Why Some MEN Hate Feminist Narratives: The "Mrs" Effect

Arati Kadav’s Mrs. isn’t just a film—it’s a mirror. It reflects the unspoken struggles of countless women whose dreams are buried under societal expectations. The story follows Richa Sharma, an educated woman who becomes trapped in the role of a dutiful wife, serving her husband Diwakar’s family without a moment for herself.

While women saw their stories on screen, some men were left squirming in their seats. Why? Because the film holds up an uncomfortably honest mirror to patriarchy, showing how everyday actions—often unintentional—contribute to women’s oppression.

So, why do feminist narratives like Mrs. provoke discomfort, anger, or even denial? Why is it so hard for some men to empathize with a woman’s story? Let’s break down the reasons, one uncomfortable truth at a time.

Mrs. isn’t some dramatic exaggeration. It’s a raw depiction of everyday patriarchy. One scene shows Richa serving food while the men sit comfortably, discussing “important matters.” Her exhaustion isn’t noticed because, in their world, a woman’s labor is invisible.

This isn’t just a scene—it’s a reality check. For some men, it’s easier to dismiss it as “just a movie” than to admit they’ve been unknowingly benefiting from this system for years. It’s not the film they hate; it’s the reflection they see in it.

Funny how “not all men” love to remind us they’re not the problem, yet feel attacked when faced with a story that doesn’t even mention their name.

Diwakar, Richa’s husband, isn’t portrayed as a monster. He’s the “nice guy” who genuinely loves his wife but expects her to abandon her dreams to fulfill his family’s needs. He doesn’t realize that his expectations are suffocating her.

That’s the problem. Patriarchy isn’t always about villains—it’s about ordinary men whose ignorance contributes to women’s oppression. This is where Mrs. hits hard because it forces men to confront the fact that good intentions don’t erase the harm caused by unconscious biases.

It’s not easy for men to accept that being “nice” isn’t enough. Who knew equality demanded more than just not being a jerk?

Richa’s dreams are constantly invalidated. Her love for dance is reduced to a “childish hobby,” and her ambition is seen as selfish. Mrs. makes you empathize with her, and that’s exactly why some men find it unsettling. Empathy forces you to acknowledge your privilege.

But guilt is uncomfortable. Admitting that you benefit from someone else’s suffering is heavy. It’s much easier to call feminism “too aggressive” or “anti-men” than to reflect on how passively benefiting from patriarchy makes you complicit.

Funny, isn’t it? The same people who say “grow a thicker skin” can’t handle a film that shows a woman’s truth.

Mrs. questions traditional gender roles. Diwakar’s masculinity isn’t about aggression but about control—subtle, quiet control. He decides how Richa should live her life, and society supports him because that’s how things have always been.

The film challenges men to rethink what it means to be masculine. It’s not about power or authority—it’s about partnership. But that’s a scary thought for those who’ve always equated masculinity with dominance.

Because if women are no longer subservient, who’ll fetch the remote? And if they start dreaming, who’ll iron the shirts? Tragic, truly.
The film exposes the invisible labor women perform daily. Richa’s struggles aren’t extraordinary—they’re painfully ordinary. Yet, they’re invisible because society expects women to serve silently. Mrs. makes this labor visible, demanding acknowledgment.

This isn’t just about domestic chores. It’s about emotional labor—smiling through pain, maintaining peace, and sacrificing dreams for the greater good. For some men, accepting this means confronting how much they’ve benefited from this system.

Privilege is like a cushion—comfortable as long as you don’t question where it came from. But once you realize it’s built on someone else’s suffering, it gets pretty prickly.
One of the biggest triggers is cognitive dissonance. Men who see themselves as progressive, respectful partners don’t want to believe they might be contributing to patriarchy. But Diwakar is exactly that—he’s caring, loving, and supportive… as long as his needs come first.

The truth is, you don’t have to be abusive to be oppressive. Sometimes, good intentions don’t change bad outcomes. But that’s a hard pill to swallow, so the defense mechanism is activated: “Not all men!”

No one said all men. But if you’re feeling targeted, maybe the film struck a nerve you didn’t know you had.

For many men, feminism is a dirty word because they misunderstand it. They see it as an attack on men rather than a movement for equality. Mrs. isn’t about blaming men; it’s about liberating women from predefined roles. But when you’re used to privilege, equality feels like oppression.

It’s funny how people who insist “all lives matter” suddenly get offended when the spotlight shifts to women’s struggles.
Mrs. challenges social conditioning that dictates a woman’s place in society. It doesn’t villainize men; it exposes the system that benefits them. The discomfort comes from realizing that traditions aren’t always noble—they’re often just convenient excuses to maintain the status quo.

And if society’s script changes, men might have to learn a new role—one that involves sharing power, responsibility, and maybe, just maybe, the laundry load.

It’s almost like equality requires effort. Shocking, right?Mrs. isn’t just about Richa’s suffering. It’s about systemic patriarchy. It’s about the women whose dreams are dismissed and the men who don’t realize they’re the reason why. It’s about questioning traditions and redefining roles.

This isn’t an attack on men—it’s a call to self-awareness. If the film triggers you, it’s worth asking why. Perhaps it’s not Mrs. that’s uncomfortable; it’s the realization that you might have unknowingly contributed to someone else’s silence.

After all, if equality feels like an accusation, maybe it’s time to rethink what you’re defending.