It started with a ten-second reel of Sabrina Carpenter dancing, with text across the video that read: “I was definitely born in the right generation. I love telling men to “STFU.”
I laughed. I reposted it. Then I went back to working on my MFA application.
But somewhere between crafting my personal narrative and listing my teaching experience, the humor of that clip began to dissolve. It wasn’t funny at all.
For centuries, women weren’t allowed (legally, socially, or spiritually) to stand up to the men who harmed them. Silence was expected. Obedience was enforced. Those who broke that silence were punished, exiled, institutionalized, even killed. There was no justice for the suffering of women, no language for it even. And suddenly, that Sabrina Carpenter reel didn’t feel like a joke. It felt like a declaration. A powerful shout born from decades of struggle. From the suffragettes who fought for the vote in the 1920s, to the feminists of the ’70s demanding equality, to the raw, vocal anger of ’90s punk bands led by women, and the powerful activism of the Take Back the Night movement shining a spotlight on sexual assault on college campuses, all the way to ten years ago, when women courageously and openly admitted #MeToo so that today, women could boldly say “STFU.” And that is nothing short of revolutionary.
This evolution—from enforced silence to unapologetic defiance—marks a seismic shift in what it means for women to claim their voices. On the surface, saying “I love telling men to STFU” might sound flippant or provocative. But beneath this sharp declaration lies centuries of longing, struggle, and hard-won resilience. It’s a statement of power. The ability for women today to say “no”, to set firm boundaries, and to demand respect without the need to soften their words or prioritize a man’s feelings. While intimate partner violence remains a real and dangerous threat behind closed doors, and being flippant with a man one-on-one can still carry heavy risks, in public spaces we are boldly saying “STFU” and reaching for “cuter” words like man child to call out the pathetic behavior of men who weaponize their incompetence, feign ignorance, and show up in partnerships expecting to be “mommy-ed” by women wise enough to know that parenting a grown man isn’t just a waste of time and energy, but of their very lives.
This shift isn’t just about individual voices. It’s a reflection of deeper patterns, a challenge to the old rules that allowed certain behaviors to go unchecked for far too long. It’s a moment that calls for examining not only what women have endured, but also what forces continue to enable harmful attitudes to persist.
Working in the healing space, I have spent years learning about generational trauma and how pain and suffering can echo through family lines long after the original wound. Dr. Gabor Maté’s work has been especially illuminating, showing how trauma shapes not only individuals but entire generations. But this moment, this reel, forced me to consider the other side of the equation: generational entitlement.
It’s clear that trauma doesn’t just pass through the oppressed, it lingers in the DNA of the oppressor. The sons of violent men carry that violence in how they view women. The grandsons of tyrants may not raise a fist, but they may still believe they’re owed the world. Entitlement can be just as inherited as fear. Research shows that boys raised in households with domineering or abusive fathers are more likely to internalize attitudes of control, dominance, and entitlement, and that these patterns are reinforced by cultural narratives that equate masculinity with authority and power. Even subtle forms of entitlement (mansplaining, interrupting, claiming credit for others’ work, dismissing women’s ideas, microaggressions) teach boys that they are naturally owed respect, compliance, or advantage. Online harassment campaigns and cultural norms around “charm” or “confidence” further normalize these inherited behaviors. Toxic masculinity is often a symptom of this, showing how entitlement can persist unconsciously across generations, shaping behaviors even in men who would never physically harm a woman.
So no, telling men to “STFU” isn’t just personal—it’s political. It’s historical. It’s reparative. It’s not about spite. It’s about rebalancing power. When women publicly assert their boundaries and call out entitlement, they confront centuries of inherited arrogance and impunity.
We women have a moral obligation to reject the arrogance, impunity, and casual cruelty that too many men still wield with inherited ease. It’s not our job to fix them. But it is our responsibility to refuse to accommodate them. If we want the boys born tomorrow to grow into decent men, someone must tell the boys of today that the era of unchecked entitlement is over.
Sometimes, that starts with something as simple as: STFU.
Photo by engin akyurt on Unsplash
