Sophie Gilbert, a staff writer at The Atlantic, has made a name for herself covering pop culture—from Madonna and Taylor Swift to The White Lotus and Severance—while also earning a Pulitzer Prize finalist nod for her criticism. She’s become something of a modern-day cultural critic for the TikTok era.

Her new book, Girl on Girl: How Pop Culture Turned a Generation of Women Against Themselves (out April 29 from Penguin Press), revisits the late 1990s and early 2000s, examining what happened to feminism in the early 21st century. Along the way, she explores how pop culture has intersected with sex, politics, fame, and morality over the past few decades.

Here, Gilbert talks about culture, celebrity, and finding hope in difficult times.

Vogue: What sparked the idea for this book?
Sophie Gilbert: Two moments really stand out. First, I had twins in July 2020 in New York City, right in the middle of COVID. In the months that followed, I completely lost myself. I couldn’t read or watch TV, barely slept, and was too exhausted to eat. My husband and I were caring for these tiny babies in total isolation, and it led to a kind of personal breakdown. When I finally returned to work and reengaged with the world, I kept coming back to stories about culture and identity—how the art we consume shapes who we are, for better or worse.

The second moment was the overturning of Roe v. Wade in 2022. I couldn’t understand how women—the majority in America—could have so little power. The only explanation I could think of was that pop culture had lulled us into passivity and distraction.

Vogue: You end your introduction on an optimistic note: “We try to understand all the ways in which things went wrong so that we can conceive of a more powerful way forward.” Do you really believe that’s possible?
Gilbert: We’re in a time of deep turmoil, and it’s horrifying what’s happening to trans people, immigrants, refugees, and women under the current administration. But for the most part, the culture we consume isn’t reinforcing these attacks—it’s pushing back against them.

Vogue: You write about how women in 1990s music were “angry and abrasive and thrillingly powerful,” only to be replaced by “girls.” Are we still stuck in that cycle?
Gilbert: There are so many women artists today who refuse to limit themselves, even when they’re criticized for it. Sabrina Carpenter gets flak for being sexual onstage—as if that hasn’t been a core part of her music since she became an adult. Chappell Roan is completely unfiltered in interviews, exploring sexuality in a way that doesn’t cater to male expectations. Doechii gets backlash just for expressing her dating preferences. These women face a lot of criticism for being honest about who they are, but they’re not backing down—they’re winning awards and selling out shows. And they’re not answering to some man in a corner office. That feels like progress.

Vogue: You explore the tension between “girls” and “women”—coming-of-age versus lived experience. Who gets that distinction right?
Gilbert: When it comes to girlhood, there are so many brilliant portrayals. Melissa Febos’s Girlhood (2021) is my touchstone—she captures just how treacherous growing up can be. I love Pen15, Greta Gerwig’s Lady Bird, and Michaela Coel’s Chewing Gum. Euphoria unsettled me—there’s something voyeuristic about it, even as it tries to depict how toxic girlhood can be.We’ve passed down a lot to Gen Z. I believe girls today are much more aware and have access to a wider range of influences, along with the language to recognize and call out misogyny. But they’re also under constant attack on social media in ways we never experienced.

Why were so many 2000s movies—like Shallow Hal, Knocked Up, White Chicks, and Bringing Down the House—so aggressively anti-woman? Is that still true in film and TV today?

Back then, mainstream movies had no interest in portraying women as anything more than stupid or irritating sidekicks to bumbling male leads. But lately, we’ve seen so many compelling stories about aging, beauty standards, desire, grief, motherhood, and the performance of femininity and power. That’s not to say the industry is perfect now, but it’s definitely improved.

You’ve written that “the women our culture claims to hate the most are often the ones we can’t look away from.” Can you explain that?

I’ve been covering Kim Kardashian since I started at The Atlantic over a decade ago. Early on, whenever I wrote about her, I’d get outraged comments and emails accusing me of degrading the magazine by paying attention to such “trash.” But now, Kim is arguably the most influential woman in the world—and she got there by having an uncanny understanding of what people want to see from her. We’ve always resented the women who hold our attention: Anna Nicole Smith, Britney Spears, Paris Hilton, Madonna. I think part of that anger comes from our own frustration at being so drawn to them. Men like Kanye West or Elon Musk might also provoke backlash, but they don’t face the same level of dismissal—the idea that they’re not even worth discussing.

It’s impossible to talk about how women are portrayed without considering the ever-present influence of celebrity. How has that evolved?

This was one of the most fascinating parts of my research—how celebrity culture shifted in the 2000s and what that meant for the rest of us. In the 20th century, people could become tabloid famous without any real talent. But in the 21st century, with gossip magazines and the internet hungry for content, women who were willing to be photographed, go to the right parties, or let cameras into their lives could achieve fame just by being seen. Visibility became a career path. What changed then—and what still exists now—is the illusion that anyone can be famous if they play by the rules. The real question is: At what cost?

This conversation has been edited and condensed.

Girl on Girl: How Pop Culture Turned a Generation of Women Against Themselves
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