Capitalism was cute fellas, but now it’s time for a radically feminist economy
“The system is broken.”
It’s the go-to line when another institution fails to protect the people it claims to serve, or when a ‘crisis’ exposes just how brittle and brutal the status quo really is.
On the surface, it sounds like an incisive critique by someone who really has their finger on the pulse. But in reality, this four-word refrain functions more like a pressure valve: releasing just enough outrage to keep things from boiling over, without ever truly encouraging us to question a system’s fundamental existence.
Because what if ‘the system’ isn’t broken at all?
What if the systems we live (and die) by—think: capitalism, colonialism, patriarchy, and the carceral and ableist structures that prop them up—are working exactly as they were designed to?
*Cue: 🫠🫠🫠*
Of course, I’m not the first person to point this out—far from it. Brilliant minds, movement builders, and frontline communities have been naming these truths (and resisting these systems and their injustices) for centuries.
But I want to offer the perspective of a newly Certified B Corp and feminist business owner who’s trying to navigate the inherent tension between working within capitalist, colonial, patriarchal systems and working against the harms they create.
I want to carve out a moment to speak to the growing community of folks trying to run values-led and decolonised businesses inside a system that was not only never designed for justice, but it was never designed for us, or for questioning.
Because if you’re feeling all the feels right now—the grief, the rage, the exhaustion, the ‘what’s the point’ of it all—you’re not alone. And you’re not wrong.
So let’s go there.
Let’s talk about these systems.
What they were built to do. What they weren’t built to do. And what it might take to build something entirely different.
Buckle up, it’s a biggie (or bookmark it for later).
Photo by Sally Batt Photography @ Assembly 2024 featuring our very own Marine Dream Dangles and Clothing The Gaps tee.
But first, what do we mean by ‘systems’?
As ubiquitous as the air we breathe, when we talk about ‘systems’, we are talking about the interconnected structures, institutions, rules, relationships, beliefs, and behaviours that shape how things work (or don’t work). Basically, they dictate who has power, and who doesn’t, who has access to resources, and who doesn’t—whether that’s in education, healthcare, business, justice, or the economy.
Because as nice as it is to say ‘we’re all in this together’, in practice, some of us are in yachts. Others are in leaky boats. And most of us never even made it off the shore.
What are these ‘systems’? Have I met one?
You sure have! First, there’s your buddy capitalism, our ‘profit and growth at any cost’ economic system. There’s its destructive bedfellow colonialism, a system of theft, extraction and exploitation enacted through occupation and destruction. Of course, there’s ol’ mate white supremacy—a system of racial hierarchy and control that privileges whiteness and proximity to whiteness. And how could we forget Mr. Patriarchy, the system of gender hierarchy and violence that favours men, diminishes women, and institutionalises inequality of many different types (including sexism, transphobia, ableism). What a fine bunch! 🤙
There are, of course, many others—but at the risk of depressing you even further, the important thing to remember is that: it’s not just one system—it’s all of them, braided together to create the rules of the game that govern our lives.
To borrow a term from feminist theologian Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza, this series of interlocking systems of power and oppression is called a ‘kyriarchy’. And each system functions to keep each other in place and amplify oppressions (or privileges), at every intersection. They look after each other like that, much like bros in a boardroom, or billionaires in a group chat.
Ok, now I’m depressed. Got any hope?
So glad you asked because there are thousands and thousands (if not millions) of people focused on seeing these systems for what they are, and changing them. And this is a little thing we like to call ‘systems change’.
It’s the process of identifying, challenging, and transforming the underlying structures, power dynamics, cultural norms, and policies that uphold inequality, injustice, and harm—rather than just treating the surface-level symptoms.
Systems change means asking not just ‘how do we help more people survive the system?’ but ‘what would it take to transform the system so survival isn’t the bar?’ It’s about shifting resources, reimagining roles, and rewriting the story of who holds power—and how it’s shared.
So basically, when we talk about ‘systems change’, we are focused on fixing the root, not the fruit. Shall we get started?
Capitalism and the myth of the ‘broken’ economy
Let’s not beat around the mulberry bush: the world as we know it was built, brick by brick, on stolen land, and paid for with stolen labour and stolen futures. From colonial conquests to modern-day authoritarianism, the throughline is clear: extract as much ‘value’ as possible from people and the planet, and funnel it upwards to the ‘masters’.
Whether they were called kings, settlers, venture capitalists, or this century’s particular brand of ‘broligarchs’, the job description hasn’t changed—grab what you can get away with, hoard it, share none of it, and dress it up as progress. Because, at its core, our capitalist economic system functions to hoard wealth and consolidate power—mostly in the hands of the (white, male) few who treat their fellow humans as labour units and the planet as collateral damage.
*Need a few more of these? 🫠🫠🫠*
While we’re not pulling our punches, the reality is that capitalism is a system that thrives on fear, division, and distraction. It is a system that keeps us too tired, too scared, and too indebted to imagine anything different, let alone build it.
It’s a system that rewards ferocity and punishes care.
One that thrives on extraction, division, and control.
One that manufactures scarcity and monetises fear.
One that treats housing, healthcare, and education as commodities rather than rights.
And one that was never built for equity, only for empire.
Capitalism, as a system, wasn’t meant to serve us all in the first place. Because extraction and compassion cannot coexist—and no economy built on taking without giving can ever truly nourish the people or the planet. And rising fascism, climate collapse, genocide, wealth inequality, attacks on reproductive rights, algorithmic discrimination, suicide, despair—this isn’t evidence of a system in collapse. It’s a system in action.
So the idea that a system like this is ‘glitching’, ‘malfunctioning’, or ‘broken’ implies that we can patch it up, fix it, and give it a little more ‘heart’ and it’ll be what we need it to be. Right? Hmmmm. Actually, as we say in this part of the world, yeah, nah.
And tweaking around the edges while the world is on fire, and we’re the kindling, isn’t going to cut it. These systems are not only unfair, unjust, and inhumane, they’re fundamentally unsustainable, and their expiry date is now.
A little harsh don’t you think? What about the ‘good stuff’?
Ok sure, sure, capitalism has brought us some forms of innovation, infrastructure, and systems of trade that connect almost every corner of the world. It’s helped bring millions of people access to a version of medicine, education, and ‘modern convenience’ (hello: tiny computer in your pocket, maps telling you where you are, and groceries delivered to your doorstep).
Capitalism has also (supposedly) helped facilitate upward mobility, ‘lifted people out of poverty’, created jobs, birthed new industries, and driven scientific breakthroughs. In the right conditions, it is said to deliver growth, choice, even a sense of progress.
But let’s not confuse progress with prosperity, or choice with justice. Because even the wins under capitalism are conditional.
Gains are unevenly distributed, unequally accessed, and almost always come at someone else’s expense. Convenience for some is built on the disposability and exploitation of others.
That medical breakthrough? Only available if you can afford it.
That ‘job created’? Precarious, underpaid, and soul-sapping.
That ‘cheap’ t-shirt? Probably sewn by exploited workers in unsafe factories halfway across the world, and even here in Australia.
That uber convenient grocery delivery? Made possible by gig workers with little rights or benefits, pedalling through exhaustion.
That gleaming high-rise? Built on stolen land; a community displaced, a forest razed, a waterway poisoned.
So even when it ‘delivers’, we need to ask: for whom, and at what cost?
Make no mistake, capitalism doesn’t thrive because it works for everyone. It thrives because it works for some, while selling its particular vision of people themselves up by their bootstraps and externalising the costs onto people and planet.
Ok, but what are the alternatives?
Before you come for me, I’m not suggesting we revert to some sort of Soviet-style communism either. That economic (and political) system failed for a whole host of other reasons—authoritarianism, suppression of dissent, economic stagnation, the tragic cost of trying to centrally plan entire societies and force collectivisation.
But the failure of one alternative doesn’t mean the current system is working, and that there aren’t viable alternatives. Framing it as a binary (capitalism or communism; capitalism or collapse) is misleading and unimaginative. Because the question isn’t ‘capitalism or communism?’. It’s more like:
‘What kind of economy do we need for the world we’re living in right now, for the challenges we’re facing right now, and for the generations to come?’
That is the question I really want more people to be asking. But before we can even think about answering it, we have to collectively unlearn the stories we’ve been told (sold) by our current systems. Do any of these sound familiar?
That success is individual, not collective.
That growth is the goal, and anything less is a failure.
That productivity is worth more than wellbeing.
That rest needs to be earned.
That money is the only measure of value.
That competition brings out the best in us.
That care work isn’t ‘real’ work because it’s not productive.
That if you’re struggling, it’s your fault.
That the market knows best, self-corrects and sets the price.
That vulnerability and asking for help is weakness.
That some lives are worth more than others.
These ideas are not neutral or self-evident. They are manmade. And as such, they are ours to redefine.
So can we agree to stop pretending that these systems are simply flawed or outdated? They’re delivering exactly what it says on the label. Instead, what we need to do is replace them. Ok, so what do we build instead?
The kind of (feminist) economy we need
In this current metaphorical and meteorological climate, the call for ‘change’ feels painfully insufficient. But I’m going to give it a go anyway, because I’m nothing if not an optimistic girlie with great taste in accessories.
Ok, so this is the bit where we get to diverge; to imagine a better way. Not to ask ‘how we can make capitalism nicer’, but to ask what we want to build instead—and who we want to build it for.
To start, we need models built on care, consent, equity, and shared power—not just markets and metrics. We need an economy where success isn’t measured by billion dollar bank accounts, but by community wellbeing, environmental regeneration, and cultural healing.
For evidence and guidance on how to do that, we need to look to the grassroots, the feminist leaders, the cooperatives, the mutual aid networks, the Indigenous economies; ones that have long been dismissed or commodified, but that have always valued reciprocity over extraction, sustainability over quick wins, and collective stewardship over individualised success.
I want to live in a world where abundance is not something you earn by hustling harder, but something you grow by lifting others. Where kindness is not a liability, it’s a currency. Where rest is not laziness, it’s resistance. And where equity is not an HR initiative, it’s a structural imperative.
If you’re feeling brave…
Take a moment and *actually imagine* what it might be like to live in, and be part of, a world where:
Power is shared, not hoarded → through co-ops, worker-owned businesses, participatory budgeting, and collaborative decision-making that includes Black, Brown, and Indigenous leadership at the centre, not the margins.
Care work is centred, not invisible → labour of all kinds is recognised, valued, and paid for. And we stop treating care as something women and BIPOC people do ‘naturally’, and start recognising it as the backbone of our economy.
Land and wealth are redistributed, not monopolised → because you can’t decolonise an economy built on stolen land without returning said land, power, and resources. We’re talking reparations, land back movements, First Nations sovereignty, universal basic income, and definitely no billionaires.
Systems of extraction are dismantled, not redesigned → whether it’s fast fashion weaving catastrophe on the Global South, or multinational companies pillaging Indigenous territories under the guise of exploration, a truly just economy is one that stops exploiting communities in pursuit of unbridled growth and instead rewards reciprocity and supply chain transparency.
Businesses are accountable, not extractive → with structures that prioritise all stakeholders not just shareholders, and real commitments are made to actively dismantle racism, ableism, patriarchy, and colonial legacies. Not just in who they hire or what they say on Instagram, but in how they source, structure, and show up.
The Earth is honoured, not commodified → where ecosystems are not collateral damage, and animals or people are not units of production, casualties or commodities. A world where we protect biodiversity, honour traditional knowledge, and return stewardship of land and water to those who have cared for it for millennia. And we stop pretending infinite growth can happen on a finite planet.
Access as the baseline, not an afterthought → because a fair economy is one that includes all bodies, all minds, and all ways of moving through the world. Disability justice demands that we build for interdependence, not independence—and that we stop measuring human value by productivity, speed, or conformity.
This list is by no means exhaustive, but it’s a start.
Clearly, I don’t have all the answers, no one does. And how to do it, I’m even less sure of. But the thing is—I don’t actually need to know the ‘how’ in order to have the conversation and start doing the work.
This vision for a more feminist and decolonial economy is far from fanciful either. It’s already happening—in First Nations-led enterprises, in Black-led cooperatives, in migrant-women collectives, in queer mutual aid networks, and in every business choosing interdependence over individualism.
If that language sounds familiar, that’s because it’s the catchcry of a global movement of ~10,000 Certified B Corps brought together by one unifying goal: to transform the global economy into one that is more inclusive, equitable, and regenerative.
A movement led by Gen B—a generation of businesses, thinkers, doers, and dreamers committed to building something better. Something more just, more kind. Something radically hopeful in a world that profits off our despair.
Image: Sally Batt Photography
Why B Corp Certification matters (even if it’s imperfect)
We need movements like Generation B now, more than ever. Not as a badge of honour but as a beacon; a lighthouse for lost ships on how to put people, planet and communities at least alongside, if not above, profit.
Because in a world bombarding us with a constant thrum of ‘do more, get more, buy more, grow more’, it’s easy to forget (deliberately obscured?) that other ways of working and living are possible.
The B Corp movement is showing us proof that another way is not only possible, but it’s already happening, and it’s not too late to get on board.
Of course, B Corp Certification itself doesn’t dismantle capitalism. It doesn’t absolve anyone from doing deeper, messier justice work. And it doesn’t inoculate us from the biases and systemic privileges we carry into the business world with us.
But it does offer a framework, a kind of scaffolding—perhaps the best we have, for better practices and a way to transition from what we have now to what we need.
The movement’s standards provide significant accountability, community, and a shared language for change. They ask us to look at how we do business and who we do it for, not just what we do and why we do it.
Not only are interdependence and transparency explicitly named as core values, but it’s a movement that actively promotes feminist and anti-racist leadership as central to its vision.
That matters.
Because the kind of economy we need is made up of businesses who are not waiting for permission to lead with their values out front.
B-are minimum?
We need more businesses who are weaving care, accountability, and resistance into their operations. Who are showing, in real time, what it looks like to create workplaces where equity is baked in, not tacked on, and where the story of business is a ‘hole’ lot more than bottom lines (couldn’t miss out on a lil doughnut economics reference for the sugar-coated devotees).
The way I see it, B Corp Certification holds us to standards that should be the bare minimum. It’s voluntary, but it almost shouldn’t be. Things like stakeholder governance, paying fair wages and taking responsibility for your ecological footprint should be the baseline for doing business, but we all know it isn’t.
While acknowledging the inherent barriers to any kind of certification or the challenges in standardising the way business should be done, becoming a B Corp (or operating like one) is one way to step into a more accountable, values-led way of operating—one that centres community, justice, and interdependence over competition, extraction, and unchecked profit.
In my mind, one of the most powerful parts of what we’re seeing as a result of the burgeoning B Corp movement is the emergence of a global community of human beings trying to do business better; people who are creating bravely, innovating wildly, and sharing their mistakes. A community that represents nearly one million people who now work with or for a B Corp.
Again, that matters.
Because community and accountability is everything. Without them, systems don’t change, they calcify.
Stand up, B counted
One of the main reasons I wanted to become a B Corp was to make a statement of alignment with the kind of economy I want to help create. Is it perfect? No. But we don’t actually need it to be. It’s about being better.
It’s about being more accountable, more intentional, more aligned with the kind of economy we say we believe in. It’s a starting point, not a finish line. It’s about continuing to show up and do the work even when it’s messy. Especially when it’s messy.
Every decision we make and path we take—is an opportunity to be and do differently. And those decisions have ripple effects.
To be part of a movement where I could be shoulder to shoulder with businesses, including proud First Nations enterprises like Clothing The Gaps and AWWA Period Care, who see certification as complementing and coexisting alongside Indigenous knowledge systems and ways of doing business since time immemorial. Indeed, I will never forget Michele Wilson (Co-founder of AWWA, and now B Lab Aotearoa Manager) and Laura Thompson (Gunditjmara woman and Co-founder of Clothing The Gaps) telling a room full of businesses about their 500 year plans. Not 5, not even 10, but 500. The lack of ego. The vision. The generosity. We all have so much to learn.
I’m constantly inspired by the businesses of all shapes and sizes in this movement that are using whatever platform, privilege, and power they have to build better—not just for their own bottom line, but for their teams, their communities, their ecosystems, and the generations coming next.
Quick, before the robots take over
Right now, the world feels c-h-a-o-t-i-c. Fractured. Splintering. Scary. Like we’re on the brink.
That’s not a coincidence.
Systems that thrive on division will always try to keep us divided—scrolling, spending, doom-spiralling, burnt out, isolated.
Right now, we can either replicate harmful systems, or reimagine them. We can either build businesses (and lives) that centre justice, or stay complicit in ones that don’t. Because even the most sustainable business “can’t go the distance” in an unsustainable system.
We have to believe that we’re more powerful when we’re connected. When we lift our gaze and ask bigger questions. When we dare to imagine, and build, and organise. And it is daring. It is brave.
Know that you don’t have to have it all figured out to start. And even though the robots are having a moment, last time I checked we’re still human beings—and we need systems that support us to be more human.
Stop looking for more proof that the system sucks—there are libraries of it. Stop doomscrolling for permission to check out—you’ll always find it.
Just get to work building something better, something that matters.
Because it does. It always did, and we can’t wait.
