Madonna's Confessions II Deserves to Be the Album of the Summer, But the Response Proves We Still Punish Women for Ageing

Last Friday, Madonna unveiled her new album, Confessions II, a follow-up to the acclaimed, seminal 2005 release Confessions on a Dance Floor. Whilst this is not her first album since the original instalment, it does mark a return to form, bringing back a dance era that has influenced countless artists since.

Every summer has a record that soundtracks months of abandon and fun. Between beach holidays, busy city beer gardens and hedonistic festivals, there is always one album I associate with a particular time. In 2018, it was Robyn's Honey; in 2022, Beyoncé's Renaissance; and, following its 2024 release, Charli XCX's BRAT has dominated every summer since. In 2005, of course, it was Confessions on a Dance Floor. I was only 10 years old, but I still remember "Hung Up" creating a cultural zeitgeist. The video was on every music channel, seemingly at all times; I'd play it on repeat, and the pink leotard etched itself into my mind's fashion mood board forever.

I also remember the backlash Madonna faced back then. Adults in my life were fans of her music, so I was aware of the conversations around whether she was "too old" to be a pop star. Newspapers and magazine columnists declared she was "past it", criticising her for not stepping away from the limelight. Even now, I still see zoomed-in photos of Madonna's face more than almost any other celebrity's, such is the obsessive nitpicking she receives.

"Hung Up" was released twenty-one years ago, and since then, Madonna has been the focus of repeated media backlashes centred on two things: her age and her gender. Of course, they are never named outright, but they remain the thinly veiled motivations behind so much of the criticism she receives. There is little serious way to critique Madonna's talent, given the body of work she has created. Instead, the conversation almost always centres on her appearance and whether she should still be dancing "at her age", as if that isn't entirely her own decision—and evidence of remarkable fitness. Her age is seen as an affront rather than an inspiration. Personally, I see her as an example of what it looks like to live a full life, one where passion and creativity continue to grow rather than diminish.

The main gripe people seem to have with Madonna is that she is not ageing "gracefully", because she didn't retire from music in her forties. Leaving your career with "grace" is something only famous women are expected to contend with. Grace is never demanded of men, because it isn't grace that anyone is after; what they really want is for women who have aged out of being objectified to quietly disappear. Older women are dangerous because they know who they are and are less vulnerable to the industry's manipulation. Despite Madonna's long history of pushing against expectations, once she reached her fifties, it was as though her career entered a new domain—one where she could never win.

Meanwhile, men perform well into the final decades of their lives and are celebrated as legends. Women don't even need to reach 50 before the pitchforks appear, and magnifying glasses are brought out to inspect whether they look their age. If they have the "right" amount of cosmetic work—an invisible line of acceptability—they may be granted a few more years of popularity. If they have "too much", it's over. The only other loophole is to perform a version of femininity rooted in demureness and quietness. God forbid they wear something joyful—say, a pink leotard—because that will instantly provoke outrage.

Madonna is more than a legendary pop star. She shaped modern disco, pop and dance music into what it is today, bringing the industry up to her level rather than sinking to its. She wasn't simply a pop star; she was the pop star: one of the last artists capable of dominating culture before fandoms and social media fragmented audiences into silos.

At every point in her career, Madonna has challenged the standards that treat women unfairly—sometimes deliberately, sometimes simply through existing. The ageism she has faced for almost two decades falls into the latter category. From the backlash to "Like a Prayer", to Pepsi dropping her, to the banning of "Justify My Love", to the outrage surrounding Erotica, Madonna has repeatedly found herself at the centre of cultural panic whenever she has challenged expectations around religion, sexuality and womanhood. The criticism she receives today follows the same pattern.

Confessions II is one of the best dance albums of 2026. Whilst the impossibly infectious lead single "Danceteria" is a standout, it isn't a one-hit wonder. Euro-pop banger "Read My Lips" transports me to a club filled with cigarette smoke in the Balkans; "Betrayal" should be blasting from rooftops in New York; "I Feel So Free" should be heard across Paris as the sun shines; "Love Sensation" deserves thousands of arms waving to it at festivals. It is an album made for this specific summer.

Yet, apart from rave reviews from critics, I have scarcely seen it cut through popular culture during its first week. Whilst culture journalists are shouting about it, and whilst the album is headed for chart success—and perhaps even a Grammy or two—it doesn't feel destined for cultural domination in the way albums of this calibre often do. That's not because of the music. Years of negative narratives surrounding Madonna have shaped how audiences approach her before they even press play. People can't shake the misogyny and ageism they have unconsciously absorbed.

It is a vulnerable, affecting and joyful record. In a world without those biases, perhaps it would receive the BRAT treatment—or at least a slice of it—and be declared the album of the summer. Instead, the campaign of hostility surrounding Madonna has become so relentless that many people claim to dislike her without being able to articulate exactly why. That's how misogynistic smear campaigns work: hear something often enough, from enough different places, and it begins to feel like your own opinion.

Just weeks ago, Loose Women asked: "Trailblazer or trying too hard?" whilst discussing Madonna's recent performances. It is a debate male performers of a similar age almost never have to contend with. Artists of comparable stature continue touring without endless headlines questioning whether they've somehow expired: Mick Jagger, Paul McCartney, Billy Joel and Bob Dylan.

Instead, coverage of Madonna continues to focus on her body, what she wears and whether she is "trying too hard". She is labelled "raunchy", "past it" and "embarrassing". One particularly revealing headline read: "Madonna, and other acts whose schtick hasn't aged well."

But what is ageing well if not an arbitrary set of social codes designed to keep women small? Men who age are called silver foxes; continuing their craft is seen as wisdom. Women doing exactly the same are treated as cautionary tales. A woman who refuses to shrink herself with age is still viewed as transgressive.

That's precisely why Confessions II matters. It isn't just a brilliant dance album—it is another reminder that, even after decades of reshaping music and culture, Madonna is still being judged less on what she creates than on the fact she continues to create at all.