The First Woman Paradox

Laetitia@Work #87

Hi everyone,

Japan’s new prime minister is a woman — and I wish I could celebrate that, but honestly, I can’t. What should feel like progress is actually the opposite. Why is that? This is what I call the First Woman Paradox: when the first woman to reach the top ends up defending the very system that keeps most women down.

The appointment of Sanae Takaichi in Japan is a historic moment — but one that feels strangely familiar: around the world, the first women to reach the very top in politics and the corporate are so often the most conservative of all.

Takaichi is Japan’s 104th prime minister — and the first woman ever to hold the job. She has broken through one of the thickest glass ceilings in the developed world, as Japan ranks among the lowest in the OECD for gender equality. Until now, it had never had a woman leader and had only 13 female CEOs across all listed companies on its main stock exchange.

And yet, this “first” does not come with the kind of feminist promise many hoped for. Takaichi is an ultra-conservative who opposes same-sex marriage and wants to preserve male-only succession in the imperial family. She is against allowing married couples to use separate surnames — a small but powerful symbol of independence in Japan. Her political idols include another first woman, Margaret Thatcher, Britain’s Iron Lady.

In short, it’s an understatement to write that Japan’s first female prime minister is not a feminist. She completely embodies the First Woman Paradox: the idea that the first woman to reach the top of a male-dominated system is often the one least likely to challenge that system.💡👇

The first woman who reassures the system

In politics, and often in business too, women do not reach leadership positions because patriarchy suddenly decides to open the gates. They reach them because they are the kind of women who reassure those in power that they won’t change the rules.

It is symbolic representation: the appearance of progress without structural change. Having a woman at the top allows the system to say, “See? The glass ceiling is gone,” even though everything else actually stays the same.

In highly conservative societies, this is especially true. The political establishment doesn’t embrace feminism; it embraces a woman who shows that gender equality won’t threaten the existing order.

That’s why so many of these “firsts” — Thatcher in the UK, Meloni in Italy, and now Takaichi in Japan — define themselves against feminism. Thatcher famously said, “I owe nothing to women’s lib.” Meloni insists she is not fighting for women’s rights.

The message is always the same: I’m not here to represent women. I’m here to prove I can rule like a man.

Marine Le Pen was France’s only shot at having a female president

France’s own “almost first” female president, Marine Le Pen, fits the same paradox. Before her recent conviction and sentence of ineligibility, she was honestly France’s best chance at having a woman in the Élysée Palace. But she is also, unmistakably, her father’s daughter.

Le Pen inherited not only the far-right Rassemblement National party but also its nationalist, anti-immigration, anti-EU DNA. She has worked to soften its image — swapping her father’s explicit racism for a rhetoric of “patriotism” and “sovereignty” — but her project remains built on the same ideological foundations. She is conservative on gender, sceptical of feminism, and careful not to disturb traditional gender roles.

Her rise, like Takaichi’s, tells us that being the “first woman” in power does not automatically mean progress for women. If anything, her political strategy has been to use her femininity as a shield — presenting herself as a protective mother of the nation, someone both “strong” and “caring” (an animal lover who brings kittens to meetings), in short a “safe” kind of woman for voters who distrust feminism.

If she hadn’t been barred from running until 2030, she might well have become the first woman to lead France in 2027 — not by challenging the patriarchy, but by making it feel comfortable with her.

Why do conservative voters sometimes choose a female leader

Conservatives sometimes choose women leaders because it allows them to appear modern without changing anything fundamental. A woman at the top gives the illusion of progress — a convenient symbol to show that their movement is not “stuck in the past.” The face changes, but the system stays the same. Having a woman lead an otherwise male-dominated party can disarm critics and make the ideology look softer, more inclusive, even when the policies remain deeply conservative.

There’s also the enduring appeal of the “Iron Lady.” In conservative culture, strength, discipline, and authority are prized traits, and when a woman embodies them, she stands out. Her toughness surprises, and that makes her power even more compelling. Margaret Thatcher built her identity around that image, and others like Giorgia Meloni or Marine Le Pen have followed the same path. They prove that a woman can succeed — as long as she plays by men’s rules and reinforces the values of order, family, and nation.

Another reason is that a woman can personify the idea of the protective mother — an image that works well with nationalist and traditionalist narratives. The leader becomes “the mother of the nation,” defending her people from threats, guarding their identity, and nurturing a moral order. A conservative cliché is that women are guardians of moral values so when moral values seem under threat, a woman can be tempting.

The maternal symbolism helps justify authoritarian instincts under the guise of care. When Giorgia Meloni says she governs “as an Italian mother,” it’s not just rhetoric — it’s a deliberate strategy to make hardline politics sound compassionate and natural.

Finally, many conservative women who rise to power reject feminism and claim that their personal success proves that gender barriers no longer matter. They become the exception that reinforces the rule. By saying “I made it on my own,” they dismiss collective struggles for equality and confirm the conservative belief that individual effort — not structural change — is what counts.

The Queen Bee effect

In psychology, this is known as the Queen Bee Syndrome: when a woman who succeeds in a male-dominated environment distances herself from other women and from feminist causes. It’s a survival strategy.

In organisations where leadership is coded as masculine — decisive, aggressive, rational — women who want to rise learn to overperform those traits. They become “tough,” “disciplined” or“cold.” They are praised for their productivity and strength — and often for not being “too emotional.”

They also learn to criticise other women who do not fit this mould. They may say things like “I’ve never experienced sexism” or “If I could do it, anyone can.” This reinforces the system that allowed them to rise in the first place.

Political systems work the same way. The woman who rises first is often the one who embodies the masculine ideal of power better than her male colleagues. Her success becomes evidence that the system is fair, even when it’s not.

A mirror in the corporate world

The same paradox appears in business. Many of the first female CEOs in major corporations also come from conservative corporate cultures that have not changed their expectations of leadership. They are chosen not to transform the system, but to fit perfectly into it.

It’s not that these women lack conviction or competence — quite the opposite. They have worked twice as hard to be taken seriously. But to survive, they often had to adapt to a culture that rewards masculine-coded behaviour.

They were trained to value control, hierarchy, and measurable results. They often rise through finance or operations, rather than human resources or communications. They are rarely the ones who talk about empathy or work-life balance. Those values are still coded as “soft,” even though they are essential for good leadership.

Meanwhile, women in middle management are still expected to carry the mental load of care: remembering birthdays, checking on team morale, organising meetings, mentoring younger staff — all the invisible emotional labour that keeps organisations running. At home, they are still often responsible for family logistics: school pick-ups, medical appointments, ageing parents.

Culturally, men are still allowed to be monochronic — focused on one thing at a time, measured by their results — while women are forced into polychrony, juggling multiple roles at once. The system values one kind of time, but demands the opposite from women.

So when a woman finally reaches the top, she often does so by mastering the “male” time of focus and efficiency — and leaving behind the relational, multitasking time that society once imposed on her. That’s another version of the First Woman Paradox: to be accepted, she must stop being the kind of woman the world expects her to be.

It’s often women who end up killing the feminist agenda

Phyllis Schlafly is a striking example of the First Woman Paradox in action. She became one of the most influential women in American politics not by advancing women’s rights, but by actively opposing them. Her campaign against the Equal Rights Amendment in the 1970s, famously mobilised under the slogan “STOP ERA,” succeeded in preventing its ratification. Schlafly’s power rested on a paradox: to be accepted and effective as a female leader, she had to reject the feminist ideals of equality and gender liberation, championing instead a vision of women as homemakers and moral guardians. But in doing so, she transgressed the traditional model of femininity she publicly praised.

This dynamic is brilliantly explored in the 2020 FX miniseries Mrs. America, where Cate Blanchett portrays Schlafly with nuance and force (this actress is so amazing in roles of villains!!). The show highlights how Schlafly’s ascent was tied to her strategic embrace of conservative values. For feminists, it underscores a difficult truth: the very women who break barriers can wield their power to maintain systems that limit others. For Schlafly, stepping into leadership meant both embodying and subverting the ideals of her gender.

This could also be called the Thatcher Paradox: the first woman to lead becomes proof of progress while actively limiting progress for others. She becomes an icon of meritocracy — living proof that women can succeed if they just “work hard enough” — while maintaining the structural inequalities that make it so much harder for others to follow.

It’s painful

True progress will come when we no longer need women to act like men to be trusted with power — when leadership itself changes shape.

For feminists, the First Woman Paradox is particularly painful. It is difficult to watch women wield power to uphold structures that harm other women. That negative power creates a moral conflict: it makes feminists resent a woman for the damage she enforces, and then feel guilty for that resentment. Japanese women deserve better. They deserve leaders who make life easier for women in the OECD’s most sexist systems.

💡For Nouveau Départ, I wrote several new articles (in French):

• Au secours ! La hustle culture est de retour

• Pourquoi la « bouillie d’IA » coûte cher

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Miscellaneous

👵 What Happened to the Idea of “Middle Age”?, Valerie Monroe, Allure, July 2025: “In fact, unlike other life transitions such as puberty and menopause, old age has no definitive physiological markers and, researchers are discovering, happens in myriad physical and mental changes that occur on a continuum, but with no definitive timeline. Some researchers believe it’s not even a linear process, but one with rapid bursts of aging at certain tipping points, every 20 years or so.”