Really, it was only a matter of time: the #empowerment movement now has its own teen drama. The meaningless offshoot of feminism – best summed up by Kim Kardashian’s naked bathroom selfies, Chanel’s line of protest placards and various other vapid acts in political clothing – comes to our screens courtesy of Netflix’s Girlboss. In true #empowerment style, the show takes the recent splurge of feminist-minded TV, annexes it of all progressive principles and uses the remaining husk to sell dated ideas in a fun and fashionable new way.

The tat pedalled by Girlboss comes in two varieties. The first is the vintage clothes that the titular protagonist, Sophia Marlowe, hawks online to make money and eventually start a business (and hence become a “female boss”, as Tulisa’s debut album opted to articulate this complex role). The second is the heady stew of consumer capitalism and patriarchal indulgence – that recommends women ape the behaviour of men, never complain about inequality and become an active participant in their own objectification by getting regular waxes – which was able to masquerade as feminism in the 90s and 00s, and sometimes still manages to in the forgiving lighting of Kim Kardashian’s bathroom.

Girlboss is actually set in this time – making it a period piece in more ways than one. Based on the true-life story of Nasty Gal founder Sophia Amoruso, Girlboss joins her 23-year-old fictional equivalent in San Francisco in 2006. She decides to open an online store selling vintage clothes she has “thrifted” for a massive markup. Noticing that other eBay users photograph their items unappealingly, one of Sophia’s first business decisions is to flog her finds using sexy pictures of herself. Take that, patriarchy.

It is not the mere existence of Girlboss and those kind of plot points that is disappointing – after all, that’s the sort of narrative our culture is built on, and it’s the reason why shows such as Girls have felt so radical. It’s because it is leeching off the feminist zeitgeist and infecting it with its inanity. That is something most obviously achieved by the title, which presumably intends to jump uncomplicatedly on to the feminism bandwagon, yet hammers home the idea that girl and boss are mutually exclusive terms (which, actually, they kind of are, considering girl is a term for a female child).

Go girl! One of Sophia’s first key business decisions is to flog vintage clothes using sexy pictures of herself. Photograph: Karen Ballard/Netflix

There are a few other things that make it clear Girlboss has that trendy feminism thing in its sights. First is the relationship between Sophie and her best friend, Annie. It has been extremely cathartic to see a new wave of female characters frankly discuss sexuality and bodily functions on screen – something that probably reached its apex in Broad City, but can also be found in shows such as Fleabag, Catastrophe and Raised by Wolves. In Girlboss, however, this mutates back into bawdy posturing that apes ladette (and, by extension, male) behaviour: the pair swap crude soundbites (“Get over here you total slut!” is Annie’s opening line) with all the intimacy and warmth of an afternoon in Currys PC World.

One of the other hallmarks of feminist-minded TV has been the antihero. Shows being dominated by pliant and apparently selfless women who no builder need ever bother requesting a smile from is something that golden-age TV has sought to undermine with female characters who are flawed and unapologetic. Girlboss tries to muscle in on this, but sadly confuses being a complex and independent human being who isn’t afraid of confrontation with acting like a total twit (aside from being aggressive and rude, Sophia steals a sandwich and a rug in the first episode, for no discernible reason in either case). To be fair, it’s a mistake empty feminist offshoots have made before – in the video for the Spice Girls’ Wannabe, Emma Bunton introduced the nation to the concept of girl power by stealing a freezing homeless man’s hat. Go girl!



When anything goes mainstream it tends to become less meaningful, so maybe Girlboss is just a natural part of this particular movement’s life cycle. Yet it would be a shame if teenagers watching thought the show’s cack-handed messages about selling your body and being a prat were what feminism was about. One helpful thing it has done, however, is take us back to the dark days of 2006 – and remind us how good we (usually) have it now.