From Machismo to Maternalism: Giorgia Meloni and the Remaking of Italian Populism

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When Giorgia Meloni became Italy’s first female prime minister in 2022, many observers framed her victory as a paradox. How could a woman lead one of Europe’s most openly nationalist, socially conservative movements, a political space historically defined by male dominance and machismo? Yet this apparent contradiction misunderstands the nature of contemporary Italian populism. Meloni’s rise does not represent a break from the populist tradition forged by Silvio Berlusconi; rather, it marks its strategic evolution.

Italian populism has not abandoned gendered power; it has reconfigured it.

Populism in Italy has long revolved around the idea of personal leadership. From Berlusconi’s media-driven charisma to Matteo Salvini's hyper-visible social media presence, populist leaders have cultivated an intimate bond with the public while presenting themselves as outsiders to a corrupt elite. Gender has always structured this dynamic, even when it was not explicitly acknowledged.

Berlusconi’s political persona was overtly masculine and well known for it. His leadership style relied on dominance, spectacle, and sexualised power, a performance of authority rooted in traditional male privilege. This form of populism thrived in a media ecosystem that rewarded visibility and provocation, and it reflected a specific cultural moment in post-Cold War Italy.

By the 2020s, that model had begun to lose traction. Economic precarity, demographic anxiety, and institutional distrust remained, but voters were less persuaded by displays of excess. Meloni’s success lies in recognising this shift and recalibrating populist authority accordingly.

Rather than rejecting gendered expectations, Meloni selectively embraces them. Her public image blends strength with protection, authority with care. She presents herself not as a charismatic strongman, but as a symbolic guardian of the nation: vigilant, morally upright, and emotionally aligned with “ordinary Italians”.

This maternal framing is not incidental. Meloni frequently invokes family, children, and national inheritance in her rhetoric, positioning Italy as something fragile that must be defended. In doing so, she converts care into a language of discipline and protection, and a rationale for exclusion.

Immigration, LGBTQ+ rights, and reproductive autonomy are framed not as matters of individual freedom, but as risks to a moral and cultural order she claims to safeguard.

Importantly, this maternalism does not soften populism’s edge. On the contrary, it legitimises authoritarian impulses by grounding them in emotional appeal. Restrictive policies are justified less through confrontation than through responsibility. Harsh decisions are reframed as necessary acts of guardianship.

In this sense, Meloni’s leadership operates within established hierarchies rather than unsettling them: her authority reassures conservative voters that women can lead, provided they affirm traditional norms and reinforce existing structures of power.

Against this backdrop, Meloni’s leadership complicates more stereotypical assumptions about women in far-right politics. Surprisingly, rather than moderating her party’s ideology, her gender can enhance its credibility. As a Christian woman and a mother, she is able to articulate nationalist and socially conservative positions while resisting easy caricature. Critics who attack her policies risk being framed as dismissive or elitist, yet another iteration of the populist divide between ‘’the people’’ and their enemies. This way, political authenticity is constructed through the constant invocation of danger and vulnerability.

Feminist language is invoked when necessary, but it is folded into a nationalist framework rather than used to challenge structural gender inequality. This dynamic is visible in Meloni’s 2023 speech commemorating victims of gender-based violence, where Italian women are named individually and remembered through emotive language such as “love” and “loss”. These stories are presented as part of a shared national tragedy. However, when she refers to “Paola, a Nigerian girl who was promised a better life, but was forced into prostitution and rescued by Italian police,” the narrative shifts. The emphasis falls less on systemic vulnerability and more on the intervention of Italian institutions.

Although this appears inclusive, it subtly reinforces the pecking order of belonging. Italian women are framed as members of the national community in their own right; Paola’s story, by contrast, highlights the protective capacity of the state and the tight margin between inclusion and exclusion. At the same time, Meloni carefully distances herself from structural feminism. She rejects gender equality as a systemic project, instead emphasising individual achievement and traditional roles. This allows her to embody exceptionality without challenging the framework that made her ‘extraordinary’ in the first place.

Despite stylistic differences, Meloni’s populism remains deeply rooted in the Berlusconian legacy. Both rely on personalisation, media control, and a direct appeal to popular sentiment, as both frame politics as a moral struggle rather than a technical policy debate. In doing so, both weaken institutional checks by privileging executive authority and emotional legitimacy over formalised and procedural norms.

So, what has shifted since ‘Il Cavaliere’ is simply populism’s aesthetic. Where Berlusconi projected excess, Meloni projects restraint. Where he celebrated individual pleasure, she invokes collective duty. Yet the underlying logic, a politics organised around division and moral hierarchy, remains intact.

This continuity suggests that Italian populism is defined not only by ideology, but by its capacity for cultural adaptation. Gender, in this context, takes on a new role and functions as a political instrument rather than a constraint.