A Strain of Feminism Palatable to the Common Misogynist: A Case Against Call Her Daddy
Despite its pro-woman facade, the podcast delivers an empty, unthreatening version of feminism to its listeners.
Call Her Daddy is a popular podcast hosted by vlogger Alexandra Cooper and — before a scandal resulting in Cooper’s decision to go solo — co-hosted by her friend-turned-roommate Sofia Franklyn. The show’s content is sexually explicit, almost exclusively covering topics related to sex and dating. Despite my knee-jerk aversion to the idea of content for women sponsored by Barstool Sports, I decided to give the show a try after eventually succumbing to paid advertisements and endorsements from peers. I wanted so badly to be pleasantly surprised by what I heard, but Barstool-approved feminism was precisely what I had anticipated: hollow and misguided.
In its essence, Call Her Daddy is what happens when a male-dominated company attempts to expand its audience to include women. As indicated by its rank as Spotify’s fourth most popular podcast of 2020, Barstool was able to swiftly dominate (and, arguably, monopolize) the market for podcasts related to women’s sexual empowerment. But while the podcast is primarily marketed toward teenage and twenty-something women, it is ultimately designed to benefit the systems that uphold the power of heterosexual cisgendered men. Because of its impressive pro-woman disguise, navigating feminist criticism of the show has proven to be tricky; I will admit that there is a certain novelty and barrier-breaking element inherent to women-led discussions about sex, but I stand by the idea that the show’s messaging is far from revolutionary, and, at its core, disempowering.
Although the hosts portray themselves as creators of empowering content — and may truly believe that their messaging is pro-woman — Cooper and Franklyn’s words come across as quite the opposite of liberating. The title of the podcast alone illustrates the hosts’ fundamental misunderstanding of feminist ethos. In Episode 44, which bears the title, “Girls He Fucks vs. Girls He Dates,” Cooper and Franklyn provide an explanation for the name “Call Her Daddy.” Franklyn explains, “For people that don’t know what ‘Call Her Daddy’ means, the word ‘daddy’ is like, you’re a boss, you’re a badass, you’re dominant… you are in control of your life and in control in the bedroom.” She continues, “We are saying ‘No no no, girls can be daddy too,’” quickly jumping to defend this point to retain listenership from those who may be skeptical of this “feminist” concept — presumably men — by stating, “Men can be [daddy] too. We’re not being like ‘Oh my god, only feminists and only girls can be daddy.’” By emphasizing the idea that this supposedly feminist philosophy does not come at the cost of male power, and by explicitly mocking feminists, it becomes clear that the intended audience of Call Her Daddy is not one that truly finds value in a feminist ideology. In fact, this statement indicates Cooper and Franklyn’s fear of being perceived as feminists, and their desire to distance themselves from creators who truly aim to empower women by challenging the status quo. Furthermore, by promoting the idea that the word “daddy” denotes power and control, Cooper and Franklyn fail to acknowledge or challenge our use of gendered language as it relates to power. Rather than choosing to assign power to a woman-specific or gender-neutral term, the hosts convey the message that a woman must take on a title used to describe men in order to hold power and take control of her relationships and sex life.
The podcast regularly reveals the hosts’ shameless heteronormativity and blase attitude toward the prevalence of casual sexual violence. In the very first episode — “SEXT ME SO I KNOW IT’S REAL” — while recounting a night out, Cooper states, “When you’re drunk, as a girl, you need to be texting a guy.” Her failure to acknowledge the fact that not all women are sexually attracted to men indicates that Cooper and Franklyn have no intention of including queer women in their following. By speaking in absolutes — “as a girl, you need to be texting a guy” — the hosts disregard the plurality of womanhood by universalizing their own lived experiences, and in turn invalidate deviating experiences. Moreover, enforcing the idea that a straight woman’s natural reaction to consuming alcohol is to seek attention from men is dangerous; men who listen to the podcast may be validated in their assumption that a drunk woman acting uninterested is simply pretending, as she must desire a man’s attention if she’s intoxicated.
Their twenty-third episode contains a problematic dialogue regarding women’s dating app profiles. Cooper and Franklyn begin the discussion by stating, “You can’t have a filtered picture [on your profile] with like, a heart going around your head, a crown, a dog… you cannot have that as your profile picture on your dating profile.” Here, the hosts tell other women how not to present themselves to prospective sexual partners. They continue, stating “Guys fucking hate us wearing makeup in the first place. Guys can spot a filter from a mile away.” Once again, the hosts speak in absolutes — this time, making a sweeping assumption about the preferences of men. To end the discussion, Cooper and Franklyn address all women, stating, “No longer are you allowed to have any type of filtered picture on your dating apps,” commanding their listeners to change their behavior in order to appeal to the gaze of (presumably) straight, cisgendered men. This all seems antithetical to the stated goal of this podcast. According to the hosts, the phrase “Call Her Daddy” is supposed to empower women to feel a sense of control of their relationships and sexual endeavors, yet it is women who must to adjust their habits to the likes of men. Although contradictory to their supposed goal of empowering women, this discussion about dating apps is in-line with the rest of their messaging, demonstrating the anti-feminist nature of the podcast.
Call Her Daddy co-opts feminism by reinforcing outdated ideas that ultimately keep straight, cisgendered men at the top of the social hierarchy. Fans of the podcast may argue that, regardless of the show’s content, the idea of two women achieving financial success is inherently feminist in and of itself. I would argue that their success comes at a huge cost to women who will never fit into the rigid mold that Cooper, Franklyn, and Barstool Sports promote. The podcast fails to question or subvert the power structures that constrict women, and Cooper and Franklyn are likely blind to the ways in which they (as straight, white, wealthy, conventionally beautiful women) benefit from the superficial brand of feminism they feed to their listeners. The danger of Call Her Daddy lies in the fact that it champions a monolithic ideal of femininity that is compliant with patriarchal values, doing so under the guise of radical feminism.
