FEMININE EXHAUSTION

As of writing this, I have watched the first two episodes of season 3 and maybe about 8 minutes of the third. even so, this season it is clear that there is this exploration of what it means to be a woman in power, with both Rhenera and Alicent suffering from people acting against their word/authority for “their good”, dealing with incompetence (both weaponised and just disappointingly so) and generally treating them diffrent from a man in the same positions of leadership, despite all the knee bowing and sword swearing. In this, I am reminded of my interpretation of season one, and that is how exhausting it is to be a woman sometimes.

On social media, I see a lot about feminine rage. from the endless Spotify playlists to the A24 movies that revisit the idea nonstop. We keep being fed this “new” idea of rage. And while this is an interesting phenomenon and one for a later blog (why we put the feminine in rage) i wanted to explore something I see in a lot of content, specifically around women in powerful positions, and that is feminine exhaustion.

I’m defining (I can do that, this is my blog) feminine exhaustion as:

Feminine exhaustion the chronic fatigue that comes from existing in systems that expect women to constantly prove, soften, anticipate, justify, and accommodate. The weariness of having your competence questioned before it is recognised, your authority undermined while being publicly respected, and your emotions scrutinised, no matter how carefully they are expressed. It is not the exhaustion of doing too much alone, but of carrying the invisible labour of navigating expectations that your male counterparts are rarely asked to consider.

Before I go any further, “woman” and “feminine” are intentionally open terms here. I’m not interested in gatekeeping anyone’s gender or deciding who is “allowed” to relate to this experience. I also don’t think feminine exhaustion is exclusive to women. I suspect many marginalised groups experience similar forms of exhaustion, shaped by the particular expectations, prejudices, and systems they navigate every day. Those experiences deserve to be explored on their own terms, and I’d be fascinated to hear how people from those communities describe them. This post, though, is grounded in my own perspective, as a woman and as an academic.

Season One of House of the Dragon encapsulates this exhaustion brilliantly through its diverse cast of characters that span age and standing; it is truly a testament to the acting, particularly that of Emma D'Arcy and Milly Alcock as Rhenera, Olivia Cooke and Emily Carey as Alicent, Sonoya Mizuno as Mysaria, and Eve Best as Rhaenys.

It doesn’t take a genius watching House of the Dragon to realise that Rhaenyra’s competence is questioned by the men around her. From the moment Viserys names her heir, her claim is questioned not because she lacks intelligence, political instinct, or capability, but because she is a woman. Despite her youth, she certainly shows more capability than the 2-year-old child who threatens to disenherit her. It’s the central tension of the series and, ultimately, the catalyst for the Dance of the Dragons.

What’s striking is that Rhaenyra is never allowed to simply be heir. She has to continually justify why she deserves to be there. Every decision becomes a test of her legitimacy. Every mistake becomes evidence that the realm was right to doubt her. Meanwhile, around her, men are afforded the luxury of mediocrity. Their failures are individual failings; hers are presented as proof that women should never have ruled in the first place.

This pattern extends far beyond the fantasy of Westeros. We see it in politics, entertainment and academia alike. The performance of movies is a prime example. Wonder Woman (2017) carried not only the pressure of its own success but the future of any more female-led superhero movies on its shoulders, something seen again in the recent Supergirl (2026) movie.

It translates to academia, Joan C. Williams describes this phenomenon as “Prove It Again” bias: the expectation that women must repeatedly demonstrate competence in ways their male colleagues are rarely asked to. Success is treated as temporary evidence, not permanent credibility. Every new project, promotion, grant application or leadership opportunity becomes another examination.

The numbers bear this out. Women now make up the majority of students in UK higher education, yet only around a quarter to a third of professors (depending on field) are women, illustrating the persistence of the so-called “leaky pipeline.” Large-scale bibliometric analyses of more than 1.5 million academic careers have also found persistent gender disparities in publication output, career progression and scholarly recognition across disciplines. Even the visibility of research is gendered: men self-cite around 56% more frequently than women (rising to approximately 70% in more recent cohorts), giving their work greater cumulative visibility over time. Studies of more than 25,000 university professors have also found that women participate in fewer international collaborations, one of the strongest predictors of citation impact and success in competitive grant funding.

None of these statistics suggests women are less capable. They demonstrate something subtler: women are often required to accumulate more evidence before they are recognised as equally legitimate.

This is also where the authority gap emerges. Rhaenyra is the heir from the first episode. That fact never changes. Yet almost every conversation she has begins with someone deciding whether they believe she deserves to be. Her authority is treated as provisional, forever waiting for confirmation. She isn’t simply expected to rule well; she is expected to prove that she can rule at all.

That, to me, is the first rule of feminine exhaustion: competence is never enough. You are expected to be exceptional simply to earn the benefit of the doubt that others receive by default.

Rhyenera's character is the resilience to persevere as an individual, to have agency and credibility in your own achievements, despite the external view people place upon you. She represents the outsider/enemy of the patriarchy. Alicent, however, depicts the consequence of those who attempt to live within it. She becomes the bride, the mother and in turn responsible for the actions of everyone around her, at fault for their faults, responsible despite what little agency she has herself.

Throughout House of the Dragon, Alicent is expected to moderate the behaviour of the men around her. She apologises for them, excuses them, disciplines them, and attempts to contain the consequences of their actions. Viserys refuses to act, Otto manipulates, Aegon drinks and displays a character ill-fit for power, Aemond pursues vengeance, and Criston Cole repeatedly allows his emotions to cloud his judgment. Somehow, Alicent becomes the person expected to answer for all of them.

There is something deeply familiar about this expectation. Women are so often positioned as the moral centre of the spaces they inhabit: expected to de-escalate conflict, smooth over tensions, remember birthdays, comfort colleagues, mentor students, and somehow maintain the emotional health of an institution without ever being recognised for doing so. Success is invisible because it is expected. Failure is conspicuous because it is personal.

Just think of the connotations of a mother, perhaps a caretaker, warmth, an unconditional love and nurturing. Now think of a father: a creator, a visionary. Sam Muka looks critically at this genedered languege in academia and raises the example of Ruth Patrick and E.O. Wilson. Wilson called Patrick the “foremost authority on America’s river ecosystems and a pioneer environmental activist.” and yet it was Wilson styled the “father of biodiversity.” Was hesitation to syle Patrick a “mother” a kindness? if so why?

Academia has a name for this: academic emotional labour. Marcia Bellas argued that women disproportionately perform the relational work that keeps universities functioning, from mentoring and pastoral care to committee work and student support. It is work that is essential, yet frequently undervalued because it produces neither papers nor grants.

The evidence has only become stronger since. Macfarlane and Burg found that women professors consistently placed greater emphasis on mentoring, academic citizenship and supporting colleagues than their male counterparts. At the time of their study, women accounted for just over one-fifth of UK professors despite carrying a disproportionate share of these responsibilities. Numerous workload studies have since shown that women spend between 30 and 50 per cent more time on service work (including committees, mentoring and institutional administration) than men. They are also significantly more likely to undertake pastoral care, equality, diversity and inclusion work, and student support, despite these activities contributing comparatively little to promotion when measured against research output.

The tragedy of Alicent is that she has remarkably little agency over the people she is expected to control. She cannot stop Viserys from neglecting his family. She cannot make Aegon a good man. She cannot temper Aemond’s ambition or undo Otto’s political manoeuvring. What little agency she has herself is hard fought. Yet every one of their failings becomes, in some way, a reflection on her.

That is the second rule of feminine exhaustion: not simply carrying your own responsibilities, but becoming responsible for the morality of everyone around you.

The women of House Targaryen and House Hightower may be constrained by their gender, but they are also beneficiaries of immense privilege. They are noblewomen, born into wealth, political influence and legitimacy. They belong. Even when their authority is questioned, their place within the world is not. Mysaria is afforded none of the protections that come with birth. She is an immigrant from Yi Ti, a commoner, and, as far as we know, owns little beyond what she has managed to build for herself. She enters King's Landing without a powerful family name, inherited wealth or institutional protection. Every ounce of influence she acquires has to be negotiated rather than inherited.

This is perhaps most visible in her relationship with Daemon. Regardless of her intelligence or political acumen, she is repeatedly reduced to what she represents to the men around her: a mistress, a foreigner, a disposable woman whose value is determined by her relationship to a powerful man. Time and again she demonstrates that she understands politics as well as, if not better than, the nobles who dismiss her. Yet she is rarely afforded the credibility her insights deserve.

Mysaria rarely has the luxury of speaking plainly. She understands that information alone has little value unless it is delivered in a way powerful men are willing to hear. She survives not by possessing authority but by understanding authority better than those who wield it.

Academia has its own version of this careful footing.

One study of 19,952 university teaching evaluations found that women received significantly lower evaluations than men despite students achieving identical learning outcomes. The bias was driven primarily by male students and was particularly pronounced for junior women academics. Experimental studies have gone further still: when participants were shown identical lectures delivered by male and female actors, the "male" professor was consistently rated as more scientifically competent, despite the lectures being identical.

These findings help explain one of the most replicated concepts in organisational psychology: the leadership double bind. Women who demonstrate competence are frequently judged as less likeable, while women who prioritise warmth are judged as less competent. There is no perfect performance, only different penalties. Unsurprisingly, research has found that women working in male-dominated environments engage in significantly greater impression management and communication regulation, continually adjusting their tone, language and behaviour to avoid social sanctions.

That, to me, is the third rule of feminine exhaustion: constantly editing yourself, not because you are unsure of who you are, but because you know exactly how the world will respond if you do not.

Each woman carries a different burden, but all four share the same underlying labour: they must continually earn the authority that the men around them inherit by default. Rhaenyra teaches us the exhaustion of having to be exceptional. Alicent, the burden of carrying everyone else’s morality. Mysaria, the constant calculation required simply to survive. Different women, different circumstances, the same invisible work.

Perhaps that is why House of the Dragon resonates so deeply. Beneath the dragons, the succession crises, and the political intrigue lies something profoundly familiar: the exhausting reality of navigating a world that demands women continually prove, justify, soften, anticipate and accommodate.

No wonder we’re exhausted.

Bellas, M. L. (1999). Emotional labor in academia: The case of professors. The ANNALS of the American Academy of Political and Social Science, 561(1), 96–110. https://doi.org/10.1177/000271629956100107

Eagly, A. H., & Karau, S. J. (2002). Role congruity theory of prejudice toward female leaders. Psychological Review, 109(3), 573–598. https://doi.org/10.1037/0033-295X.109.3.573

Macfarlane, B., & Burg, D. (2019). Women professors and the academic housework trap. Journal of Higher Education Policy and Management, 41(3), 262–274. https://doi.org/10.1080/1360080X.2019.1589682

Moss-Racusin, C. A., Dovidio, J. F., Brescoll, V. L., Graham, M. J., & Handelsman, J. (2012). Science faculty’s subtle gender biases favour male students. Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, 109(41), 16474–16479. https://doi.org/10.1073/pnas.1211286109

Muka, S. (2018, April 19). (Pro)Creating Science: The Parenting Metaphor, Gender, and Scientific Memory. The New Inquiry. The New Inquiry

Williams, J. C. (2014). Double Jeopardy? Gender Bias Against Women in Science. UC Hastings College of the Law, Center for WorkLife Law.