Before diving deep, my exposure to Call Her Daddy was minimal, maybe half an episode during my college days at Boston College. The “i’m unwell” merchandise was everywhere, a quick online search led me to the podcast, then under Barstool, dominating charts.
The Call Her Daddy brand, from what I gather, has matured since its Barstool era. Back then, it felt like Cooper and her guests championed a brand of feminism that went beyond “men are pigs” to a rallying cry of “men are pigs, so let’s be pigs too.”
The podcast’s topics were boundary-pushing, definitely not family-friendly. The episode I sampled focused on “The Game”—dating, Call Her Daddy style. Cooper, in her mid-twenties then, offered instructions and often explicit advice rooted in a cynical view of romance. Dating, in her world, was a minefield of misogyny, where men manipulated and exploited women, leaving them hurt and confused.
Cooper’s narrative was that men held all the cards in “The Game.” Women were conditioned to accept ghosting, perform to keep a man’s attention, and settle for the bare minimum. Meanwhile, men moved from woman to woman, oblivious to the emotional damage they caused.
The Call Her Daddy solution? Harden up. Become emotionally detached. Ghost first, block first. Embrace casual encounters. Mirror male behavior.
In 2021, Cooper inked a lucrative $60 million, three-year deal with Spotify. The podcast soared, becoming the #2 globally for two years straight, second only to The Joe Rogan Experience. Call Her Daddy‘s Instagram boasts 1.8 million followers, and Cooper herself has 2.4 million.
“Father Cooper,” her self-given moniker, became the voice of fourth-wave feminism. This wave, obsessed with power, autonomy, and unapologetic stances, resonated deeply in an age of instant information and personalized messaging, radicalizing young women at an unprecedented pace.
Interestingly, until recently, Cooper declared she “didn’t believe in marriage.”
So, the recent news of Cooper’s engagement came as a surprise. Her announcement even acknowledged this shift: “At one point, this would have been VERY off brand.”
Cooper, the leading voice of fourth-wave feminism, was engaged. The champion of radical self-love and defiance against men was making a profoundly selfless, traditionally feminine choice. After years of glorifying freedom and casual encounters, this felt like a significant turn. An engagement, a commitment to one man, could be seen as a betrayal to her millions of followers. This was a delicate moment for her brand.
Intrigued, I tuned into my second Call Her Daddy episode, aptly titled, “I’m engaged.” By the end, my initial shock evolved into empathy for Alex.
In this episode, Cooper stated, “I owe you an explanation.” She dedicated the episode to clarifying her evolving perspective on marriage. She argued that marriage is often “thrown around,” driven by the desire for a wedding, not genuine connection. “Half the people want a wedding because they want a wedding. They’re not happy with the person sitting across from them at the wedding!”
She criticized the tendency of younger generations to settle in relationships simply due to age. “The concept of settling to me is the most common thing that I see. It breaks my heart for people,” she confessed.
Then, Cooper described her relationship with the man who changed her views. “I know I want to have children with this man. I know he’s going to be an incredible father,” she declared, a major statement for her audience.
She revealed to her “daddy gang” that she kept the engagement private for six weeks before the public announcement.
However, the six-week silence wasn’t the core “explanation.” It was the three-year silence regarding her relationship. Cooper had been dating her fiancé since 2020, yet shared virtually nothing with her listeners. Why did the queen of oversharing suddenly become so private?
While privacy is understandable in our hyper-exposed culture, Cooper’s brand was built on raw authenticity. She openly discussed intimate details that would make many uncomfortable.
Why is the explicit so readily shared, while something as fundamental as a committed relationship was kept hidden?
Fourth-wave feminism, as Cooper initially presented it, promised freedom without consequence. Women could explore, make choices, and owe no one an explanation.
Cooper’s shift towards tradition seems to contradict the persona she cultivated. If her message of female freedom was genuine, why did she feel obligated to explain her engagement, a natural and beautiful life event?
The reality is, fourth-wave feminism, despite its rhetoric of freedom, can be surprisingly conformist. Deviation from its tenets can be seen as betrayal. In this framework, Cooper’s “explanation” reveals a subtle pressure to justify her personal choices to her audience.
Cooper’s announcement hinted at a deeper truth. She “gave up The Game” years ago. Sharing this realization took time, understandably. “The Game” promises power and revenge, but ultimately, it’s just that—a game. Eventually, many, even Alex Cooper, may desire something more meaningful, stable, and genuinely good.
And for choosing that, Alex Cooper owes no one an explanation.
