Reclaiming Girlhood: How Pink Became Political

I've been curious all my life—from collecting samples for my microscope as a kid, to investigating psychiatric biomarkers as a PhD student now—but for me, this curiosity didn't belong in the same box as dresses and pink. I was never girly.

I put up a fight against my mother whenever she tried to put me in dresses when I was a toddler. Throughout my childhood, my wardrobe mostly consisted of my brother’s hand-me-downs, and even now in my late twenties, it’s a sea of black, blues, and greens with the occasional piece in white or cream. Throughout my teens, pink felt frivolous, girly, and childish—something I would roll my eyes at. The first time I bought a dress was in my early twenties, and I barely ever wore it, because, again, it felt too girly.

But what does that even mean? And why did I reject it for so long?

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The Great Pink Rejection

I’m not alone in rejecting pink and all things girly. For most of modern history, anything coded as “feminine”—softness, playfulness, pastels, flowery or pink aesthetics—was systematically devalued as frivolous and weak. Women dressed as men to be taken seriously and to have better opportunities and pay. Even today, many girls learn that sparkly things and bright colours are unprofessional, something to “grow out of” for career success.

As young women, we discover that success in a male-dominated world requires rejecting stereotypical markers of femininity and girlhood and embracing more neutral or masculine-coded traits. Want to be seen as intelligent? Skip the pink. Want a career advancement? Ditch the glitter. We are told that femininity is an obstacle rather than something to celebrate. And of course, this affects boys too: Any “feminine” traits are frequently snuffed out and replaced with masculinity. But this is a whole other issue worth its own discussion.

Yet, femininity is still expected of us in every other aspect of life. This creates the unachievable expectation women are held to, and many women hold themselves to: Be girly and feminine, but only when it suits society, and never too much or too little. As described in a previous ITM article, America Ferrera as Gloria captured this perfectly in her famous monologue in the Barbie movie, describing the impossible contradictions women face daily:

 “It is literally impossible to be a woman. […] It’s too hard! It’s too contradictory and nobody gives you a medal or says thank you! […] I’m just so tired of watching myself and every single other woman tie herself into knots so that people will like us.”

The Power of Claiming it Back

In recent years, something has changed. By embracing pink and girly things, women challenge the idea that femininity means less power, less seriousness, or less maturity. There is nothing less about us. This follows a broader feminist tradition of reclamation; activists have similarly reclaimed words like “slut” and “queer”, turning insults into sources of power and identity.

When I see a businesswoman presenting herself with a feminine aesthetic, I see someone refusing to play by patriarchal rules, someone rising above masculine standards with strength and attitude. We can be soft and strong, pink yet powerful, girly yet serious. Before Greta Gerwig’s Barbie, Elle Woods in Legally Blonde delivered this same message. Outside of fiction, we have Taylor Swift, who is making music history again and again while presenting herself in soft and pastel or colourful, sparkly looks. These cultural representations make pink both commercially visible and politically resonant.

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Girlhood as Healing

For many women, reclaiming girlhood connects to what we call “inner child work” in psychology – healing parts of ourselves hurt or suppressed in childhood. Many of us experienced being forced to grow up too quickly, told our interests were "silly", or being pressured to act maturely, prematurely. At the same time, boys’ behaviour around us was often excused with “boys will be boys”.

Reclaiming pink, flowers, sparkles, and playfulness becomes self-soothing and healing. For me, this didn’t mean pink lipstick or glittery sequins. Instead, I started buying more dresses, floral blouses, and a cute blush. It might not be the epitome of girly, but 14-year-old me wouldn’t have been caught dead in them. It feels like giving my younger self permission to enjoy something I had learned to reject—things reserved for girly girls. And research shows an actual psychological benefit to this: engaging with creativity and playfulness significantly buffers stress, anxiety, and depression.

This movement also counteracts internalised misogyny. Messages about femininity being weak often become internalised shame. Towards oneself and others. I never minded being a girl, I simply didn’t want to appear weak and immature. By actively embracing what we once rejected, we are rewriting those shame responses and practising self-acceptance that improves self-esteem, body image, and relationships. I don’t need a pink blazer, but I can appreciate a colleague who is rocking hers at a conference. Encouraging girlhood in others creates communities—online and offline—where women affirm each other’s experiences and validate what once was (and sadly still is) stigmatised. There’s something deeply healing about finding people who celebrate parts of yourself that society taught you to hide.

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It’s Not all Sunshine and Rainbows

However, this movement still faces problems. First comes commercialisation. Brands jumped on trends like Barbiecore, turning feminist resistance and mental health into a quirky marketing opportunity. When “empowerment” becomes merely a slogan on pink products, the movement risks returning to what it opposes: playfulness and femininity dismissed as unserious.

Marketing also creates exclusivity. Dominant imagery of girlhood often features white, thin, middle-class aesthetics of a narrow beauty standard and financial resources. Women of colour, trans women, plus-sized women, and working-class women get pushed aside, again, by companies and peers alike.

Then there’s romanticisation. For many, especially marginalised women, girlhood wasn’t soft or playful. It meant trauma, early sexualisation, and exclusion. A nostalgic emphasis can gloss over these harsher realities, promoting a girlhood that never existed universally.

Last comes concerns about depoliticisation. Focusing on pink aesthetics reduces feminism to 'vibes' rather than addressing systemic issues like wage gaps and reproductive rights. There’s also worry about reinforcing gender binaries—setting “pink” equal to “girlhood” sometimes strengthens the categories it aims to challenge.

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Making Your Own Way down the Pink Brick Road

I don’t think we need to choose between feminine aesthetics and political awareness, or between healing our inner child and acknowledging that pink lip gloss is not on everyone’s path of recovery. We can enjoy pink and girly moments while fighting for systemic change. We can celebrate personal healing while recognising that empowerment looks different for everyone. Awareness of the movement’s limitations may be the key to its success.

After all, the most radical aspect about reclaiming girlhood isn’t the pink and the glitter, it’s permission for women to be complex beings and revoking fake binaries of strength and softness, seriousness and play, political awareness and personal healing.

Mental health doesn’t depend on embracing or rejecting pink. What matters is genuine, authentic choice, rooted in self-knowledge and acceptance and not dictated by shame or trends. Create your own path, and if healing comes through pink lip gloss? Perfect.

Consider this your permission to be whoever you are—pink, political, or somewhere beautifully in between.

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