We have plenty of examples of toxic masculinity.

The you-know-whos who appear all over the media and in our news. The loud, domineering personalities. The men who seem to take up an extraordinary amount of space, both literally and metaphorically, and who appear to believe that power is something to be exercised over other people.

They certainly get plenty of attention.

And rightly so.

But there’s another form of toxicity that I don’t think we talk about nearly enough.

Toxic femininity.

Now, I know there are people who feel uncomfortable with gendered terms.

I’m not particularly bothered by them, provided we understand what we’re actually describing.

And before anyone gets too excited, no, I’m not suggesting that women are inherently manipulative, that men are inherently aggressive, or that being feminine is somehow a character defect.

Quite the opposite.

I’m interested in what happens when qualities we traditionally associate with femininity — nurturing, sensitivity, relational awareness, cooperation, and social harmony — become distorted into something rather less pleasant.

Because I’ve been on the receiving end of that distortion.

More than once.

And, unfortunately, the people responsible were often women in positions of authority.

The Light and Shadow of Feminine Energy

I tend to look at masculine and feminine traits partly through the Eastern framework of yin and yang.

In broad symbolic terms, yang is associated with activity, assertion, outward expression, and movement. Yin is associated with receptivity, inwardness, sensitivity, and nurturing.

These aren’t fixed personality types or biological rules. Everyone carries qualities associated with both, and the traditional concepts of yin and yang are considerably richer than simply dividing the world into men and women.

But as a framework for reflecting on human behaviour, I find the distinction useful.

At its best, well-developed feminine energy can be extraordinarily beautiful.

Think of someone who makes you feel safe in their presence. Someone who listens carefully, notices when you’re uncomfortable, offers support without making a performance of it, and genuinely wants other people to grow.

There’s warmth, patience, empathy, and emotional intelligence.

I’ve met people like this.

They can be among the most wonderful people you’ll ever encounter.

But relational sensitivity can also be used for rather different purposes.

Someone who understands people’s emotions may use that understanding to comfort them.

Or to manipulate them.

Someone skilled at building relationships may use that ability to create community.

Or to establish a hierarchy of favourites and outsiders.

Someone who values harmony may genuinely want people to get along.

Or may use the language of harmony to silence anyone who disagrees.

And that’s where things become interesting.

Because not every exercise of power looks like aggression.

Sometimes it looks like a smile.

The Queen Bee and Her Court

I spent much of my childhood in a girls’ school.

There were wonderful people, of course. But there were also experiences of bullying, exclusion, and teachers who seemed to derive a peculiar satisfaction from exercising authority over children.

Some of those encounters stayed with me long after I’d left school.

Years later, entering the working world, I began recognising certain patterns again.

Different setting.

Different people.

Better clothes, presumably.

But some remarkably familiar behaviour.

The gossiping. The cattiness. The backstabbing. The covert attempts to turn people against one another.

The strange preoccupation with who was close to whom, who had been invited to what, who was in favour, and who had somehow fallen out of it.

Sometimes, professional competence seemed almost secondary to the complicated business of belonging to the right social circle.

It reminded me of those Chinese palace dramas.

You know the ones.

There’s an Empress or a particularly ambitious consort, surrounded by an assortment of loyal attendants, flatterers, informants, and people who appear to spend an extraordinary amount of time monitoring everybody else’s movements.

Someone has tea with the wrong person.

A scandal.

Someone fails to laugh at the right joke.

Suspicious.

Someone demonstrates a little too much independence.

Well, we can’t have that.

Obviously, modern workplaces aren’t imperial palaces.

Although occasionally, I do wonder.

In some of the environments I’ve encountered, there was a central figure who seemed to require a court of admirers.

People who laughed at the jokes, repeated the opinions, passed along information, and understood which relationships were politically advantageous.

And anyone who didn’t participate?

They could find themselves quietly excluded.

Not necessarily through a dramatic confrontation.

Sometimes through something as simple as being left out of a conversation, having their contributions minimised, or becoming the subject of persistent insinuations.

It’s a particularly exhausting form of politics because so much of it happens beneath the surface.

And when you try to explain it, you can sound as though you’re overreacting.

After all, nobody actually shouted at you.

Nobody openly threatened you.

They were all being perfectly nice.

Weren’t they?

When Relationships Become Weapons

There is a psychological concept relevant to these experiences: relational aggression.

It describes behaviour intended to harm someone through their relationships, social standing, or sense of belonging.

Social exclusion, malicious gossip, reputation damage, and deliberate manipulation of friendships or alliances can fall within this category.

The important word here is deliberate.

Not every awkward social interaction is bullying. Not every friendship group is a clique. And not every colleague who dislikes you is conducting some elaborate campaign against your existence.

Sometimes people simply don’t get along.

That’s life.

But when exclusion, humiliation, or social manipulation becomes repeated and purposeful, we’re dealing with something more serious.

I use the phrase toxic femininity to describe the particular form of relational power abuse I’ve encountered, especially when it is wrapped in expectations of niceness, loyalty, emotional sensitivity, and harmony.

That is my interpretive framework, rather than a formal psychological diagnosis.

And while my own experiences have predominantly involved women, these behaviours are certainly not exclusive to women.

Men can engage in them too.

I’ve encountered men who relied heavily on gossip, social alliances, covert manoeuvring, and the approval of influential personalities.

I wouldn’t say that makes them less masculine, or that all men who behave this way possess a particular kind of personality.

What matters is the behaviour.

The tendency to use relationships as instruments of power rather than sources of genuine connection.

And in environments where belonging is particularly important, these tactics can be remarkably effective.

Why Do People Behave This Way?

This is the part I find especially interesting.

Why would someone spend so much time monitoring, undermining, or manipulating other people?

Surely there are better hobbies.

Reading, perhaps.

Gardening.

Watching parrots on Instagram.

Anything, really.

My suspicion is that insecurity often plays a role.

For some people, being respected isn’t enough. They need to feel superior. They need to know that others seek their approval, defer to their opinions, or fear falling out of favour.

Power becomes a form of reassurance.

If everyone laughs at my jokes, I must be important.

If people come to me for permission, I must be influential.

If I can determine who belongs and who doesn’t, then perhaps nobody can make me feel insignificant.

Of course, we can’t know someone’s inner motivations simply by observing their behaviour.

Not every manipulative person is secretly insecure, and not every bully is carrying unresolved childhood trauma.

But status anxiety, social comparison, competition, learned behaviour, and a desire for control are all plausible contributors.

Sometimes these behaviours are reinforced by the environment itself.

Imagine a workplace where promotions depend heavily on being liked by senior management.

Where difficult but necessary feedback is treated as disloyalty.

Where people who flatter their superiors are rewarded, while those who challenge questionable decisions are labelled troublesome.

What kind of behaviour do you think that environment encourages?

Exactly.

And once a particular social hierarchy becomes established, other people may participate simply because it’s safer.

They may not even particularly like the person at the centre.

But they know where the power lies.

And they know what happens to people who fall out of favour.

Which brings me to something uncomfortable.

Sometimes the problem isn’t just the Queen Bee.

It’s the court that keeps her in power.

The Complicated Business of Surviving a Toxic Workplace

So what do you do when you find yourself in one of these environments?

Well.

That depends.

And I wish the answer were more inspiring than that.

There’s a great deal of advice about standing up for yourself, refusing to tolerate disrespect, and walking away from anything that threatens your peace.

All perfectly admirable sentiments.

But people have mortgages.

Families.

Financial obligations.

Careers they’ve spent years building.

And sometimes, leaving a job simply isn’t possible.

So I think the first question is whether the environment still offers something worthwhile.

Do you need the income?

Do you enjoy the actual work?

Are there colleagues you respect?

Does the role provide experience, connections, or opportunities that will help you move forward?

If the answer is yes, you may decide to stay.

And if you do, I think it helps to become more strategic about how much of yourself you bring into that environment.

Be courteous.

Be professional.

Maintain workable relationships.

Laugh at the occasional unfunny joke if you must.

We’ve all done it.

But you don’t have to surrender your judgment, values, or private thoughts simply to belong.

You can be friendly without becoming someone’s confidante.

You can cooperate without participating in gossip.

You can remain politically aware without becoming politically malicious.

And you can keep a certain emotional distance from people who have demonstrated that they cannot be trusted.

I sometimes think of this as developing a work persona.

Not a false identity, exactly.

More like a professional version of yourself who knows why she’s there, understands the environment, and refuses to let every unpleasant interaction become a referendum on her worth.

You are there to do a job.

To earn money.

To gain experience.

Perhaps to build towards something better.

Not to win the approval of a self-appointed Empress.

It also helps to keep records of significant incidents, especially where there is bullying, retaliation, or misuse of authority. Seek advice through appropriate workplace channels or independent support when necessary.

Professional courtesy should never mean accepting harassment or participating in wrongdoing.

And if the environment is damaging your wellbeing, it’s worth taking that seriously.

Or Perhaps You Should Leave

Now, if there’s very little keeping you there apart from habit, fear, or the hope that things might somehow improve?

I’d seriously consider leaving.

I know.

Easier said than done.

But some environments are so entrenched in their dysfunction that refusing to participate can make you a target.

You may find yourself constantly having to defend your intentions, explain perfectly ordinary decisions, or manage relationships that seem designed to exhaust you.

And at some point, you have to ask yourself whether the effort is worth it.

I’ve come to believe that not every battle deserves our participation.

Sometimes the most sensible thing you can do is recognise the nature of the environment, prepare your next move, and leave when you’re able.

Not because you’ve lost.

But because you’ve decided that your time and energy are better spent elsewhere.

There’s a difference.

Of course, leaving one toxic workplace doesn’t guarantee that the next will be wonderful.

People are people.

Politics exists everywhere.

But there is a considerable difference between a workplace with ordinary human disagreements and one where manipulation, humiliation, and exclusion have become part of the organisational culture.

And I don’t think we should normalise the latter.

Why Do We Keep Rewarding These People?

This is where my frustration extends beyond individual behaviour.

Because toxic leaders don’t always get into positions of power by accident.

Sometimes we put them there.

We promote them.

We reward them.

We overlook their behaviour because they deliver results, know the right people, or possess enough superficial charm to make their shortcomings seem insignificant.

Someone can be excellent at their job and terrible at managing people.

Someone can be articulate, charming, and socially skilled while lacking integrity.

Someone can speak beautifully about compassion and inclusion while treating the people beneath them with astonishing cruelty.

And yet, we often confuse professional success with good character.

Why?

I suspect part of the answer lies in the way many organisations measure value.

Results are visible.

Revenue, targets, promotions, impressive presentations, successful projects.

Character is harder to quantify.

How do you measure whether someone makes their team feel psychologically safe?

Whether they give credit fairly?

Whether they behave with integrity when nobody important is watching?

Whether they treat junior colleagues with the same respect they extend to senior management?

These things matter enormously.

But they don’t always appear neatly on a performance dashboard.

And in workplaces that prioritise short-term results, image, and internal political influence, they can become secondary considerations.

I don’t believe this is an inevitable consequence of capitalism, nor that every profit-driven organisation rewards toxic behaviour.

But I do think systems that value outcomes without sufficiently examining how those outcomes are achieved can create opportunities for abusive people to thrive.

And that is a problem of leadership.

Not merely personality.

Being Nice Isn’t the Same as Being Good

Perhaps one of the most important distinctions we need to make is between niceness and goodness.

Niceness can be a social performance.

It can be charming, agreeable, diplomatic, and perfectly pleasant.

Goodness requires something more.

Integrity.

Fairness.

The willingness to behave decently even when there is nothing to gain.

The courage to challenge wrongdoing, including when the person responsible is popular, powerful, or useful to us.

I think we need to become much more discerning about the people we elevate.

Not just in workplaces, but in schools, community organisations, social groups, and politics.

We need to stop treating competence as a substitute for character.

Stop confusing popularity with trustworthiness.

And stop rewarding people who achieve results by making everyone around them miserable.

That means taking complaints seriously, protecting people who speak up, evaluating leadership behaviour, and creating consequences for repeated abuse of power.

It also means examining our own participation.

Do we laugh along when someone is being humiliated?

Do we repeat gossip because it makes us feel included?

Do we remain silent because the person behaving badly might be useful to us one day?

I understand why people do.

Speaking up can be costly, particularly when power is unevenly distributed. Not everyone has the security or protection to challenge a toxic leader openly.

The greater responsibility belongs to those with the authority to change the environment.

But collective accountability begins when we stop pretending that harmful behaviour is harmless simply because it is subtle.

The Kind of Power Worth Having

I began this essay talking about toxic femininity.

But perhaps what troubles me most isn’t femininity at all.

It’s the corruption of qualities that ought to make human relationships better.

Sensitivity becoming surveillance.

Loyalty becoming obedience.

Harmony becoming silence.

Care becoming control.

There’s something particularly disappointing about that transformation.

Because the same relational intelligence that allows someone to manipulate others can also make them an extraordinary leader.

Someone who notices when a colleague is struggling.

Who creates opportunities rather than guarding them.

Who brings people together without demanding personal allegiance.

Who understands that being respected is not the same as being feared.

That’s the kind of power I admire.

Not the ability to command a court of followers, but the ability to help other people become more confident, capable, and independent.

And perhaps that’s the standard we should be holding our leaders to.

Not simply whether they can climb the ladder.

But what happens to the people around them as they climb.

Because a person who needs to diminish others to feel powerful isn’t demonstrating strength.

They’re demonstrating the limits of their character.

And we really ought to stop mistaking one for the other.