on softness, and why i'm keeping it

"to you i can admit, that i'm just too soft for all of it"

When I named my Substack “Somewhere, Softly” my thinking was quite simple. I was travelling, writing from different places – and always from the soft parts of my brain.

I didn’t realise I was joining a corner of the internet where softness was glorified, and I felt overwhelmingly positive in this discovery. It was lovely to come online and see so many people pouring their hearts out in ways I could relate to, encouraging me to do the same. It felt like being back in Aberystwyth, surrounded by creative friends and breathing sunset air.

But then I saw some push against it, like softness is solely a trend we need to leave behind, as superficial as the clean girl aesthetic. I saw calls specifically to women to take up more space, to be less palatable, and to be more masculine in their intelligence. I could hear people getting tired of overtly soft and feminine sentiments, like our time in the spotlight was coming to an end.

The thing is, softness isn’t a trend – it’s a real way of existing that made itself known long before thoughts on trends and aesthetics. I’ve always been soft – crying at TikToks of kids meeting their favourite Disney characters; lyrics to “Sweet Nothing” and “New Year’s Day” ingrained in my bones. Even when I’ve felt my least feminine – manspreading on a London night bus to exude false confidence; being the only dyke on a girls’ night – I’ve still been one to cry easily, to fold easily, and to be compassionate to a fault.

Often, I’ve gravitated towards people who take no bullshit. They show me their soft sides too, but they’re better at presenting harder shells. They’re less lenient – they remind me that I’m allowed to be that way too, and it helps when we agree with each other, like I’m more sturdy with their voices in my head. I appreciate these people tremendously, and I’m better off because I have them in my life.

But when it comes to writing, a solo activity, I’m sorry (or not, if I’m practising being firm), but I’ll always be soft. I can be firm and unwavering, but it will still come from the softest place in me. Even as I learn how to put up a guard for the outside world, and learn when it’s necessary for me to do so, personal writing will always feel like coming home. Like taking off my bra. Like pouring my heart out to someone I trust. Like being held by someone I trust. Words hold me too, for better or for worse.

I watched the new Superman film the other day – not because I’m a superhero fan (I can barely identify DC from Marvel) but because Bangkok has Wednesday cinema deals, and my girlfriend and I really enjoy it as a date activity. So much goes on in my head, so it’s refreshing when my entire focus is pulled to a big screen, showing a film I wouldn’t normally be motivated to watch. I was pleasantly surprised by Superman – parallels to current world events were extremely apparent, and my heart ached that Palestine isn’t protected the way the fictional country Jarhanpur was. Superman talked about his humanity, and doing good – in all his brawn and masculinity, there was admirable softness. A longing for belonging; grief for his parents (I sobbed at the ending); a compassionate nature – being equally protective over children and squirrels. I didn’t really expect to start talking about Superman in this post, but it’s interesting – his softness makes him a true hero, and makes him loved.

Whether traditional strength is shown to the world, protecting inner softness, or softness is being shown to the world, quietly holding inner strength – are strength and softness consistently intertwined, uniquely tailored to each person?

But, Superman is a man. And in the writing world at least, it seems softness is being dismissed when it comes from women, like we’re just perpetuating a stereotype, and that’s a flaw. Where’s the bluntness in essays, you ask? Honestly, I love straight-to-the-point-writing and how it contrasts my own, particularly when it comes from smart women. I admire those who don’t overthink as they post, and are proud to come off as brazen. But I don’t think that makes softness less valuable. I think it’s entirely possible for me to have a different approach to my non-bullshit-taking friend, but for us both to be equally valid in our attitudes.

I think women, and everyone, for that matter, are entitled to be authentic to themselves. Whether that means ranting or being delicate - being real is what’s most enchanting to me. And if that happens to mean being soft and sentimental and clinging to girlhood in writing, then perfect. It’s not here because it’s a trend – it’s here because it’s real, and that’s why it’s relatable.

I think the whole point of softness is that it’s not a performance. It reveals our vulnerability and our emotions. Are there people being soft inauthentically? Using softness as a brand for monetisation? Probably. But I think true softness is in the way we feel – and that will always be authentic. And therefore, it will always matter.

So if you’re a woman, be more unapologetically dominant if you so please – take up space in areas women aren’t as visible – I’ll cheer you on! But if you just want a place to be soft in a world that consistently tries to punish you for it – that’s okay too. Your soft words are important, because you’re important. And your intelligence is just as real.

Softness isn’t a trend, a fashion statement, or a curated Pinterest board. Softness is in our souls, and we don’t have to let it go. We get to keep it.

Aberystwyth