It feels like data runs our world now, doesn't it? Every click, every scroll, every little thing we do online gets swept up, analyzed, and used. We've heard that "data is the new oil," but unlike oil, it doesn't just bubble up from the ground. It comes from us, the people. And whoever gathers all this data, organizes it, and basically owns it holds a lot of power. But here's the kicker: this data-driven world, much like the old one, isn't fair to everyone. It's starting to look a lot like the same old biases are just showing up in a digital disguise, favoring some groups, often white men, over others.

This whole data economy isn't just about cool new tech; it's about who gets to shape our digital experiences and, in turn, whose lives are shaped by them. The algorithms that decide what we see, what we buy, and even what we believe are created by people. And guess what? Most of those people are men. Think about it: only about 22% of AI professionals globally are women. That means a huge chunk of the systems influencing billions of lives are being designed without the full input of half the world's population. This isn't just a minor issue; it's a major power imbalance. When women aren't at the table where decisions about data are made, they lose control over how they're seen, how their actions are interpreted, and how their lives are essentially "profiled" by these systems.

What's even more frustrating is that the way data is collected often has a built-in bias. So many apps, wearable devices, and digital platforms are designed with male bodies and experiences as the default. Take health apps, for example. For a long time, they completely overlooked crucial data points for women, like menstrual cycles or pregnancy. Or think about crash test dummies, which were historically modeled on the average male, leading to safety oversights for women in car design. These might seem like small details, but they have real-world consequences. When data about women isn't accurately collected or isn't given priority, their needs get pushed aside in the very systems we all use every single day. In a world increasingly run by data, if something isn't counted, it often simply doesn't count.

It's not just about what data is collected, though; it's also about who benefits. Massive tech companies, now among the richest on the planet, collect our data in exchange for "free" services. But the people generating all that valuable data rarely see any of that value returned to them. And women, especially those from marginalized backgrounds, are often even more vulnerable in this exchange. Consider social media platforms, where influencer culture thrives. While women often dominate the creation of content on the front end, the financial and strategic side, the advertising revenue, the platform control, and the monetization tools are still largely controlled by corporate structures that lean heavily male. It's like a digital glass ceiling: you get visible, but the real control remains out of reach.

Let's not forget the darker side where data meets surveillance. Women, particularly activists, journalists, or dissidents, are frequently targeted with digital surveillance, harassment, and data manipulation. In some places, governments use biometric tracking to monitor women's behavior, their social interactions, and even what they wear. Data isn't neutral; it can be used to empower, but it can also be used to police. The very same tools that suggest your next song could also be used to target, profile, and control you. Without safeguards that consider gender, the digital infrastructure that promises freedom can easily become a tool for oppression.

So, what do we need? It's more than just getting more women into tech jobs, though that's important. We need a truly feminist approach to data ethics, one that deeply questions who is collecting data, how it's being used, and who truly benefits from it. Tech companies need to be transparent, not just about their algorithms, but about who they hire, who's in leadership, and how their products are developed. Governments should create regulations for data that include gendered impact assessments, because a one-size-fits-all law often ends up fitting no one at all. And academics, journalists, and digital rights advocates need to challenge the common idea that all tech progress is good progress by asking: progress for whom?

There are some hopeful signs on the horizon. Ideas like "Data Feminism" by Catherine D’Ignazio and Lauren Klein are transforming how we think about data—moving it from cold, objective statistics to rich, human experiences. Organizations like Girls Who Code and Women in Data Science (WiDS) are actively working to close the gender gap in digital skills. Some countries are even looking into "data unions," where people could collectively bargain for how their digital information is used. These are all positive steps, but hope alone isn't enough; it needs a solid structure to build upon. If we genuinely want data to be a tool for democracy, we need to completely rethink who owns data itself.

Because here's the plain truth: data isn't just about machines; it's fundamentally about people. And when one group controls the data, they control the story. They get to decide whose voices are heard, whose lives are optimized, and whose futures are written into the very systems of power. This isn't just about privacy anymore; it's about fairness. If we don't start rewriting the rules of the data economy now, we risk building the same old walls of inequality within the very systems that claim to set us free.

So, the next time you click "accept all," take a moment and ask yourself: Who's actually gathering this data? What do they really know about me? And who is the person writing the code that will decide what I see next? The answers might just reveal who truly holds the reins—and why it's high time we demand a change.