Journeys

Australia has reached a historic milestone: the establishment of its first all-women-led investment fund. This achievement, symbolized by the unlisted investment trust Future Generation Women, deserves celebration as a marker of progress for women in the finance industry. Yet, this development also raises critical questions about its broader implications. Will it truly dismantle the structural barriers women face, or will it inadvertently reinforce gender stereotypes?

The intention behind Future Generation Women is clear and laudable. The fund will invest with a gender lens, considering factors such as gender-diverse leadership, equitable pay, and policies that support work-life balance. Moreover, it will charge no management or performance fees and donate 1% of its assets annually to causes that advance economic equality and security for women and their children. These features align closely with the values often associated with women: altruism, equity, and a focus on social good.

But herein lies the tension. The very characteristics of this fund could reinforce traditional stereotypes about women in finance. Words like "equality," "work-life balance," and "social good" are important, but they also echo the assumptions society often imposes on women. Women are expected to lead with empathy, prioritize social responsibility, and eschew profit-driven motives. Future Generation Women’s design, while innovative, risks being perceived as a natural extension of these stereotypes.

What if, instead, we imagined a different kind of women-led fund—a “normal” fund that charges fees, seeks alpha, and operates with the same ambition as its male-led counterparts? If the barriers for women entering fund management are high, then only the most talented, determined women will succeed. Their performance could very well outpace that of their male peers. 

A women-only fund focused purely on performance would send a powerful message: women are not just altruistic or caring; they are also fiercely competitive, capable, and focused on financial returns. Such a fund would challenge the “pale, male” finance industry in an entirely different way—by proving that women can lead and succeed without conforming to stereotypical expectations.

Future Generation Women is undoubtedly a step forward, and its mission deserves recognition. But as we celebrate this milestone, we should also challenge ourselves to envision a future where women’s contributions to finance are as diverse and dynamic as the women themselves. True progress lies not just in creating space for women, but in breaking free from the constraints of what we expect women to be.

My kids’ piano lessons are 90 minutes in total, and as per their Suzuki teacher’s request, a parent also attends each session. That’s plenty of time to let my mind wander.  

My son is nearing the end of Suzuki Book One, with only two songs remaining. He started lessons in April 2022 and has attended around 100 lessons so far. My daughter has already completed Book One, taking about 112 weeks to do so. Counting daily practice time, commuting to their teacher’s home, and the lessons themselves, I’ve invested roughly 800 hours into their musical education. That’s equivalent to 23 weeks of standard working hours—nearly half a year of paid labor.  

Book One, however, is just the beginning. To qualify a music scholarship at a private school, a child needs to achieve at least Level 5 piano proficiency—almost equivalent to completing Suzuki Book Five. Assuming we maintain the same level of effort, this would require about 2.5 years of my time as a parent. Suddenly, the “free” scholarship doesn’t feel so free anymore.  

The children’s evolution in mastering the piano exemplifies the truly wondrous power of small, consistent efforts. The teacher’s only insistence is daily practice—never for extended durations. They started with 5 minute practice and now doing around 15 to 30 minutes, and the results are undeniable. I see it in the way my children’s skills have blossomed. 

But consistency has a less wondrous side, too. Practice time is rarely just the actual time spent practicing. More often than not, it takes longer to negotiate when to start practice than the practice itself. And the negotiations don’t end there. During practice, they often wander off to other activities or ignore the teacher’s instructions. As the “home teacher,” it’s my job to refocus them and ensure they practice as instructed—usually involving single-hand exercises, repetition, or breaking down small phrases. These methods, while effective, are far less exciting than playing the entire song with both hands. It’s a daily dance of persuasion, threat, bribery, and-on occasion-tears. And then there are the days when I simply run out of energy to negotiate, and practice is skipped entirely.  

When I think about the hours I’ve spent on their musical education, it feels like a quiet revolution in unpaid work, particularly women’s. In 2021, women in Australia spent approximately 31.64 hours per week on unpaid work—9.24 hours more per week than men. Over a month, this gap widens to roughly 37 hours, almost equivalent to a full workweek.[1]  

This unpaid labor often goes unnoticed, yet it forms the foundation of countless family achievements. It’s not just the physical hours spent but the mental and emotional toll of coordinating and managing children’s activities.  

Parenting has always required dedication, but the expectations now extend far beyond basic care. Education has transformed into a high-stakes endeavor where extracurricular excellence is almost mandatory. Whether it’s sports, music, or academics, parents are expected to act as chauffeurs, tutors, and organizers. This is particularly true in many Asian communities. 

Modern parents shoulder responsibility not only for their children’s education but also for their social life and playtime. When I compare my children’s upbringing to my own, the differences are stark. I grew up in a small town in China, where spare time was unstructured and free. My parents didn’t arrange playdates, organize holiday camps, or shuttle me to and from school. From a young age, I walked to school on my own and knocked on a friend’s door whenever I wanted to play. Now, every aspect of a child’s life feels meticulously planned and orchestrated. There is little room for the organic, free play that defined my childhood.  

And yet, the rewards are undeniable. This week, during their lessons, I glanced at the cover of the Suzuki textbook and read the text: “Over time, children develop positive character traits, such as self-esteem, self-discipline, concentration, and determination, as well as a lasting enjoyment of music.” It was a timely reminder that the true value lies in these traits—traits that require nurturing, patience, and care to flourish. 

[1] Australian Bureau of Statistics (2020-21) How Australians Use Their Time