own property, and speak publicly without the social penalties they once faced. Yet the terrain has fractured. Online spaces have become organizing grounds not just for feminist causes but for their organized opposition. The manosphere—a loosely connected ecosystem of men's rights forums, YouTube channels, podcasts, and social media accounts—has grown into a significant cultural force, one that explicitly positions itself against the feminist project Steinem spent her life advancing.
This countermovement did not emerge in a vacuum. It grew in the spaces where gender politics became increasingly polarized, where conversations about men's issues and women's issues began to feel like zero-sum competitions rather than parallel struggles. Young men, in particular, have found community in online spaces that frame feminism not as liberation but as a threat. The manosphere offers them a narrative: that they are disadvantaged, that their concerns are ignored, that the feminist movement has gone too far. Whether or not those claims hold up to scrutiny, they resonate with millions of people who spend hours consuming this content.
Steinem's optimism rested on a particular assumption about how movements work—that once you name an injustice clearly enough, once you show people their own power, they will choose to keep moving forward. She believed women would recognize their own interests and organize around them. She believed the logic of equality was self-evident. But she was writing and speaking in a moment before algorithmic feeds, before the internet could sort people into ideological silos, before opposition could be mobilized and monetized at scale.
The challenge facing feminism now is not simply that opposition exists. Opposition has always existed. The challenge is that the opposition has infrastructure, reach, and a compelling narrative for people who feel unmoored by rapid social change. A young man watching videos about how feminism has ruined dating, or how the education system favors girls, or how family courts are rigged against fathers—he is not encountering these ideas by accident. He is being shown them repeatedly, algorithmically, by platforms designed to keep him engaged.
Meanwhile, the feminist movement itself has become more diffuse. There is no single organization, no clear leadership structure, no agreed-upon set of demands the way there was during Steinem's era. Feminism now exists as a set of principles scattered across countless organizations, online communities, and individual activists. This decentralization has strengths—it is harder to co-opt, harder to dismiss—but it also means there is no unified response to the manosphere's growth. Different feminist voices offer different analyses and different strategies.
What remains unclear is whether a new generation will sustain the work with the kind of long-term commitment Steinem modeled. Will they build institutions that can outlast individual leaders? Will they find ways to reach people before they are fully absorbed into oppositional online spaces? Will they articulate a vision of gender equality that speaks to the real anxieties people feel, rather than dismissing those anxieties as illegitimate? These are not rhetorical questions. The answers will determine whether Steinem's legacy endures as a living force or becomes something people reference but do not actively carry forward.
Citazioni salienti
Steinem maintained optimism that women would continue advancing feminist causes despite contemporary headwinds and cultural shifts— Editorial summary of Steinem's stated beliefs