“People often say that art imitates life, and nowhere has that felt more true to me than when I wrote Womankind.” 

At the time, I was going through a divorce and had just met the woman who would become my wife. Everything felt difficult and uncertain. I was young, naive, and, frankly, a bit lost. Looking back, it was a massive period of growth. I felt like I grew up overnight, having to endure the emotional weight of what I was going through. But what that time gave me—and for this I’m genuinely grateful—was access to my emotional core. It forced me to release things I’d been holding onto for years.

The song itself came from nowhere. I quite literally dreamed it into being.

I was living in a flat in Bristol and woke up one morning with the title and melody already there, floating around in my head. I used to keep a dictaphone by the bed for moments like that, because they did happen occasionally, and I knew how quickly those dream ideas could disappear. I grabbed my guitar from the corner of the room and, within about ten minutes, the entire song was written.

Much like Don’t Pray For Me, I scribbled the lyrics down on a pad of paper. I don’t even think I recorded it immediately—I was so immersed in the writing. But in truth, pretty much everything came together in ten or fifteen minutes at most. When I finally recorded it onto the dictaphone, I left it alone, slightly stunned by what had just happened.

I remember going downstairs—we lived in a maisonette—putting the kettle on, and thinking, Did that really happen? I went back upstairs, pressed play on the dictaphone, and there it was. The song, complete. Everything you hear on the original version, and the way I still play it now, is essentially how it came out that morning.

I think it’s fair to say that, alongside Don’t Pray For Me, Womankind is the most important song I’ve ever written—and certainly the most emotional. I wrote it for my wife, Ketyn.

It’s an exploration of being a man who was out of control in many ways, falling in love, needing commitment, and realising that the person I’d met was the kindest, gentlest soul—and someone who made me feel whole. I needed to say that. There isn’t a single word in that song that doesn’t mean something to me. It’s completely autobiographical.

The 2025 version isn’t radically different from the original. There are no drums this time, but we’ve brought piano and strings to the foreground and allowed them to breathe. It’s simply a different lens on the same truth. Even now, it still makes me deeply emotional when I sing it.

I hope that Womankind, along with Don’t Pray For Me and a handful of others, will be remembered as signature moments of my life.

Womankind peaked at No. 12 on the UK Singles Chart and spent five weeks in the Top 40. It preceded the album Jam, which went straight in at No. 1 on the UK Albums Chart.

And perhaps one of the most surreal moments of all: while rehearsing Womankind for Top of the Pops in 1993, Paul McCartney took me to one side and complimented the song—specifically the middle eight. Whether it was kindness or genuine admiration, it remains one of the true highlights of my journey.

Update: To mark its anniversary, I’ve put together the Womankind EP. It features the 2025 strings version of the song, audio stories reflecting on Womankind and the Jam album, a live studio acoustic version, and a story excerpt with lyrics from my Sticks & Stones book.

Thanks so much for your support.

Besy wishes,

Tobe x