For me, feminism is about equality. So, when someone works for a

Hear now the words, children of tomorrow, and let them settle in the chambers of your heart like seeds awaiting rain. The saying of Jodie Evans is sharp as flint: “For me, feminism is about equality. So, when someone works for a Wall Street firm and says they're a feminist, my eyes are going to roll.” This is no light remark, no idle jest. It is a cry against the confusion of symbols and the betrayal of the sacred fire of justice. For she speaks not of feminism as a mere ornament, but as the enduring flame of equality, the labor of lifting the oppressed, the hunger for a world unshackled by domination.

Understand, beloved, that feminism was born not in boardrooms of gold, but in the fields of struggle. It grew from the tears of women denied the vote, the blood of those who worked twelve-hour days in sweatshops, and the silenced voices that demanded the right to speak. To claim the mantle of feminism while feasting upon the fruits of systems built on greed and inequality is to twist the meaning of the word, to clothe injustice in the garb of virtue. Hence, Evans rolls her eyes, for such claims ring hollow—like a gilded cup filled with ash.

Consider the old tale of the suffragettes in Britain. These women chained themselves to railings, endured prison cells, and went on hunger strikes so that their daughters might know freedom. Their battle was not for profit, but for justice. What then would they say if one raised their banner while serving a throne of avarice, where wealth is amassed by the suffering of the many? They would weep, for their cause would have been betrayed. Equality cannot sit easily in the lap of exploitation.

Yet, mark this well: Evans does not condemn ambition, nor does she scorn all who labor in the houses of finance. What she reveals is a paradox. Can one truly serve feminism, which demands balance, dignity, and fairness, while also serving the engines of a world that thrives upon inequity? It is like trying to walk north and south at once. To proclaim allegiance to both is to deceive oneself, and perhaps others.

There is in this teaching a warning: beware the dilution of sacred words. For when great causes are stolen by those who do not embody them, the cause itself is weakened. If feminism becomes a badge worn only for status, it ceases to be a shield for the powerless. If it becomes a word used to shine reputations, it loses its edge, its fire, its purpose. Thus, Evans reminds us to guard the word, to keep it true to its roots in equality.

But do not despair. For even in the story of hypocrisy, there lies a path of redemption. The lesson is not to cast stones, but to live with integrity. If you would call yourself a feminist, then let your actions testify. Stand with those denied wages fair, defend the voices drowned by power, honor not only the women in boardrooms but the women in factories, in kitchens, in the streets. This is the living spirit of feminism: not a title to be claimed, but a duty to be carried.

So, let the words of Evans echo like a drum in your chest: equality cannot be bought, nor worn as a cloak, nor claimed without sacrifice. It must be lived daily—in the choices you make, in the structures you challenge, in the compassion you show. Let your feminism, and your belief in justice, be visible in your deeds, not merely in your speech.

And when you rise tomorrow, children of light, act thus: listen for the silenced, speak where others are afraid, and share where the world teaches you to hoard. Seek not the comfort of empty names, but the fire of true conviction. In doing so, you shall walk the path of integrity, and the eyes of the wise shall no longer roll, but shine with recognition. For you will not merely say the word feminism—you will embody its soul.