In Arvida Byström’s shoot for Adidas, the model and artist wears pastel pinks and a lacy frock. She also power-poses, taking up space – evidently never having been informed that girls in pretty dresses should keep their knees together. She’s petite, blonde and feminine, but with a facial expression clearly communicating that you should not get all up in the business of this princess. On her feet, a pair of pristine sneakers announce themselves as the footwear of choice for fierce gals in skirts. And on her legs, the ultimate fashion accessory for this (and, in my opinion, every) winter: hair.

The hair, predictably, has offended those with delicate sensibilities. Byström has even reported rape threats. (Funny how folks with rigid ideas about how women should behave seem to set extremely low standards for their own public comportment, no?)

And so we’re back to the female body hair conversation, but with an interesting twist. Because body hair, it seems, is now mainstream enough to be marketed. Not body hair itself, of course. That’s free. Rather, the feminist aesthetic of body hair is on sale: the IDGAF badassery of it, the bravery (and it does take bravery) of being that woman on the tube with hairy legs.

Not long ago, I saw a hairy female armpit looming large on a screen in New York’s Times Square. The advert was for H&M. I was surprised that a presumably well market-researched campaign had concluded that hairy women would not hurt a major fashion brand. I felt good. Then bad. Then confused.

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I experience cognitive dissonance when it comes to feminist branding. On the one hand, capitalist co-option of progressive symbols can weaken their force. Think Coca-Cola in the 1970s using the aesthetic of the hippy movement to convince consumers that radical love meant buying the world a Coke; think Che Guevara T-shirts in Primark; Kendall Jenner in that Pepsi ad; Theresa May sporting her Frida Kahlo bracelet (Theresa – do you actually know who that is? Hint: she used to go out with Trotsky!)

The brand gets an easy-wear, machine-washable liberal sheen for their labour practices and politics. Meanwhile radical ideology becomes just another product for sale, voided of its context, intent, and – eventually – power.

And yet, not every corporate uptake of progressive ideas is as empty as this. For example, Dove’s use of the feminist language of body positivity is intended to make us buy more shimmery lotions, of course, but it also pushes back against the toxic turn visual culture took in the 80s – all that starving and surgery disguised as step aerobics. It battles the beauty myth and does some feminist work.

Necessarily, advertising and marketing reflect the ideas that are likely to appeal to us. They also shape our desires and expectations. If they didn’t, then why would corporations spend millions on them?

Both Byström’s work for Adidas and Dove’s well established “real beauty” brand privilege limited categories of beauty. As Byström astutely points out in her reaction to the abuse she’s been getting, she’s white, slim, able-bodied and cis, and thus on the receiving end of a fraction of the flak that women from more marginalised demographics face. It’s way easier for skinny white girls – like her, like me – to get away with gender transgressions.

Dove can be tone deaf on race issues. It recently released a gif showing a black woman turning into a white woman through the use of Dove products. People got mad – rightly.

There are worse ways for artists like Byström to make a living than using global platforms to spread progressive ideas

If we recognise that images like the recent Dove gif both reflect and shape our values and desires, shouldn’t we also take note when a brand is selling us something different?

Byström’s legs insert body hair into our shared concept of femininity. They disturb the gender binary – reminding us that many of the physical markers of masculinity and femininity are not natural and immutable, but rather culturally constructed and historically specific. The violent reactions Byström has evoked and the sexual intimidation she is experiencing are evidence that women are still not entitled to make the choices about their bodies that they want to make. And maybe Adidas’s advertising campaign provides a small inroad towards change.

There is still something immensely uncomfortable about seeing the work of the feminist movement used to make big business look good. But artists like Byström have to eat, and there are certainly worse ways they could make a living than using powerful global platforms to spread progressive ideas. I’d much rather see a fashion industry that challenges misogynistic disgust at women’s bodies than one that creates it.

I guess the most adequate response to my cognitive dissonance is to acknowledge that it reflects a dissonant reality: that corporate engagement with feminism does some good and some harm, that we should celebrate the good while holding companies to account for the bad.

Oh, and if hairy legs become cool, I’d like it to be noted that – for once in my life – I was, like, way ahead of the trend.

• Emer O’Toole is assistant professor of Irish performance studies at Concordia University, in Canada, and author of Girls Will Be Girls