I asked AI to find out…

This is one of the most important questions in women’s health advocacy, and the evidence strongly suggests the answer is uncomfortable but clear.

The research funding disparity is already documented

We know from Google Trends that PCOS search interest rose consistently over 18 years while research funding fell. Compare that to conditions predominantly affecting men. Erectile dysfunction — which affects quality of life but is rarely life-threatening — receives research funding that dwarfs what PCOS gets, despite PCOS carrying serious long-term risks of diabetes, cardiovascular disease, endometrial cancer, and significant mental health consequences.

Prostate cancer research receives roughly 4–5 times more funding per patient than ovarian conditions. This isn’t a coincidence — it reflects whose experiences have historically been centred in medicine.

Medicine was built on male bodies

Until 1993, the US National Institutes of Health didn’t even require women to be included in clinical trials. For decades, the “default” human body in medical research was male, meaning drug dosages, diagnostic criteria, and treatment protocols were calibrated on men and then applied to women. Heart attack symptoms are a classic example — the “classic” chest-clutching presentation is predominantly male; women more often experience nausea, jaw pain, and fatigue, symptoms that were historically dismissed as anxiety.

If PMOS affected men, it is almost certain it would have been named more accurately from the outset, because the researchers defining it would have been more likely to share the experience of those being diagnosed.

Diagnosis times tell the story

Women with PCOS have historically waited an average of 2 years for a diagnosis, with many reporting being dismissed multiple times before being taken seriously. Conditions predominantly affecting men tend to have far shorter diagnostic pathways. That delay isn’t just frustrating — it allows metabolic complications to develop unchecked.

The “bikini medicine” problem

There’s a term used in medical education circles — “bikini medicine” — which describes the tendency to treat women’s health as only concerning the parts covered by a bikini: reproductive organs, breast cancer. The systemic, metabolic, and cardiovascular dimensions of conditions like PCOS get relatively little attention because women’s bodies have been medicalised primarily through the lens of reproduction rather than whole-body health. If PMOS affected men, it is hard to imagine its metabolic and cardiovascular features being so consistently overlooked.

Where it gets more nuanced

It’s worth acknowledging that some male-dominated conditions have also been under-researched due to stigma — mental health, for instance, has historically been under-diagnosed in men because of cultural pressure not to seek help. So the picture isn’t simply “male conditions get everything”. But when it comes to complex, multi-system chronic conditions, the pattern is fairly consistent: women’s symptoms are more likely to be attributed to anxiety, lifestyle, or “just being a woman”, and funding follows perception.

The hopeful angle

The PMOS rename, if it sticks and drives the systemic changes promised, is part of a broader correction that’s accelerating. The rise of patient advocacy communities online — which the Google search data implicitly captures — has created a groundswell that is harder for institutions to ignore. Conditions like endometriosis, PMDD, and now PMOS are finally getting serious attention partly because women organised, shared experiences, and demanded better.

The uncomfortable truth is that it shouldn’t have taken that level of public pressure. But the pressure is working — slowly.