‘Girl’s Girl’: When Female Solidarity Becomes a Weapon

I’ve always considered myself a “girl’s girl.” You know—someone who hypes her friends up before dates, carries extra pads in her purse , and believes in the power of female friendship above all else. But somewhere along the way, I realized that this term—this shiny badge of feminist loyalty—can be twisted, manipulated, and yes, even weaponized.

The final straw? Watching Love Island Season 7.

If you’re watching Love Island Season 7, then you know the term “girl’s girl” is practically a character of its own. Every time a contestant makes a questionable move—usually involving a boy, obviously—someone, or infamously, Huda Mustafa, would point out, “I don’t think she’s a girl’s girl.”

It was almost a morality test, a loyalty pledge, and a scarlet letter all rolled into one.

Think of the dynamic—or triangle—of Iris, Jeremiah, and Huda. When Iris and Jeremiah were voted to be together, Huda felt Iris was not being honest with her about her true intentions and what would really happen between Iris and Jeremiah, then deemed her “not a girl’s girl.” 

That’s when it clicked for me: this wasn’t about loyalty. It was about control.

Who Gets to Be a “Girl’s Girl”?

Here’s the problem: when you start assigning moral value to someone’s actions based on whether they “support” other women, it assumes there’s one universal way to do that. But not all friendships look the same. Not all women navigate romance, conflict, or vulnerability the same way. 

Here’s the truth I’ve come to learn: “girl’s girl” isn’t always a compliment. Sometimes it’s a leash.

It sounds empowering on the surface—women supporting women, right? But in practice, it can be used to shrink us. To manipulate each other into silence. Into conformity. Into being predictable, soft, and non-threatening at all times.

The Silent Pressure to Be Obedient. 

What makes it worse is that this pressure doesn’t always come from outside. We police each other. I’ve been on both ends—I’ve been the one judged, and\  the one judging. There’s this subtle, unspoken reward system for women who play the “girl’s girl” role perfectly: the peacemakers, the emotional sponges, the ride-or-dies who never complain.

But the second you want something inconvenient—time alone, space from the drama, a guy your friend used to like—you’re painted as someone who isn’t safe. You’ve failed the test.

And make no mistake: this dynamic is manipulative. Telling a friend she’s “not a girl’s girl” is a way to silence her. It shames her into falling back in line. It says: if you don’t put me first in every scenario, you’re a bad woman.

If we’re only loyal to each other when men aren’t involved, then we’re not really practicing sisterhood—we’re just maintaining appearances.

Using “girl’s girl” as a weapon in male-centered situations turns female friendship into a competition masked as solidarity. It reinforces the exact thing we’re supposed to be fighting: the idea that our relationships with men matter more than our relationships with each other. That our worth is tied to how desirable we are. That men are the prize, and everything else is collateral damage.

This kind of selective loyalty is what destroys friendships—not the guys themselves.

If your friendship can’t survive a conversation about feelings or honesty around attraction, it was never as solid as you thought. Holding each other hostage to old crushes and unspoken rules doesn’t protect friendship—it steps around it

It’s time we redefine  the term loyalty. 

Being a “girl’s girl” should mean holding space for each other’s complexities. It should mean being allowed to mess up, talk things through, and be honest—even when the truth is uncomfortable. It should mean we trust each other enough to have hard conversations instead of punishing each other for silent expectations.

Otherwise, we’re just acting out a script. And that script will always revolve around one thing: keeping each other in line to avoid male-related conflict. That’s not empowering. That’s just policing.

Photo by Chris Murray on Unsplash