It was the weekend, and the first story that caught my attention in the entertainment section was about a female engineer who had become an actress in Nollywood. The interview tried to unravel how she moved from the rigid world of engineering into the fluid world of performance, gliding between the two as though switching languages. But what fascinated me even more was not her acting; it was the simple fact that she had been a female engineer in the first place, an idea that still startles many people, as though it is an arithmetic error in the cultural equation. And that is how my internal conversation began.
For a long time, people have behaved as though brilliance alone is enough to study and master any field, ignoring the subtle realities that shape professional life. It is this illusion that I have come to understand as the sexualization of professions. My friend Gimba first awakened this reflection in me. When I mentioned that a certain young woman was studying mechanical engineering, he simply said, “It doesn’t fit her.” His reply shocked me, not because it was rude, but because it articulated something many people think yet never say. It is the kind of sentiment that hides beneath the surface of society like an unspoken grammar until someone, knowingly or unknowingly, gives it voice. Good reading and criticism do this too: they help us identify truths we subconsciously know but cannot yet articulate.
Yes, hormonal differences exist between men and women, endowing each sex with certain strengths. And yes, passion and intelligence can take any person, male or female nto any academic field. But there remains an unwritten rule, the kind Gimba hinted at, suggesting that some professions are naturally aligned with masculine tendencies while others harmonize more gently with feminine attributes. These predispositions may not be universal truths, but they are real enough to shape outcomes.
Engineering, for example, often dazzles people when a woman studies it. She becomes the symbol of nonconformity, the exception that proves a cultural rule. But in practice, engineering frequently demands physical exertion, technical fieldwork, courage, and relentless mobility. The assumption that an engineer will simply sit in an air-conditioned office directing subordinates is one of the myths that have contributed to Nigeria’s unemployment crisis. We have graduates in mechanical, electrical, and telecommunication engineering who have never touched real equipment, never climbed a mast or crawled into a ceiling, and cannot offer practical services that could help them stand on their own. Many simply wait for government appointments.
Just recently, I called an engineer to fix our satellite dish. He climbed the fence, squeezed into the ceiling, walked the roof under the afternoon sun, all in one visit. Watching him, I could not imagine a young woman performing the same tasks from house to house as a daily occupation. Here, cultural expectations, environmental realities, and the physical demands of the job intersect. The work of engineering isn’t restricted to offices; it spills into odd hours, emergencies, unpredictable travel, and rugged terrain, the conditions that clash with the domestic stability expected of most women, especially those raising children.
A similar thought struck me when I asked about a female architect I knew. Architecture sounds soft, even elegant—drawing, design, creativity. But the real demands go beyond the studio. Architects must roam construction sites, travel to observe new trends, inspect materials, climb scaffolds, negotiate with contractors, and do the gritty work of supervision. And because most builders are men, the gender gap in opportunities widens. Many masculine-aligned professions are engineering, quantity surveying, architecture, building, regional planning— they remain male-dominated not only because women lack capacity, but because the realities around the work resist the ease with which women can enter and thrive.
I am reminded of hotel and catering management at Federal Polytechnic Bida, popularly known as “the women’s course.” And society seems to obey this unwritten rule almost unconsciously: more than 90% of the students are female. Only recently did I notice how early this inclination begins. My daughters, barely three years old, would spend hours “cooking” imaginary meals in the compound, assigning roles, arguing over ingredients, and acting out domestic scenes with astonishing seriousness. My first daughter, now ten, can cook independently whenever her mother travels. What once seemed like childish mess—mud everywhere, water wasted, plates scattered was actually the nurturing of a lifelong orientation. And indeed, many hotels and private homes prefer female cooks.
Nursing, too, has always felt inherently feminine. Nature and culture seem to speak in unison here. Until recently, seeing a male nurse was rare. Women, already accustomed to caregiving, adapt more easily to the intimate and sometimes unpleasant routines of nursing: cleaning patients, bathing them, enduring bodily fluids without complaint. Men contribute well in cases where male patients prefer privacy, but the profession’s emotional labor aligns more naturally with women.
Medicine and pharmacy, however, appear unisex. Pharmacy, with its mixing, preparation, and clinical routines, leans feminine in certain aspects. Yet the role of medical representatives, which involves constant travel, marketing, long drives, and restless schedules, aligns more with masculine energy. Meanwhile, hospital pharmacy sits comfortably in the middle.
Accounting is also unisex. The meticulous, careful nature associated with women fits the bookkeeping aspect. Yet the large-scale, high-pressure responsibilities: treasury management, dealing with crowds, and avoiding costly errors, often attract men. Even so, I know women who excel here with the neutrality of professionals who seem to belong to neither gender stereotype.
And then comes law. What an interesting profession! Law is unisex, yet women seem to be claiming it rapidly. Those who shy away from science often flock to it with enthusiasm. The strengths that women naturally possess, emotional intelligence, communication skill, fairness, and the ability to concentrate for long hours fit beautifully into legal practice. Yet the public image of law: authority, fearlessness, leadership, aligns with masculine traits, creating a fascinating balance of power.
Mass communication is similar. Women dominate broadcasting, presentation, and online influencing spaces that reward charisma, appearance, and consistent engagement. Men seem more inclined toward print, political reporting, or investigative journalism. And because women participate less in politics (the lifeblood of news), they sometimes find themselves at a disadvantage, even though they shine elsewhere.
Public administration looks feminine inside the classroom, where many women flee from the mathematics of other disciplines, but masculine in practice. Leadership roles in both the political and bureaucratic realms remain overwhelmingly male. Power, executive responsibility, endurance, and the ability to be summoned at any hour align more closely with men, at least according to societal expectations.
In all these professions, what emerges is not a rigid law but a cultural psychology. As the sociologist Pierre Bourdieu argued, society transmits invisible structures such as habits, expectations, dispositions that shape what feels “natural” for each gender, long before individuals make their choices. We may pretend these patterns do not exist, but they reappear in our daily judgments, opportunities, instincts, and outcomes.
Perhaps the real challenge is not to erase the sexualization of professions, but to understand it, question it, and navigate it honestly, without denying biology, ignoring culture, or restricting ambition. Somewhere in that delicate balance lies the truth about who we are and the work we choose.
Bagudu can be reached at bagudumohammed15197@gmail.com or on 0703 494 3575.
