On Girl vs Girl and the Case for Gatekeeping

In short: don't be a bitch and definitely gatekeep

Dear reader,

It’s a cruel world out there, especially when you realise how often women turn on each other. That truth struck me with renewed force after reading Jameela Jamil’s newsletter “I think I’m done with being interviewed by women” and after attending one of the most bizarre interviews I’ve ever had, for a programme-creator internship at De Balie, Amsterdam’s leading platform for public discourse.

Let’s start with Jameela.

I like Jamil. She’s sharp, funny, and unafraid to voice bold, uncomfortable opinions, whether about body image, patriarchy, or the messier contradictions within feminism itself. In her newsletter, she recounts how interviews conducted by women, particularly print journalists, have often felt more hostile, more personal, and more undermining than those by men. She suggests that many of these female-led interviews focus less on her ideas and more on tearing her down; often under the guise of critique, but fuelled, she argues, by internalised misogyny.

Soon after, The Cut published a piece by Olivia Craighead, calling Jamil out for performative feminism and accusing her of attacking women in media. Jamil, in classic form of course didn’t let it slide. She responded by sharing dozens of Instagram stories to prove her point: that this pattern of women fixating on minor flaws, mischaracterising arguments, and interrogating personalities rather than engaging with ideas, is itself a product of the very internalised misogyny she was trying to expose.

Which brings me to De Balie.

The Interview

Obviously, I’m not some celebrity activist, and the woman I encountered wasn’t a journalist interviewing me for some magazine or newspaper. But the dynamic was painfully familiar. I walked into what should have been a professional, even exciting interview, and was met instead with passive aggression, loaded questions, and a deeply unpleasant undercurrent of judgment.

From the very beginning, the atmosphere felt off. Not because I was nervous or unsure of myself, but because one half of the interview duo—a young woman whose work focuses on emancipation and social inequality—seemed determined to challenge or contradict everything I said. Where her male colleague was warm and receptive, she positioned herself in opposition: when I said A, she said B; when I offered lightness, she responded with dryness or disdain.

It started with small talk about the weather. I mentioned that strong air-conditioning often gives me a cold. She laughed, looked at her colleague, and said,

“Well… that’s not a problem for me.”

Okay girl, good for you? I thought. But it was awkward as hell. Her colleague chuckled and said playfully,

“Because you’re the übermensch, of course.”

It was a sneer I was grateful for, but it also heightened the odd energy in the room even more..

What followed wasn’t really a job interview, or at least, not what I believe a normal job interview ought to be like. It was more like an exercise in subtle condescension. Hardly did I feel as though we were engaging with my ideas. Instead, she seemed more interested in testing me, or catching me out. The image that came to mind was someone pulling a carpet out from under my feet. At one point, when I mentioned a specific De Balie event I had attended and found thought-provoking, she asked with narrowed eyes,

“Oh, did you know the programme creator of that event?”

Hmmmm. Why ask that? Why imply I couldn’t have simply attended the event out of intellectual curiosity? The assumption seemed to be that I must have had some connection, otherwise how would someone like me have ended up there?

Then came a particularly telling moment. In passing, I mentioned that I hadn’t been accepted into a highly competitive Journalism & Media MA programme. A programme she, on the other hand, apparently did get into. Her response was a very specific kind of “Oh”—the kind that carries with it a sharp little sting of judgment. The kind that says: You didn’t get in? That must mean something’s wrong. Something I should be suspicious of.

You are a girl and you are woke, but you still internalise misogyny..

Let me be very clear: I have nothing against critical or rigorous questioning during a job interview. High standards are good. And yes, I understand that the interview process is, to a large extent, performative. You're expected to make a good impression; to prove yourself worthy of the opportunity. But I don’t believe in a hostile interviewing style that makes the interviewee feel like an unaccomplished failure. I don’t think it brings out the best in people, and frankly, I find it repulsive and out of step with the times.

I’m not part of the girlboss generation that internalised the fascistic traits of toxic masculinity and then projected them downward, once they found themselves in positions of power. Maybe they were once made to justify their presence in the room, but that doesn’t give them the right to make others feel the same way.

Ask me difficult questions. Challenge me. I welcome that. But do it with respect. You don’t need to strip someone of their dignity in order to test their competence.

What made it even more ironic for me was her area of focus. This woman’s professional work revolves around issues of emancipation, fairness, social justice, and inclusion. She programmes forums, discussion panels and workshops about giving space to marginalised voices. Isn’t respect fundamental to any conversation about equality? It’s the baseline, the bare minimum from which all meaningful exchange can grow. Then why was she so uninterested in applying the very values she supposedly champions to our conversation? She was rehearsing the very dynamics of exclusion she is meant to challenge.

So yea, I understand the point Jameela Jamil is making in her newsletter: sometimes the hardest and misplaced judgment comes not from men, but from women who seem to become your fiercest detractors. What a damn shame guys. Let’s be fucking allies in this patriarchal swamp.

To Gatekeep or Not to Gatekeep

Another unsettling part of the experience was what came after: the rejection. Though the interview had started off not super strong, since I was a little thrown off by the weirdness of the vibe, it took a big turn at some point. For the interview, I had been asked to prepare a pitch: a concept for a programme I would want to create and organise if I were offered the position. So I prepared something and as soon as I began presenting my idea, I felt the energy in the room shift. Suddenly I had their attention. They were engaged. Heads were nodding, notes were being taken. They started mentioning books and podcasts related to the topic. Even the girlboss-who-shall-not-be-named seemed to be warming up to me. I could see I had impressed them, which obviously made me think: they’ll hire me.

In the end, I didn’t get the internship. Which is, honestly, fine. But here’s what he said over the phone when he called to let me know:

“I have to say though, your idea really stuck with us.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

There’s a strange paradox at play. In creative work, we’re asked to compete not just with our experience or qualifications, but with the originality, urgency and relevance of our ideas. We’re expected to offer up a glimpse of our minds for free. That’s the currency. It’s how you prove yourself in a job interview, sitting there in front of your would-be colleagues, hoping to be chosen. But even if you impress them; even if you offer something good, something feasible, something they can actually use, you can still be rejected. You walk away empty-handed. And they walk away with your idea.

That’s why, my lovely readers, I’ve decided: from now on, I’ll be gatekeeping my best ideas. You can be clever, have strong ideas, even the right skills, but none of that guarantees you’ll be hired. It’s better to be rejected after sharing something you’re only half-invested in than to walk away empty-handed while your best pitch is being recycled in someone else’s meeting.

It’s disheartening, but I’ve learned that — also, or perhaps especially — in creative and media work, where conditions are already precarious, competitive and underpaid, protecting your intellectual labour, before anything at all has even been executed, is now yet another thing to worry about.

Why am I sharing this personal anecdote? Because it speaks to something larger, I think. None of us are perfect — and many people choose socially and intellectually engaged professions precisely because they recognise their own imperfections and those of others, and wish to do better. But somewhere along the way, as people grow more comfortable or senior in those roles, they can lose a crucial sense of self-awareness. In the broader pursuit of a more just, inclusive and better-represented world — through policy, art, education or public discourse — it’s easy to forget where these ideals actually begin: in the way we speak to one another. With kindness. With respect. Without presumptions. There are ways to critically assess whether someone is right for a job without undermining their dignity. Do we want young people at the start of their careers to be confident and thrive in what they do, or do we want to cripple them and prod them, just to see how long they last? That’s the question.

Secondly, while interns are often already underpaid and undervalued, using interviews to extract ideas from them, only to turn them away, is a new low. It’s a tasteless kind of theft. So yes: gatekeep. Absolutely. Protect your labour, your ideas, your voice. Always.

P.S. If you ever see a De Balie programme about anything to do with “pain,” just know…that idea was mine.

Sincerely yours,

Naomi