Thought daughters are nothing new, you know

We've been fighting shame with shrewdness for millennia... is it time for something different?

Before discussing thought daughters, I must thank you

I’ve had about 500 subscribers to this newsletter, so, firstly, I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart. This, I think, calls for a proper introduction. 

You might have noticed I’ve metamorphosed into something called a Myriatid. Don’t worry, this isn’t a real thing…but it is this thing: an amalgamation of the words myriad and caryatid. A myriatid of thoughts, if you will.

I hope it encapsulates the variety of topics I write about, plus the whimsical (sometimes mythological) twist that’s often present in my work.

A Myriatid can, of course, look however you like. 

For those of you reading my serial, Cold Secrets, it looks like a murder mystery. It can also look like opinion essays, profiles on historical women, fiction about 1960s classical academics etc. 

Please style your creature however you wish!

This week’s Myriatid:

Thought daughters aren’t new…which is why we need to think harder.

Thought daughter… have you heard the term? 

It’s nestled somewhere in between Brat summer and ‘very demure’ in social media-land. It’s popped up during my TikTok scrolling, and, more recently, my Substack scrolling. In those posts calling a writer’s target audience to arms (you must have seen them?), it’s surfaced more than a few times. People want thought daughters to read their work aplenty… is this me? Am I one? 

I had a poke around to find out. 

Turns out, its inception lies in a hilarious clap back at homophobia and misogyny (excellent). An insidious TikTok trend where individuals were asked whether they’d prefer a “gay son or a thot daughter” (“thot” being a derogatory term, an acronym for “that h** over there”) spread through TikTok, resulting in respondents purposefully mistaking ‘thot’ for ‘thought’ and turning the original phrase on its head. 

A new persona emerged. Thought daughters are characterised by introspection, overthinking and being comfortable with solitude. Rachel Cusk and Durga Chew-Bose are among authors recommended to those identifying as thought daughters. Deep analysis of music lyrics and films is also a defining attribute. 

Obviously, this is an overwhelmingly positive movement for all women. It places intellectualism and self-exploration at the centre of the female experience with not so much of a ‘f*ck you’ to the male gaze, but a ‘Oh, I didn’t notice you over there’. 

So far, so fantastic…but this is nothing new. 

The misogyny behind ‘thot’ has been a well-reported stance for millennia. Women’s perceived promiscuity, as well as their outward expression of sexuality and identity, have been dissected to death (quite literally, appalling as it is to think about, in some cases). 

Just as this particular brand of misogyny has deep historical roots, so does women’s intellectual response. In one of my favourite (and much-underrated) classical exchanges, Socrates visits the home of a courtesan, Theodote. She is in the middle of posing for a painter, as was often the case for courtesans in the 4th century BC. 

The conversation, led by Socrates, begins by asking who should be more grateful: the men, for gazing upon Theodote, or Theodote, for the fact they gaze upon her. 

“Does the obligation rest with her,” Socrates asks, “if she profits more by showing it, but with us, if we profit more by looking?”

After an uncomfortable exchange which, at best, can be described as patronising and, at worst, plain creepy, Socrates takes it upon himself to suggest how Theodote might better “catch” her clients. She absolutely does not need his advice. She’s successful in her business; rich and comfortable. However, she listens to his ramblings quietly, responding only with pointed (often, palpably sarcastic) questions that throw his assertions back in his face. You can hear her eye-roll as she ridicules Socrates’ suggestion that she “weave a trap”:

“A fine property, upon my word, Theodote, and much better than abundance of sheep and goats and oxen. But,” he went on, “do you trust to luck, waiting for friends to settle on you like flies, or have you some contrivance of your own?” 

“How could I invent a contrivance for that?”

“Much more conveniently, I assure you, than the spiders. For you know how they hunt for a living: they weave a thin web, I believe, and feed on anything that gets into it.”

“And do you advise me, then, to weave a trap of some sort?”

Their conversation continues to reveal the courtesan’s razor-sharp intellect as she poses for her male admirers. She embodies many thought daughter facets: analytical, inquisitive, philosophical and cultured. In a way, posing almost-nude, she is an ideal archetype for the thot-thought shift. 

Costanza Piccolomini-Bonarelli was punished for her “promiscuity” at the hands of her one-time lover, the sculptor Lorenzo Bernini. After discovering Costanza was having an affair with his brother, Bernini slashed her face and disfigured her. This was a widespread punishment for unfaithful wives and “shameful” women.

Remarkably, Costanza was not deterred by this public and permanent shaming. She went on to become one of Baroque Rome’s most successful art dealers, handling the sale pieces as famous as Poussin’s The Plague of Ashdod. Shame was beaten by shrewdness. Thuggery by thought.

There is, of course, an exhaustive list of women who fought objectification with cerebral power and pursuits (I love these women, please… let me know your favourites!).

My point is that women have long been objectified and have long fought back with their intellect. “Thot” shows us that there’s still a lot of work to do. Should society really need to be told, yet again, that women are “thinkers”? Is this not something that is assumed? Why are we still required to choose between our expression of sexiness and intellectualism? 

I don’t have answers. I do love thought daughters. It’s just a pity we need yet another label. 

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The archaeologist, the muse and the priestess

In this essay, meet three women (two real, one imagined) who are inextricably linked to one of the world’s most famous statues, The Knidian Aphrodite. You’ve never seen the original; no living person has. However, I attempt to reconstruct its narrative through the eyes of the women who have fed into the “Knidia’s” story.

“The archeologist in a mini-skirt” is one of my favourites…

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A taste of flesh

I’m releasing the backstory of my character Moira (who appears in my book The Athenian Murders). If you like dark academia with weird, classical sculpture-based experiments, then there’s a good chance you’ll like Moira as a young academic in 1960s London. Visit the section Lost Chapters on my Substack for previous instalments.

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Thank you ever so much for reading, as always!