Six Women Went to Space. The Reactions Revealed Something Deeper

Source: Blue Origin

The all-women Blue Origin flight was only 11 minutes. But why did it shake so much?

Something about this question keeps circling in my head.

As someone immersed in the space world and living at the intersection of multiple groups, I’ve been watching the reactions to the all-women Blue Origin flight. I see the praise, the mockery, the indifference, the moral panic. And I keep thinking:

We are not all seeing the same event. We are not all watching the same sky.

As Anais Nin says, “We do not see things as they are, we see them as we are.”

There are varying perspectives from the academic/scientific community, from the wider space community, from the general public, from the youth and pop culture, and from young women and women in general in space like me. 

In this opinion piece, I want to give a bird’s eye view of the reactions I’m noticing from each group and raise some questions that might be worth pondering. 

Academic and Scientific Community:

Among academics and scientific experts, the response seems to be swift and predictable: skepticism. A discomfort that this launch didn’t primarily include PhDs or research payloads. 

That it wasn’t “serious.” That it didn’t reflect the traditional virtues of scientific rigour, sacrifice, or earned legitimacy. Some seem to see it as a dilution of what space has historically meant, a sacred arena only for those who have bled for it, studied for it, waited decades for it. 

 There is a belief that space should be “earned” through STEM credentials, research, or mission-driven work. There is a general discomfort with celebrity or aesthetic-driven access and the feeling that the term “astronaut” is being diluted.

 To this community, I raise the questions:

• Is this discomfort really about science or about status and prestige?

• Can a moment be scientifically insignificant and culturally significant at the same time?

• How might we begin to transform space from a purely technological pursuit into a fully human one? What kind of space legacy are we building if it leaves no room for the soul?

The Wider Space Community:

In the wider space community, there is a strange paradox unfolding. We have spent decades advocating for the democratization of space, arguing that space should be for everyone, not just astronauts and engineers, but artists, storytellers, and citizens. Now, we are reacting with discomfort when “everyone” starts showing up.

 We say we want space to be more inclusive. But if space truly becomes accessible, will it still carry,

The same allure? The same gravitas? The same rare novelty? 

If it's no longer exclusive, will it still feel transcendent and desirable?

 To the wider space community, I wonder,

• Are we mourning the loss of excellence or the loss of exclusivity?

• Do we really want space to be for everyone or just for those who remind us of ourselves?

The General Public:

The general public, especially on different platforms like Instagram and Twitter, seemed disoriented. Some admired the spectacle, but many were angry. 

Rightfully, people are asking: how is this the priority right now? When there is so much political instability, when families are choosing between groceries and rent, when climate change is a bigger concern, women’s rights are being stripped and democracy is wobbling, why is this where we’re pointing the cameras? Why care about space when there is so much to address on earth?

I see that there is a widening chasm between billionaire’s spectacle and survival. Between those who explore new frontiers and those still fighting for basic livability here on Earth. 

To the general public, I want to suggest the following questions,

• If beauty, awe and joy make us uncomfortable during crisis, are we angry at the spectacle or grieving our own lost capacity for wonder?

• If this version of spaceflight feels empty or performative, what would a version that feels meaningful to you look like? And instead of walking away from the universe entirely, could we turn our anger into architecture by designing something better, together?

The Youth and POP culture:

On TikTok, the all-women Blue Origin flight was mostly met with jokes. Eleven minutes in space? Katy Perry writing songs about it? It felt like just another viral moment: fast, flashy, and kind of hollow. For many of them, space doesn’t feel like hope anymore. It feels like marketing. This generation has grown up watching people sell dreams while living through instability of housing, burnout from student debt, and climate crisis. So, they scroll, they mock, they move on. The jokes aren’t apathy, they seem to be a coping mechanism. So maybe they’re not disinterested. Maybe they’re just waiting for space to mean something real to them again.

 To this generation,

• What version of space would feel worthy of your belief in an exciting future again?

• Is it possible that beneath the jokes, there's still a quiet desire to believe in something bigger?

Young Women/Women in General:

The all-women Blue Origin flight surfaced an old discomfort we haven’t fully outgrown. Space has long been framed as a domain of intellect, discipline, and technical rigor - qualities often masculinized, even when women possess them. For years, women in aerospace were expected to downplay their femininity to prove they belonged. For example, NASA astronaut Sunita Williams, despite her extraordinary achievements, was still reduced at times to commentary on her looks.

The deeper paradox remains; we claim to value intelligence in women, but still flinch when it arrives wrapped in beauty, softness, or visibility. So, when six women entered space with confidence, style, and poise, it didn’t just challenge gender norms, it exposed them. Was this a genuine expansion of who gets to belong in space, or a repackaged performance? The power of the image lay not in resolving that tension, but in revealing it.

The reaction revealed how unsettled we still are about what power should look like when it's held by women.

 This raises the questions:

• What does it mean for women to arrive in space without having to become someone else to do it?

• Why does their full presence: intellect, style, softness, strength still make us so uneasy?

As a young woman who dreams of going to space myself, I watched the flight and felt everything all at once. A flicker of inspiration, then confusion, then a kind of grief I couldn’t explain. I wanted it to mean something, to show me a version of the future I could believe in. But instead, I felt myself spiraling: Is this the version I’m working toward? Is this what it takes? Is this all it gets to be? The image was beautiful, but the reactions around it were loud, heavy, dismissive. I didn’t know whether to celebrate or brace myself. I still don’t. I feel both closer to space and further away. And maybe that’s what hurts the most, not knowing what to take from this, only knowing that it moved something in me I don’t have words for yet.

To be honest, all these questions above, I am heavily wrestling with them myself. 

Space is not neutral. The sky, it turns out, is a stage where all our anxieties about power, privilege, gender, ego, worth play out.

Every group I wrote about is carrying something valid. The scientists want to protect meaning. The public wants justice. The youth want truth. Women want to feel whole. These perspectives are not enemies. They’re fragments of the same question. We all want space to matter. But we don’t agree on what that should look like or who should get to shape it. That’s why we must listen across lines. Not just to defend our views, but to understand what each group is asking for.

To me, we don’t argue over things that don’t matter. The tension itself is proof that this matters to us that space still touches something deeply human.

Since ancient times, we’ve looked to the sky not just for science, but for reflection. “As above, so below.” (Hermetic principle, traced back to ancient Egypt and later the Greco-Roman world). What unfolds in space reflects what unfolds within us. So, it makes sense that a ten-minute flight could stir such conflict, such awe, such contradiction. It was never just about the capsule or the crew. It was about us. About what we value. About whom we listen to. About what kinds of people we trust to carry our human stories upward and forward.

We are all responsible to each other and to the future to listen deeply, hold complexity, and build a space story that reflects us fully.

So, I’ll keep watching the sky. But I’ll also keep watching us. Because what we believe about space reveals everything about how we define humanity.

I don’t have answers. Only questions.

But maybe that is enough for now.