When a woman enters politics, it’s not only her ideas that are debated

For centuries, the image of power had a male face. The codes through which we learned to conceive the figure of a ruler (authority, firmness, ambition, confrontation, confidence, and even a certain dose of arrogance) were forged in a world where those who occupied the main decision-making spaces were almost exclusively men. As women began to enter politics more visibly, they not only had to compete for votes, defend proposals, or prove their capability: they also had to learn to inhabit a model of leadership that had not been built with them in mind.

From this arises a paradox that remains relevant: a woman must prove she has enough character to exercise power, but she can be socially punished when she seems to have too much. She must be firm, but not aggressive; confident, but not arrogant; empathetic, but not emotional; aim very high, but in moderation; take care of her image, but without worrying about it especially. And, perhaps most complex of all, she must demonstrate authority without ceasing to be likable.

This is not merely a perception. A meta-analysis published in the Journal of Communication, which examined 90 studies and more than 750,000 news items, found that women politicians receive more attention to their appearance, family life, and gender than their male colleagues. The evidence on other forms of bias is more complex and varies by context, a reality we must acknowledge if we want to discuss the subject seriously.

This does not mean that every criticism directed at a woman is sexist, nor that men are exempt from personal attacks. It means something much more interesting: it is worth asking ourselves what we are evaluating when we judge a woman who aspires to govern.

Margaret Thatcher understood very early that power is not only exercised: it is embodied. Her voice, her clothing, her posture, her hair, and her diction made up a political identity of unmistakable features. One can disagree completely with Thatcher and still study the enormous sophistication of the composition of her image. She was a woman venturing into historically male territory who had to develop a presence in keeping with the demands of that stage.

Decades later, Hillary Clinton exposed another side of the same problem. Her career was analyzed over the years around concepts in tension: competent, but cold; prepared, but calculating; strong, but not very approachable; experienced, but excessively ambitious. Research on media coverage of Clinton has used her case to study the so-called “double bind”: the conflict arising from adopting traits traditionally associated with leadership while a woman is expected to retain attributes culturally linked to femininity.

The scrutiny does not end with character: it extends to private life. The family life of women in politics tends to attract more attention than that of their male colleagues. Consider a seemingly innocent question: “How will she combine motherhood with such a demanding office?” It is perfectly legitimate to talk about how to reconcile family and public responsibilities. What is revealing is to ask why the same concern arises far less often when the person aspiring to power is a father.

The motherhood of Jacinda Ardern, in the middle of her term as prime minister of New Zealand, gave this phenomenon greater visibility. It is not that her family situation was irrelevant or that it was forbidden to talk about it. What was interesting was observing the weight that this personal circumstance could acquire in the public assessment of her fitness for office, a dynamic far less common with the fatherhood of a head of state.

Social media added a new dimension. In another era, the political narrative was mediated mainly by journalists, editors, parties, columnists, and media outlets. Today anyone can address a public figure directly from their phone. That democratized the exchange and, at the same time, the insult. A woman with a public presence can open her social media and find, in just a few minutes, thousands of opinions not about what she proposes, but about her body, age, face, clothes, voice, or private life.

A nuance is in order: men also receive insults, threats, and smear campaigns. The essential point is not to turn the debate into a contest over who suffers more: it is to analyze how the attack is shaped and at what point we stop rebutting a political position and begin judging the person for failing to meet what we expect of a woman.

Gloria Álvarez: The Price of Defying Expectations

This is where I come to a case I know much more closely. I currently work with Gloria Álvarez through Majo Salinas PR & Management, supporting part of her strategy in communications, public relations, media, positioning, and opportunity management. I say so because I consider it important that readers of this column understand where I am writing from. I do not pretend to be a neutral observer of Gloria; nor am I writing to ask for indulgence toward her. My argument is, in fact, quite the opposite: I want her ideas to receive more scrutiny, not less.

In 2019, Gloria announced her intention to run for the Presidency of Guatemala; she was 34 years old. At that time there was a real legal impediment: the Guatemalan Political Constitution set a minimum age that she had not yet reached to hold the Presidency. That is a fact, and there is no point in disguising it as discrimination. However, that legal reality coexisted with another kind of questioning: she was not only too young to meet the constitutional requirement; in the eyes of some, she seemed too young to be taken seriously.

Years went by. Gloria kept studying, writing, publishing books, giving lectures, debating, and taking part in the international public conversation. And something revealing happened: the woman who was once “too young” began to receive comments because she now supposedly “looks old.”

From that contradiction an inevitable question arises: what is the right age?

When a woman is disqualified, first for her youth and then for the passage of time, perhaps age was never really the problem. The argument changed; the focus remained on her.

The same goes for her credentials. Gloria has built a career as a political scientist, author, speaker, and popularizer of ideas. An important part of her work has consisted of bringing political, economic, and philosophical concepts to non-expert audiences. That ability deserves recognition: she can take on populism, individual freedom, institutions, democracy, or economics and turn complex matters into an enjoyable conversation for someone who has never studied Political Science.

This does not mean her conclusions are correct by definition. A résumé does not turn an opinion into truth. It means there are arguments to discuss. Which of Gloria’s premises is mistaken? Which piece of data does not hold up? Which interpretation of liberalism is incorrect? Which proposal for Guatemala would be better? That is where a substantive intellectual debate begins. “She’s old” refutes absolutely nothing.

Added to this is her style. Gloria speaks loudly, gestures, confronts, provokes, and shows no particular interest in going unnoticed. She may please or she may bother. Both reactions are legitimate. Nevertheless, it is worth contrasting that style with the way we have enshrined the public image of some men.

Javier Milei, for example, made intensity a central part of his political persona: shouting, grandiloquence, controversies, and deliberately incendiary and provocative expressions. For part of his audience, those attributes reinforced his authenticity. They were passion, rebellion, character, determination. If a woman shows similar intensity, other adjectives can appear more easily: “shrill,” “exaggerated,” “emotional,” or “hysterical.”

Does that mean that anyone who finds Gloria’s style excessive is sexist? Of course not! Communication style can and should also be criticized. The underlying question points to a subtler distinction: do we interpret an equivalent intensity in the same way when it comes from a man and when it comes from a woman?

I don’t want them to criticize Gloria less: I want them to criticize her better. Challenge her liberalism, question her vision of the State, contradict her interpretation of populism, ask her about Guatemala, put her proposals to the test, identify inconsistencies, and demand data from her. That is exactly what should happen in a free society. Gloria does not need protection from opposing ideas; no public figure should need it.

Because if, after books, lectures, interviews, and years of participation in the public conversation, the most elaborate answer we can offer is “she’s old,” “she’s ugly,” “she’s crazy,” or “she’s hysterical,” then we have not refuted Gloria: we have simply abandoned the debate.

From Disqualification to Writing a Book

Here the story takes on another dimension. Obviously, public exposure has consequences that we do not always see from the outside. Behind an account with thousands of comments there is a person receiving them. Behind a digital campaign there is someone who has to learn to discern between a legitimate objection and an incitement to conflict, between an exchange of ideas and a personal attack, and between everyday noise and a real threat.

Gloria has lived that experience for years and has made it the subject of her work. Her most recent book, Cómo defender la libertad y no suicidarte en el intento (“How to Defend Freedom Without Killing Yourself in the Attempt”), deals precisely with cyberbullying, cancel culture, and the cost of defending ideas publicly in the digital age.

The origin of this work has a particular feature: it is not solely a theoretical reflection on social media, but a response to what she lived on the other side of the screen. Gloria knows what it means to trend, to receive attacks, to face digital campaigns, and to discover that defending freedom of expression also means developing tools to withstand it emotionally and professionally in an environment that can be extraordinarily hostile.

Far from pretending that the aggression would disappear (something practically impossible for any public figure), Gloria used what she learned over the years to provide knowledge that may be useful to others.

And that is why the book tour continues that same dialogue!

On October 16, 2026, Gloria Álvarez will be at the Feria Internacional del Libro Monterrey (FILMTY), at CINTERMEX, to present Cómo defender la libertad y no suicidarte en el intento. The event will take place from 4:00 to 4:50 p.m. in the JAC Auditorium, followed by a book signing from 5:00 to 7:00 p.m. at Table 2.

My invitation is not “go because you have to agree with Gloria.” No. My proposal is different: go and listen to her! If you agree with her, ask her; if you have doubts, ask her; and if you profoundly disagree, you probably have even more reason to do so. A free society does not need its citizens to think alike: it needs them to be able to hear an idea that makes them uncomfortable and respond with another.

We are currently working to expand Gloria Álvarez’s tour and bring her ideas to new venues. If you represent a book fair, university, organization, think tank, media outlet, company, festival, forum, or institution and are interested in having her in your city or country for a lecture, book presentation, interview, or special appearance, you can visit her Press & Media Center. There you will have access to her background, biography, books, photographs, press materials, and contact information.

After so many years of judging Gloria for being too young, too intense, too loud, or now, too old!, perhaps it is time to try something different: listening to what she has to say.

Then we can agree, disagree, and debate for hours. That way, at least, we will be recovering something that politics desperately needs: discussing ideas with ideas.