Not All F-bombs Are Created Equal

I have a love-hate relationship with swearing.

Lately, I’ve noticed more people (me) swearing on LinkedIn, and there’s been a lot of debate about whether it’s appropriate. The other day my LI friend Catlin O'Shaughnessy Coffrin started a discussion about this, in the brilliant way only she can do—asking (well, not really) how we all felt about swearing. And my response was, “Well, I guess it depends on who you are. Because some people just do it better.” And Catlin, she’s a pro, landing it expertly every time.

And then there was LIAM DARMODY ’s discussion about his child experimenting with cussing. And when I realized it was his daughter, my immediate thought was, “She’s found her voice early, that’s great!” Like, “please don’t muzzle that!”, not that he ever would.

Because historically, women weren’t supposed to swear. (well, or talk, or be heard, or draw any attention to themselves—but that’s another story for another time.) Swearing wasn’t “ladylike.” Women were expected to be soft, polite, agreeable. Anything too sharp, too forceful, too much? It wasn’t just frowned upon; it was corrected. Redirected. Stamped out before it even had a chance to take hold.

But here’s the thing—swearing is powerful. It gets attention. A well-placed f-bomb stops people in their tracks. It’s a linguistic jolt, a signal that says: this matters. It cuts through the noise. It’s why comedians use it. It’s why leaders use it. It’s why, when someone who never swears suddenly does, we really listen.

Swearing can also be a kind of unspoken trust. A signal that says, I know you well enough to drop the rules. It’s a little lowering of the guard, a quiet agreement that we don’t have to perform politeness here—we’re past that.

In this weird way, swearing can bring people closer. It’s why friends swear around each other more freely than they might in a formal setting. Why an f-bomb dropped in the right moment between two people who get each other doesn’t feel crass—it feels familiar. Like, we’re good, right? You’re not going to judge me for this.

At least, that’s how it feels to me sometimes.

And when women swear? It hits our ears differently. At least, it does mine. Maybe because for so long, we weren’t supposed to. Maybe because it still carries a little rebellion, a little audacity. Maybe because it challenges the old rules that said women should be careful with their words—gentle, measured, contained.

And maybe because, (stay with me), letting a little loose doesn’t feel like a threat to anyone in the room, when it’s done by a woman.

I mean, what’s she really gonna do that can’t be undone? Hurt with words, sure. Words can cut deep. They can do real damage. But let those words—let that anger—escalate into something physical? Well… not for long. Not if there’s a man in the room. Because, let’s be real: if it came down to something physical, he could take her down in two seconds flat and put an end to that.

But let’s flip it (for fun).

A man, with all of his physical power, swearing, and not just swearing but angry, emotional, unleashed? I know—at least for me—my body would register it completely differently. Maybe not consciously. But my nervous system would notice. Guarantee it.

And I’d wonder.

Is this just swearing, or is it something more? Does he have an anger problem? Does he need better emotional regulation? Is this just a man venting, or is there something behind it? Is he just frustrated, or is he the type of person who doesn’t know how to contain his emotions?

And then the real question: Would I want to be alone with him?

Because, sure, words are words. But they don’t land the same way when they come from someone who could actually be dangerous. I don’t think about that when I hear a woman swearing. It doesn’t trigger that same gut check, that same primal instinct to assess whether I need to be on guard.

And that’s the double standard.

But maybe this is also where masculinity—real, solid, grounded masculinity—comes into play. Because there is a power in simply being a man, in just existing in a body that carries more physical strength, more presence. And the men who truly understand that? They don’t need to flex it. They don’t need to fill the room with their voices, their attention-getting four-letter words, their force.

They already have the power. It’s implicit.

And this is not a feminist rant, cry or call out, it’s just fact.

We talk about equality (the root word being “equal”), but maybe some things just can’t be equal—because we aren’t the same. We try to measure everything by the same stick, as if the impact is always identical.

But it’s not. It’s never been.

Swearing, aggression, power—it all exists in a context. And when men and women wield those things “equally” or “samely”, the effect is different. Not because it should be, not because we want it to be, but because it is.

And swearing? I think, today, women actually have an advantage here. Because when we use it—boldly, unapologetically, strategically—it gets noticed. It makes an impact. And, it does this without put anyone’s nervous system on high alert.

We can get away with it, and no one is really gonna call us on it, am I right? And if they do—well, let’s just say they should be ready for a conversation. Because I’d be the first to stand up for the sisterhood and their right to use their voices, however they please.

And this acknowledgement might feel a little uncomfortable. I’m not saying this is fair. I’m not saying it’s right.

I’m saying it’s real.

It’s the way we feel things, whether we want to or not. And feelings, as inconvenient as they sometimes are, tend to run the show.

And also, can I just point something out? I didn’t swear the whole way through this. And I hope I still got your attention. Yay me!!!! My mom will be happy about that.

But don’t think for a moment I didn’t want to.

(because I fuckin’ did, so much).