Yes, I’m an ecofeminist, but here’s where it gets complicated.

By Jaimie Dwyer

I first encountered the term ‘ecofeminism’ five years ago in a second-year philosophy lecture. The two true loves of my life – feminism and political ecology – had come together in a perfect union. As I entered a deep hole of new and exciting literature, I was also experiencing my first – and in hindsight, minor – heart break. In search of guidance and healing, I turned to writing copious amounts of nature poetry, collecting rocks, charging crystals in the sun, and early morning bush walks.

During these few months marked by heartbreak, I found myself developing a deeper connection with the land. Yet, even as this connection grew, I became increasingly uneasy with one of ecofeminism’s core assumptions: the linkage between women and nature. I began to question the implications of this association and realised the potential trouble with ecofeminism, declared by an ecofeminist herself.

Ecofeminism is both a theoretical framework and a political movement. It was first coined by French feminist Françoise d’Eaubonne in 1974 and highlights the interconnected systems of oppression and exploitation that affect women, the environment, and other marginalised communities (Warren, 1997; Gaard, 2017).

I came to resist the notion that women possess an innate or special relationship with nature. While this ‘special relationship’ might be an empowering sentiment at first glance – reminiscent of other seemingly harmless terms like ‘the divine feminine’ – it risks relying on conventional stereotypes of gender that cast women as inherently nurturing and caring. This is reflected in affinity ecofeminism, a theoretical strand that posits women as fundamentally closer to the natural world. More apparent within first wave ecofeminism, the Earth is also gendered, symbolised through maternal imagery such ‘Mother Nature’ or ‘Mother Earth’ (Griffin, 1997).

The woman/nature analogy enters a dangerous realm, one which many critics argue is essentialist and reductionist: women are characterised by their capacity to nurture, cultivate, care and reproduce. Positioned as experts stewards of the planet, women are reduced to their maternal bodies, biological and social roles.

D’Eaubonne herself argues that women are critical agents in looking after our environment. However, I fear this nexus places the burden of care, protection and environmental responsibility on the shoulders of women, rendering these attributes as innate to ‘her’.

Quantitative studies show that women are more likely to demonstrate pro-environmental attitudes, and men less likely to engage in eco-sustainable behaviours (Echavarren, 2023). Eco-conscious consumerism still relies on gendered marketing, often targeting women with products like reusable menstrual items and natural skincare. In beauty adverts, we are shown familiar scenes, where a woman lies semi-nude by a creek or runs barefoot through a sunlit field, splashing fresh water on her face before applying a vitamin C serum.

Nowadays, I experience guilt when opting for non-organic cotton tampons over a menstrual cup, or disposable make-up wipes, as though I'm failing in my personal duty to care for the planet. Although I agree that sustainable products and behaviours are crucial in challenging the norms of consumer culture, I can’t help but ask: where is the men’s deodorant that promises not just a fresh scent, but also a commitment to waste reduction and ethically sourced ingredients? Instead, men are offered a different narrative, whereby their ‘mountain fresh’ shampoo or ‘true instinct’ body spray will help them to conquer the wilderness.

There is an underlying moral responsibility embedded in many of the products targeted at women, one that is largely absent from the way consumption is framed for men. Women are expected not only to meet ever-shifting beauty standards, but to do so ethically and sustainably. No matter what, it feels like we’re set up to fall short. Whilst an anecdotal and generalised statement, I have frequently engaged and educated the men in my life on how to recycle, how to shop more sustainably, and, put simply, how to care. There is an eco-gender gap which reflects the prevailing notion that ‘green behaviour’ and ‘green consumerism’ are inherently linked to femininity (Leoncini, 2025).

So, what about ecofeminism?

Before we get lost in these critiques of essentialism, let us return to ecofeminism’s fundamental tenant. What if ecofeminism does not seek to reinforce the likening of women with nature, but highlight how their comparable domination has been justified by our society and culture? In this instance, ecofeminism elucidates that “the way we think about and treat the environment is related to the way we think about and treat women," both subjects to the same structures of oppression (Roach, 1991, p. 47).

Moreover, such critiques serve to uphold, rather than subvert, a hierarchy of values that places reason and logic above care and compassion. In our fight to save the planet, we need to welcome acts of empathy, care and spiritualism. These are not exclusively feminine traits but powerful tools in tackling environmental issues and rethinking conventional approaches to environmental governance that have traditionally privileged realms of objectivism, economy, and neutrality.

The value of care needs to be brought to the forefront and liberated from its traditional patriarchal connotations. Leoncini (2025) suggests that we do this in two ways: questioning the sovereign subject that is disengaged and atomistic; and give value to ideas of dependence and relationality. We need only look to Indigenous worldviews that embrace a kincentric ecology and highlight the reciprocal relationship between humans and the environment. Humans take on an embodied responsibility, a relational accountability to care for each other and our environments, as an ecological community.

In responding to critiques of ecofeminism, I acknowledge that such discussions lean heavily on gender binaries. However, this article emphasises the need to challenge how certain concepts are framed in binary oppositions, particularly within Western thought, such as empathy versus impartiality; love versus rationality; and autonomy versus interdependence.

When you closely identify with a certain political movement or ideology, I think it is healthy to be confused and question its foundations. This means you are being critical, open minded and it would be irresponsible to not explore the potential flaws of your standpoint; it is simply good faith. Please do not fret, I am an ecofeminist. So, go dig your nails in the dirt, throw out that reusable period pad you’ve had for 7+ years, and see if you’re more connected to the Earth than your boyfriend.

References

Gaard, G. (2017). Critical ecofeminism. Lexington Books.

Griffin, S. (2016). Woman and nature: The roaring inside her. Counterpoint.

Leoncini, S. (2025). Self-care, Care for the Environment, and Care for Others: A Gender Perspective? Women & Education, 3(5), 58–63.

Roach, C. (1991a). Loving your mother: On the Woman-Nature Relation. Hypatia, 6(1), 46-

59.

Warren, K., & Erkal, N. (1997). Ecofeminism: Women, culture, nature. Indiana University Press.