‘I really like these angry green women,” a French friend said recently, as the assembly elections approached. It’s a funny phrase, redolent of She-Hulk, but I knew exactly what – and whom – she meant.
It’s impossible to overstate my crush on Marine Tondelier, the French Green party leader. Tondelier has been a revelation in the past few feverish, fretful weeks; she has cut through French politics like a hot knife through butter. Forensically, forcefully articulate and unafraid to show her emotions, she is “cash”, as the French say – frank, funny and down-to-earth.
Tondelier comes across as a real (albeit brilliant) person, not a cautiously on-message robot. She talks, to paraphrase the musical Hamilton, like she is running out of time. I have watched endless clips of her verbally demolishing opponents with off-the-cuff zingers, relished her clinically detailing of the worst National Rally candidates and been moved by her obvious distress when a centre-right politician refused to commit his party to blocking the far right.
Tondelier comes from Hénin-Beaumont, Marine Le Pen’s political fiefdom, and her formative experiences in a town run by the far right fuel her urgency in opposing them. The National Rally president, Jordan Bardella, refused to debate with her; the consensus is that she would have destroyed him (in one interview, she called him “Jean‑Michel Media Training”).
Then there is her green blazer. Women in politics have their appearance and clothes appraised absurdly, from Angela Rayner’s green suit to Theresa May’s heels, so I am slightly uncomfortable highlighting it. Tondelier’s veste verte certainly attracts fascination: I have read deep dives on its semiotics, including one referencing Roland Barthes (how French). I know where it’s from and how much it costs (The Kooples, €395, according to Le Monde’s Google Lens investigation; she has two).
But I have also seen how Tondelier took that trivialising interest and turned it to her advantage. Rather than getting defensive or exasperated, she saw an opportunity and weaponised her jacket, making it a visual signature of what she stands for and an instantly recognisable brand. “When I’ve got it, people come and see me,” she has said. In an interview I watched last week, she referenced her jacket three times.
I have never felt this enthused about a politician before, but I came very close earlier this year with another French Green: Senator Mélanie Vogel. A longtime women’s and LGBTQ+ rights campaigner, Vogel put forward the proposal to enshrine the right to abortion in the French constitution and fought tirelessly until it was adopted. Watching her speak, channelling her palpable emotions to evoke the feminist combat and cross-party solidarity that had made victory possible, was electrifying: it made me feel that another kind of politics was possible. Watching again, it still gives me goose bumps.
Then there is the “eco-feminist” Sandrine Rousseau, a #MeToo campaigner (and another French Green). Rousseau’s denunciation of systemic sexism in politics in an interview included explicit criticism of the then Green leader, Julien Bayou, who had been accused of emotional abuse by his former partner (which he denied); he stood down, paving the way for Tondelier. Rousseau has proposed criminalising the failure to share domestic chores and defended the French “right to be lazy”; both sterling efforts at raising rightwing blood pressure.
Apologies for all the French politics, but it’s astonishing to feel so inspired by politicians. These green women aren’t just angry; they are also impatient. They understand politics isn’t a game and that we are facing unprecedented planetary threats, danger from the far right, devastating, deepening poverty and horrifying violence against women. They know things need to change, fast, and that requires a different kind of politics: cross-party cooperation; stamping out sexism; being “cash”.
“Should we become angry green women?” was my friend’s follow-up question after days of trading Tondelier clips. I said no, thinking about all the ways politics has trivialised, dismissed, chewed and spat out women. But the more I think about these women, the more fired up I get. I have seen the green light.
• Emma Beddington is a Guardian columnist
Do you have an opinion on the issues raised in this article? If you would like to submit a response of up to 300 words by email to be considered for publication in our letters section, please click here.
