India’s Got Latent and the 60-second feminism test

“I want to get drunk and hit a man with a hunter too, I need some sort of red flag in my life.“

The larger performance is less a critique of patriarchy and more an expression of personal anger directed towards men as a group. And that distinction is important.

If you pay attention to her conversation with the panel, you realise where much of that hostility comes from. Sakshi speaks about experiencing what she describes as generational trauma at the hands of men—from her grandfather to her father—and admits these experiences have shaped how she views the men in her life, including her younger brother.

She also says:

“I want a husband who is joru ka ghulam” — a colloquial term used for a husband perceived as excessively obedient to his wife.

She keeps returning to one common thread: not dismantling gendered power, but reversing it. Whether it is fantasising about exercising power over men, wanting a husband who is subservient, or insisting that, as a Gen Z woman, it is her prerogative to do things differently, her instinct is to flip the hierarchy rather than question why it exists in the first place. That, perhaps, is where Sakshi and feminism part ways.

“The master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house.”
— Audre Lorde

Reversing power isn’t the same as dismantling it

Patriarchy is a system built on power, control, hierarchy and domination.

Reproducing domination in reverse does not challenge patriarchy. As feminist scholar Audre Lorde warned, “the master’s tools will never dismantle the master’s house.”

Feminism is about dismantling unequal power structures, challenging sexist norms and smashing patriarchy. It asks who holds power and how that power operates. It promotes representation, intersectionality and equitable access. Patriarchy privileges men over women; feminism is not its mirror image. It does not seek a world where women dominate men. It seeks a world where gender no longer determines who holds power, whose voice matters, who has access and whose freedom is valued.

This is where public conversations often become blurred.

What has increasingly become blurred is the difference between feminism and misandry. Feminism has nothing to do with hating men.

The precise technical term for a “man-hater” is a misandrist. It comes from the Greek roots misos (hatred) and andros (men).

Misandry directs hostility towards men as a group. As French feminist Pauline Harmange writes, “Misandry exists only as a reaction to misogyny, which is at the root of systemic violence.” You may agree or disagree with that argument, but the distinction remains important. Misandry and feminism are not synonymous.

One is an attitude towards men; the other is a political movement concerned with dismantling systems of gendered inequality. Criticism of patriarchy is often mistaken for hatred of men, while hatred of men is sometimes confused with feminism. Neither assumption is true.

One can be deeply committed to gender equality without hating men. Similarly, one can dislike men without engaging in any meaningful critique of patriarchy.

But the internet got Sakshi wrong too

But focusing solely on where Sakshi gets feminism wrong misses a larger, and perhaps more uncomfortable, question.

After finishing the episode, I googled her. From what is publicly available, she appears to be an 18-year-old speaking from a place of visible anger, hurt and frustration. To treat her as the face of modern feminism would be as inaccurate as treating her as evidence that feminism itself has failed.

Feminism has never demanded that women be polite about oppression. But anger is a starting point, not a political framework.

Misandry and feminism are not synonymous.

Within hours of the episode airing, her Instagram comments were overflowing. One section of the internet pointed to Sakshi as proof that all feminists simply hate men. Another dissected her personally—mocking her English, questioning her intelligence and turning her into a subject of online ridicule. A third insisted that what she said was not feminism at all.

We must resist the urge to turn her into a feminist icon. Ideas like feminism, power and gender are rarely understood overnight. They evolve as we move through different phases of life, encounter new experiences and learn to ask different questions. Most of us, at eighteen, were still assembling our political beliefs from family histories, social media, personal experiences and the limited vocabulary available to us. That understanding can, and often does, evolve.

Expecting her to carry the weight of an entire movement—or treating her words as a definitive statement on feminism—is a burden she neither asked for nor deserves. Feminist movements have been shaped through decades of activism, struggle and organising. They cannot be reduced to a minute-long viral performance, just as they cannot be judged by the worst interpretation of their ideas.

What produces this kind of anger?

What does it mean when an 18-year-old girl concludes that hating men is empowerment?

That is why I am less interested in whether she is a “modern feminist icon” and more interested in asking what kind of world produces a young woman who believes that hating men is the language of empowerment.

Women often spend years learning how to swallow discomfort before they learn how to articulate it.

We’re often seen as feminist killjoys when, instead of staying quiet, we respond to problematic statements.

As Sara Ahmed argues, society often views the person who identifies a problem as the actual problem.

By calling out inappropriate jokes or confronting systemic prejudices, the feminist killjoy disturbs a superficial peace that relies on marginalised people staying silent.

A world where girls are taught to make themselves smaller, compromise and keep their heads down. A world where daughters are expected to adjust while sons are allowed to assert themselves. A world where timings determine women’s access to public spaces and the length of a skirt determines a woman’s character. It arrives in workplaces where harassment is normalised as flirtation, microaggressions are ignored and women are paid less for the same work.

Long before women encounter feminist theory, they encounter the realities that feminism seeks to explain.

It is easier to say, “I hate men,” than it is to explain patriarchy in sixty seconds.

What Sakshi said is not right. But trying to understand why she said it is essential.

While many of us are unwilling to do so, we must hold two ideas at the same time: we can reject what she said about men while recognising the realities that may have shaped those beliefs.

Perhaps the real lesson from this performance is not about Sakshi at all. It is about how quickly we simplify complex conversations about gender into binaries: feminist or anti-feminist, empowerment or victimhood, icon or villain. An eighteen-year-old can be deeply angry and deeply disconnected. But criticism must remain limited to what she said, not become humiliation for who she is.

Our response to imperfect articulations of inequality or misunderstood feminism cannot be ridicule, abandonment or blind celebration. The goal is not merely to identify who has the “correct” politics. It is to create space for better conversations, deeper understanding and more thoughtful engagement with the realities that shape people’s beliefs.

Long before young women learn the language of feminism, they learn the experiences that give rise to it. Misunderstood feminism is not a reason to stop talking about feminism. It is a reason to talk about it better.

(The author is a lawyer and founder, Her Haq)