Before becoming defence secretary, Pete Hegseth was openly sceptical of women’s place in the armed forces. “Our military runs on masculinity. It’s not toxic at all, it’s necessary,” he once declared. To secure Senate confirmation, however, he adjusted his stance: all combat roles remain accessible to women. That flexibility is useful. Recruiting new troops is tough in a tight labour market—and, oddly enough, one tool helping to fill the ranks is the very app that Congress has tried to outlaw on security grounds.
Welcome to “#MilTok”, TikTok’s corner devoted to military life. There, a lieutenant shares her skincare routine, a navy officer films the school run, and an air force operator chats mid-flight. These women are upbeat, unapologetically feminine, and far removed from the traditional image of a hard-edged, stoic soldier. Their clips attract millions of views, mirroring deeper cultural changes within the ranks.
Since 2005, the number of men in active service has dropped by 10%, while the number of women has climbed 12%. Yet assimilation has never been easy. As recently as 2023, 13% of active-duty women reported experiencing gender discrimination, compared with just 1.4% of men, according to the Pentagon.
For some, TikTok has provided what the institution did not: visibility, camaraderie, and a sense of belonging. The platform became a forum for issues that male colleagues rarely face—how to adapt uniforms designed for men, or how grooming rules apply differently to women. “Women didn’t have other women to look up to or talk to about their struggles,” says Monica Smith, an army bomb-disposal officer. “That’s why I started posting—I thought my stories could motivate and inspire.”
Not all feedback has been supportive. Comment sections often brim with crude or dismissive remarks, and commanders remain wary, given the app’s Chinese ownership and its designation as a security threat. “When my unit heard I had a TikTok, people were really sensitive about it,” Ms Smith recalls. The wariness is amplified by more provocative personalities, such as Hailey Lujan, who blends playful posts with dark military humour. In one video she dances in combat gear to a pop song, joking about bleeding out in battle.
That kind of content has fuelled rumours that such influencers are “psy-ops” specialists—using social media to shape public opinion. Most brush off the charge. They are not trying to sell the military so much as carve out space for themselves within it. As Ms Lujan put it in one Instagram story: “It’s simply a new method of standing up for what I believe in, by all silly means necessary.”