Brands Keep Launching “Empowerment” Products—But Are They Actually Empowering Anyone?

When Lululemon launched its performance hijab in 2022, the internet responded with the kind of applause that now routinely accompanies corporate inclusivity campaigns. The brand positioned the product as a meaningful step toward making fitness more accessible for Muslim women—a sleek, sweat-wicking sports hijab designed specifically for movement and training.

And yet, almost immediately, another reaction emerged too: Do we really need this?

That tension—between representation and marketing, inclusion and commodification—has quietly become one of the defining conversations in modern fashion and beauty. Because increasingly, brands are launching products framed less as objects and more as statements. Products designed not just to be worn or used, but to signal values.

Sometimes that feels genuinely meaningful. Other times, it feels suspiciously like capitalism discovering a new aesthetic.

The sports hijab is hardly the only example. Over the past decade, brands have launched “adaptive” fashion collections, gender-neutral beauty lines, menopause skincare, disability-inclusive makeup packaging, “feminist” slogan merchandise, mental health campaigns, body-positive collections, neurodivergent-friendly sensory fashion, and products tied directly to identity politics and social movements.

On paper, many of these launches sound progressive—and some absolutely are. Representation matters. Products designed for historically ignored consumers can have real impact. Muslim athletes have long spoken about the lack of functional sportswear options. People with disabilities have criticized fashion’s inaccessible closures and construction for years. Menopause, once practically invisible in beauty marketing, is finally being discussed openly.

The upside is obvious: more people being acknowledged by industries that traditionally catered to a very narrow idea of beauty and desirability.

But the skepticism is growing too.

Because consumers are increasingly savvy enough to recognize when empowerment language becomes branding shorthand rather than meaningful change. And in many cases, the “inclusive” product still exists within the exact same consumerist framework: buy this thing to feel seen. Buy this thing to feel worthy. Buy this thing to participate in the conversation.

That’s where the criticism of virtue signalling enters.

Fashion and beauty brands now operate in an environment where silence itself can appear politically risky. Companies are expected to reflect cultural conversations in real time—and product launches have become one of the easiest ways to do it. A campaign tied to identity, empowerment, or representation often generates more press, social sharing, and emotional engagement than a standard product release ever could.

And unlike structural change, a launch is measurable. Marketable. Monetizable.

The uncomfortable question becomes: how much of this is genuine inclusion—and how much is simply highly sophisticated audience segmentation?

There’s also the issue of fragmentation fatigue. Increasingly, consumers are being marketed to not just as people, but as endless micro-identities requiring specialized products for every aspect of existence. Beauty for menopausal skin. Makeup for “clean girls.” Fashion for “soft life.” Wellness for burnout. Jewelry for healing energy. Skincare for stress. Products no longer simply solve practical needs—they now promise emotional alignment.

At some point, empowerment itself becomes a sales category.

And social media only intensifies the cycle.

Platforms like Instagram and TikTok reward products with a strong narrative attached to them. “This brand sees me” performs better than “this moisturizer works.” Consumers are encouraged to view purchases as extensions of identity, morality, politics, and self-expression all at once. The result is a marketplace where emotional positioning sometimes overshadows actual innovation.

That doesn’t mean these products are inherently bad or unnecessary. For many people, they’re deeply appreciated. A thoughtfully designed sports hijab can absolutely make athletic spaces feel more welcoming. Adaptive fashion can increase independence and dignity. Menopause-focused beauty products can help normalize conversations long ignored by mainstream culture.

But there’s a difference between solving a genuine problem and manufacturing emotional urgency around a niche identity category because it happens to be culturally profitable.

Consumers are starting to sense that difference.

Perhaps the bigger issue isn’t whether these launches “should” exist—but whether brands are willing to support the communities they market to beyond the campaign itself. Are they hiring inclusively? Supporting long-term accessibility? Diversifying leadership? Investing in meaningful representation behind the scenes? Or simply aestheticizing social progress for quarterly growth?

Because increasingly, audiences can tell when empowerment has been focus-grouped.

And maybe that’s why some newer launches now land with a strange emotional flatness. Not outrage exactly—just exhaustion. The feeling that every cultural conversation eventually becomes merch.

In the end, the most meaningful products are probably still the simplest ones: products that genuinely improve someone’s life without needing a manifesto attached to them. —Noa Nichol