There's a way to express femininity and independence and strength

The words of Iliza Shlesinger, spoken with the clarity of both wit and wisdom, strike at the heart of a modern paradox. When she said, “There’s a way to express femininity and independence and strength without going for low-hanging fruit,” she was not merely talking about comedy, though she is herself a master of that craft. She was speaking of art, identity, and integrity—of the challenge faced by all who wish to rise above the easy applause of the crowd and stand firm in authenticity. Her words are a reminder that true power, whether of spirit or creativity, does not rely on vulgarity, excess, or imitation, but on the quiet and unyielding force of self-respect.

To understand her meaning, we must first know the woman behind them. Iliza Shlesinger, a comedian, writer, and observer of the human condition, rose to fame in a world that often demanded that women entertainers fit themselves into narrow roles—either to soften their edges for acceptance or to shock for attention. She refused both paths. Her words challenge the notion that femininity and strength are opposites, or that to express one’s independence, a woman must abandon grace or subtlety. The “low-hanging fruit” she speaks of represents the easy path—the one that trades depth for quick approval, substance for spectacle. Her statement, though simple, is an anthem of dignity: that one can be powerful and feminine, fierce and refined, honest and elevated, all at once.

Her message recalls the wisdom of the ancients, who understood that true virtue lies not in extremes, but in balance. The philosopher Aristotle called this the “Golden Mean,” the point where courage stands between recklessness and cowardice, and self-expression rests between silence and vanity. So too does Shlesinger’s teaching reflect this harmony. In a time when many equate empowerment with provocation, she calls instead for mastery—the power to command attention not by shock, but by authentic presence. This is the same strength that has guided artists, leaders, and thinkers throughout history: the quiet, enduring strength of those who do not need to shout to be heard.

Consider the story of Eleanor Roosevelt, a woman born into privilege but who chose a life of service, conviction, and independence. In an era when women were expected to remain silent, she spoke for justice, dignity, and human rights—not with harshness, but with poise and unwavering resolve. She once said, “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.” Like Shlesinger, Roosevelt understood that strength and femininity are not contradictions—they are allies. Her power came not from rebellion for its own sake, but from authenticity and purpose. She did not reach for the “low-hanging fruit” of outrage or vanity, but for the higher fruit of truth and principle, and in doing so, she left a legacy that still nourishes the spirit of women and men alike.

In the tone of the ancients, we may say: true strength is not loud, and true independence is not defiant—it is steadfast. To express femininity with grace is not to submit, but to reveal the power that lies in composure. To be independent is not to reject connection, but to stand whole within it. And to be strong is not to dominate others, but to master oneself. The one who reaches for easy approval—who chooses what is cheap, sensational, or superficial—may gain attention for a moment, but they lose the quiet reverence of eternity. The fruit that hangs low may fill the hand quickly, but it spoils just as fast; only what is cultivated with care and patience yields sweetness that endures.

Shlesinger’s words also carry a warning for artists, thinkers, and creators of every kind. In every age, there is the temptation to take the easy path—to flatter the crowd, to exploit what shocks, to feed on what is shallow. Yet the ancients taught that the purpose of art, of thought, of life itself, is not to entertain, but to elevate. To express oneself honestly without surrendering to the vulgar is an act of courage. To choose refinement over vulgarity, depth over spectacle, and substance over convenience—this is the mark of those who seek excellence rather than approval.

Let this, then, be the lesson: femininity, independence, and strength are not found in opposition, but in harmony. They are three strings of the same instrument, and only when played together do they create music that moves the soul. The low-hanging fruit will always tempt you—it will whisper of ease and instant reward—but resist it. Seek instead the higher branch, where the fruit is harder to reach but infinitely sweeter. For in the struggle to reach it, you will find not only success, but mastery of yourself.

And so, the practical path is this: express yourself with honesty, but let your honesty be refined by wisdom. Build your independence not on rebellion, but on purpose. Nurture your strength not through force, but through integrity. Let your femininity—or whatever essence defines you—shine not as performance, but as truth. As Iliza Shlesinger reminds us, greatness does not come from reaching for what is easy, but from daring to reach higher. The world will always have its low branches, but the soul that climbs—patient, disciplined, and true—will taste the fruit that never rots.