80 Grand: No place for supermen in a women's world
Preconceived expectations deceive us.
Like many, I assumed that 80 Grand, a TV drama directed by Kawthar Younis, was merely a replica of previous high-rated ones, and that Huda El-Mufti was borrowing the persona of a streetwise TikTok girl, much like Salma Abu-Deif did in last Ramadan’s season.
But such a comparison is entirely unfair. 80 Grand exists in its own unique universe, competing only with itself. It is unmistakably aligned with the creative world of its director, Kawthar Younis. Free from preaching or didactic undertones, it carries the light, fluid touch of Ghada Abdel Aal’s writing.
A glance at audience reactions across various platforms reveals that many viewers dismissed the series, saying it was “too feminine,” “fun but needs a women's gathering to enjoy it,” or simply “for women.” One viewer, exasperated, even questioned, “Why do we need three episodes featuring waxing and pedicures?”
Yet, how else should one depict a story set in a women's beauty salon? The critique of these elements felt as odd to me as judging a work solely for being “feminine.” If the show had been overtly feminist, I might have understood the backlash. But as YouTube film critic Mohamed Mahdy put it, “80 Grand is a women’s show, and as a man, I didn’t feel comfortable watching it.”
His words aren’t artistic critique; they’re gendered judgment.
Ironically, it’s precisely these “feminine” elements that attrackted me, and many other women, to 80 Grand. The show excels in dissecting lower-middle class women’s lives, as well as men’s . It paints a realistic portrait of a world that often goes unnoticed, reinforcing the unending conflict between the “feminine” and the “masculine.”
Women pay the price
The show’s storyline is simple yet engaging. Boussy/Huda El-Mufti seeks to extend her working hours to save up 80,000 EGP ($1600) to help her fiancé, Tikha, pay the eviction fee for an old rent-controlled apartment he inherited from his father, allowing them to marry.
Boussy offers financial assistance willingly, and Tikha doesn’t refuse, but he does impose conditions on the nature of her work, echoing a familiar patriarchal voice.
Here, the series highlights the stark differences between men and women in the labor market. Boussy is a skilled hairdresser earning a substantial income, while Tikha, lacking any particular skill, drifts between fleeting business ideas that sometimes work and often fail—culminating in a scam that robs him and his friend of their savings.
As Boussy works tirelessly to collect the money, a recurring question arises: Why is she helping him? Whose money is this, really? Her answer is always that their relationship is a partnership.
However, when she realizes she has lost everything because of him, she comes to realize how she has completely neglected herself. It’s a moment of awakening for an independent working woman who has her own needs and desires.
Boussy’s story mirrors the experiences of countless women who work long hours to support their families. Her coworkers at the salon face similar struggles. Faten has been financially independent since losing her parents. Abeer supports her household while her drug-addicted husband relies on her earnings. Even Madame Lola, the owner, is an independent businesswoman who navigates life alone.
A gritty world without the machismo
In the crowded landscape of Egyptian dramas set in working-class neighborhoods, the male protagonist is often a larger-than-life figure—brash, confrontational, and obsessed with controlling the women in his life. Perhaps this explains why 80 Grand struggles to appeal to male viewers: it lacks a hyper-masculine hero.
There is no man who shouts, fights, or polices women. This absence disrupts the popular formula of the “macho hero.” Instead, the men in 80 Grand are flawed, ordinary, and sometimes naive—driven by quick schemes and easy money. They are neither villains nor despots.
Tikha, for instance, is likable not just because of his charm but for his genuine love for Boussy. His likability as a male character is measured not by dominance but by fragility.
The same applies to Assem, a lonely old man with the romantic spirit of a bygone era. He is a fleeting breath of nostalgia, pursuing Lola with tender, old-fashioned courtship. The emotional depth of male characters in the show is not framed as weakness but as a natural aspect of relationships.
On the other hand, the show doesn’t shy away from portraying real societal issues, such as domestic abuse and honor-based violence. In one scene, a group of conservative relatives from Upper Egypt arrives in Cairo to exact revenge on Faten for removing her hijab. The situation, though serious, unfolds with sharp humor—turning tragedy into satire.
The tension between women striving for independence and men asserting control is ever-present. The men in Faten’s family care little for her well-being; their only concern is “honor.” Love and affection have no place in their worldview, only dominance and retribution.
When fiction reflects reality
Recently, actress Entsar, who plays the character of Madame Lola, was harassed in a public incident in Egypt’s North Coast. Scrolling through the comments on the news report, I was struck by how many mirrored the words of Madame Lola in the show. When Lola scolds Abeer for being abused by her husband, she tells her, “You provoke him; that’s why he hits you.” She adds, “If you were respectable, he would never lay a hand on you.”
The scene is painfully realistic—a woman being blamed by another woman for the violence inflicted upon her. The same rhetoric appeared in the comments about Entsar's harassment: “She must have provoked him.” “She’s not respectable.”
But 80 Grand does not endorse these attitudes. Rather, it holds up a mirror to society. Lola’s remarks contrast sharply with Boussy’s quiet but firm stance: “A real man never hits a woman.”
This show compels us to rethink the need for more women-centered narratives in Egyptian television. The secrecy surrounding women’s experiences only deepens the gender divide. And perhaps it’s time to normalize the presence of waxing and pedicure scenes on screen—because there’s nothing shameful about them.
Through 80 Grand, art opens a window into the world of women—not to sensationalize, but to observe with honesty. The series paints an intricate mosaic of female experiences, highlighting lives often overlooked amid the bustling streets of Cairo.
(*) A version of this article first appeared in Arabic on March 18th, 2025.