By Cassidy LaPointe
The “thought daughter” is perfectly poised: her room is messy, but not gross messy–tortured poet messy; the bags under her eyes are just prominent enough to express her anguish, but not enough to be ugly. Lana Del Rey is her god, The Secret History her gospel, and she treats The Bell Jar as a how-to guide—she’s not like other girls. She thinks!The “thought daughter” phenomenon has recently taken social media by storm. We might see her in TikToks of journals, candles, and books, underscored by the soft timbre of Adrienne Lenker’s “not a lot, just forever”; she’s frequently found on Pinterest reposting pictures of tearful, skinny white women and Taylor Swift lyrics.
The term “thought daughter” was originally coined after the “gay son or thot daughter?” meme resurfaced back in 2021. That “joke” originated in 2012, but tends to pop up again every few trend cycles; recipients choose between having a gay son or thot (an acronym for “that h*e over there”) daughter, as in, which one would be worse? When, ten years later, the bit reared its ugly head once again, viewers finally pushed back: some chose to call out the bigoted nature of the question, while others joked that “their parents got confused” and chose a thought daughter instead of a thot daughter. The clever wordplay was used as a way to both establish women as more than their sex lives and neutralize the use of the term “thot” to degrade women. Since then, the trend has taken on a life of its own. What began as a mitigation of misogyny and homophobia in the mainstream has evolved into its own twisted brand of elitism, because, of course, the internet has made it weird.
The thought daughter’s mantra is that she cares too much. In her own words, she’s “never gotten over anything in her life.” While the cool girl uses irony to avoid appearing emotional, the thought daughter embraces it. She openly discusses her struggles, seemingly helping girls find solace in their shared experiences with anxiety, overthinking, and the complexities of being a woman. Despite this, the “thought daughter” label (and associated attitude) seems to be in close conversation with our recent “girl” internet.
In the past five years, we’ve seen the rapid rise of girlbloggers, girlbosses, and, most recently, girl dinners. The “girl internet” was, like the thought daughter, first a marker of community, of reclaiming “girly” stereotypes and celebrating womanhood. However, the label has since become a symbol of regression, pushing us closer to encouraging harmful, outdated stereotypes of what girls are and do. Culture writer Biz Sherbert notes, “Girlblogging is as much of an invocation as it is a forceful slouching towards a shopping addiction, being sample-sized, and marrying rich.” The fate of the infamous “girl dinner” illustrates this phenomenon best: what began as a fun way of sharing struggle meals became a slippery slope of romanticizing 2000s-style disordered eating. Videos went from clips of Goldfish and Taco Bell to a handful of almonds, small portions of fruit, and even in one video, nothing but a nap.
Thought daughters seem to be, fundamentally, anti-girl internet. The trend, however well-meaning initially, has evolved to adopt an “I’m not like other girls” attitude: whereas the “girly” girl is partying, the thought daughter is self-isolating. While some girls read rom-coms and YA, the thought daughter’s collection consists only of sophisticated authors like Joan Didion, Ottessa Moshfegh, and Sally Rooney. The girly girl so pitifully falls over herself catering to men, but not the thought daughter – she’s more concerned with the “female gaze.” The thought daughter envies those who aren’t as tortured by their self-awareness, but, oddly enough, does so with an air of superiority. She acts as if her misery somehow makes her more than other girls – smarter, wittier, better.
After all, doesn’t the epithet “thought daughter” imply the existence of the doltish, thoughtless daughter? Aren’t these girls, in setting themselves above aside from the rest of women, perpetuating the same systems they claim to be haunted by? Are we really making progress if we keep letting internalized misogyny repackage itself? By weaponizing our issues to win some sort of self-inflicted contest, rather than finding comfort and power in our shared experiences, we only serve to further polarize and isolate ourselves in a world already putting women into competition with each other.
Instead of giving us opportunities to talk about our shared interests, these labels lead not just to rivalry but to a subconscious kind of self-surveillance. They’re more about maintaining the image of femininity and intellectualism rather than pursuing them out of genuine curiosity or fulfillment: rarely do we see videos discussing the content of “thought daughter media,” as opposed to just showing off collections of books. Being the “thought daughter” online is a performance, an imitation of identity – more often than not, you might find yourself choosing the art you experience based on how well it fits the label. Tying that label, and thereby femininity and intelligence, to consumption of media, rather than examining that media’s cultural impact and our place within it, is more reductive than liberatory. Moreover, though she aims to operate outside of the male gaze, the thought daughter nonetheless exists within the patriarchy; realistically, there’s no way for her to fully escape the male gaze living in today’s society.
We can still take some things away from the thought daughter’s ideology – embracing vulnerability, mitigating sexism and homophobia – but it’s also important to acknowledge the trend’s flaws and rooted elitism. Instead of ignoring the patriarchy’s effects and confining ourselves with labels, we should be educating ourselves and actively promoting inclusivity. At the end of the day, education is a privilege, and we should be using it to empower and teach each other. Now, more than ever, we need to find strength in our local communities – to come together, not to polarize.