Imagine trying to dunk on the patriarchy so hard that you accidentally join it. That’s what seems to be happening with the 4B movement gaining traction in America, where a growing number of progressive women are opting out of dating and relationships—and, *checks notes* saving themselves for marriage. The supposed feminist clapback has veered so far left it’s landed smack in the middle of a conservative playbook. Welcome to the horseshoe theory in action.
But let’s rewind. The 4B movement, born in South Korea, is based on “four no’s”—bisekseu, bichulsan, biyeonae, and bihon (no sex with men, no childbirth, no dating men, and no marriage). The movement was sparked by the 2016 Gangnam Station murder case, where a 34-year-old man killed a 23-year-old woman in a public restroom simply because he hated women. This horrific tragedy exposed the grim reality of gender-based violence in South Korea: one in three women experiences it, and every 19 hours, a man kills or attempts to kill a woman he knows.
Instead of addressing this epidemic of violence, the South Korean government has invested 280 trillion won into procreation programs to boost the country’s birthrate—the lowest in the world. There has been little effort to address the systemic issues that push women away from traditional roles: the high cost of raising children, workplace inequality, and a pervasive threat of violence. Instead, blame has fallen on women themselves. The South Korean president has even accused feminism and the 4B movement of being responsible for the declining birthrate, framing women’s autonomy as a societal threat. For many South Korean women, the 4B movement is a direct response to this blame and neglect.
When this idea recently made its way stateside, it landed in an entirely different context. Unlike in Korea, where 4B is tied to systemic critique, the American version has become more reactive and less ideological. The shift began after Donald Trump’s unexpected win in the 2024 U.S. Presidential Elections, followed by a post from Nick Fuentes, the alt-right provocateur, who horrendously tweeted, “Your body, my choice” as a dig at women’s reproductive rights. The backlash was swift, with women expressing outrage over yet another attempt to weaponize their autonomy. Some, fueled by both disgust and burnout with modern dating culture, began proclaiming their intent to abstain from relationships altogether. For many, it wasn’t just a feminist declaration—it was a response to the increasing toxicity of today’s men. Some even took it a step further by shaving their heads as a symbolic rejection of the male gaze (without considering how insensitive it is to women who lose their hair due to alopecia, chemotherapy, or other medical conditions.)
It was the ultimate clapback—or so they thought. What’s more feminist than swearing off men? But in their quest to flip the script, they inadvertently stumbled into a core conservative value: chastity (I have just the religion for them).
Here’s where the horseshoe theory comes in, the idea that the far left and the far right are closer to each other than they are to the moderate middle. It’s not new. Think of authoritarianism on the far left and far right—both demand conformity, albeit in different ways. Or anti-vaxxers who span libertarian conspiracy theorists on one side and holistic health devotees on the other. The horseshoe bends when ideology becomes less about values and more about extremes, where rebellion against one thing starts to mirror the very thing being opposed.
The American 4B movement fits neatly into this framework. What started as a rejection of oppressive gender norms has, for some, become a moral purity campaign that echoes conservative ideals of abstinence. In trying to reject patriarchal control over their bodies, some women have adopted the language and values of the very structures they aim to dismantle. It’s ironic, to say the least.
But why are women drawn to 4B in the first place? It’s not hard to see the appeal. Dating today is exhausting, with apps reducing people to swipes and hookup culture leaving many feeling used rather than empowered. Add to that the Nick Fuentes types lurking in the ether, weaponizing women’s bodies as a talking point, and you get a recipe for burnout. For some women, abstaining entirely feels like the only way to regain control—a way to flip the power dynamic and say, “You don’t get access to me anymore.”
Yet, what works in South Korea doesn’t necessarily translate to the U.S. In Korea, 4B is part of a larger feminist ecosystem, tied to systemic critiques of workplace inequality, beauty standards, and familial expectations. It thrives because it’s a collective movement with clear cultural targets. In America, where the pressures around marriage and childbirth aren’t as rigid, the movement becomes more about personal grievances than systemic change. Without the same ideological foundation or community support, it risks losing its impact—and its coherence.
It’s ironic, yes, but the truth is, it’s complicated. For some women, the 4B movement is a deeply personal response to a system that has failed them—whether that system is patriarchy, modern dating culture, or both. For others, it’s a way to draw clear boundaries and regain a sense of agency in a chaotic world. But collectively, it raises bigger questions about what empowerment really means and whether rejecting one oppressive structure can sometimes mean embracing another.
