The careers of Sturgeon, Merkel and Ardern show how foolish it is to idealise leaders just for being women
Nicola Sturgeon was always afraid of failure. But it was a very particular kind of failure she feared; one that follows a very particular kind of success. Living up to the fact of being Scotland’s first female first minister became, she writes in her new memoir, “almost an obsession”, which is arguably unhealthy but not unreasonable. To be the first woman (or indeed the first minority) in any field is to be uncomfortably aware of being on probation: the test case that sceptics will use to decide whether women in general can really hack it, but also the yardstick by which other women will judge whether representation actually makes a difference.
You daren’t betray anything that looks like a sign of weakness, yet at the same time you’re endlessly under pressure to spill your guts on all the intimate stuff – miscarriage and menopause in Sturgeon’s case, pregnancy in high office for New Zealand’s Jacinda Ardern, also the author of a recent memoir – lest other women feel you’re either holding out on useful information, making it all look too infuriatingly easy, or failing to do your bit to break some taboo. (Even Sturgeon, in an interview this week with the midlife women’s podcast The Shift, expressed surprise that, when she was figuring out how to manage menopausal symptoms in office, she couldn’t find anything to read about how other senior politicians had coped.) Suddenly, you’re not just a woman but an everywoman, supposed to magically embody every female voter who ever existed, even on issues where women in real life are impossibly divided – as they were over trans rights, the issue that ultimately holed Sturgeon’s premiership below the waterline.
Gaby Hinsliff is a Guardian columnist
