It’s good to see that men in positions of power and influence are concerned about the impact that masculinity influencers, the manosphere and the misogyny they can inspire is having on boys and young men.
Prime Minister Sir Keir Starmer and former England manager Sir Gareth Southgate have spoken about the need for positive role models. Southgate has highlighted the ills of social media, gaming and pornography. Starmer has backed the showing of Netflix series Adolescence, which explores the impact of the manosphere on teenagers, in schools.
Starmer and Southgate mean well and their words have amplified the issue. But their approach may not reach the boys and young men they would hope to inspire.
Southgate’s recent Richard Dimbleby lecture followed a well-trodden path of demonising certain spaces – such as social media – and in doing so offered a somewhat limited understanding of how and why they are so prevalent in young people’s lives.
Men like Starmer and Southgate are defined by their progressive outlook. But in the manosphere, “niceness” can be viewed with suspicion and disdain. It can come with the assumption that “white knights,” men who display a caring kind of masculinity, are driven by an aim, conscious or unconscious, of being sexually rewarded by women for their efforts. Messages from proponents of this caring masculinity may be dismissed out of hand by the young men they are most trying to reach.
The influencers that so many boys are drawn to project an entirely different kind of masculinity to that of Starmer and Southgate. They are characterised by a focus on fitness and physical strength, financial success and heterosexuality. This is known as hypermasculinity.
Boys and young men may feel more comfortable, less judged and more valued if they can see themselves in the people who support them. Youth workers, for example, can offer an important and effective counterpoint to online misogyny.
My research with young fathers reveals that a “safe environment free of judgment” is key to exploring ideas of care and equality with young men. I learned that hypermasculinity does not have to necessitate dominance over others – women, LGBTQ+ people, people of colour. Nor does this way of being a man need to be predicated on emotional repression, misogyny, racism or homophobia.
Hypermasculine spaces can offer comfort for those who fail to see themselves in more “feminised” spaces elsewhere.
Fitness and gym culture
Influencers know that fitness is appealing to many young men. They make explicit links between physical strength, fitness and sexual prowess.
According to incel (involuntary celibate) culture, athleticism and physicality help determine a man’s “sexual market value”, and those who lack these hypermasculine characteristics are denied sexual access and social status. But young men do not need to buy wholly into this mindset to value gym culture and see physical strength as desirable.
Former kickboxer Andrew Tate offers the appeal of the hypermasculine triumvirate of fitness, fame and fighting. Listening to young men tells us that they can be drawn to the hypermasculine “success” of Andrew Tate for reasons such as his devotion to physical fitness, not because of his misogyny.
This tells us we should be spending time better understanding hypermasculinity, not further marginalising it. I believe hypermasculinity can make space for positive social change, but there needs to be an authentic connection for young men.
Paddy “the Baddy” Pimblett would be a good place to start in understanding how hypermasculinity can be a positive force. Pimblett is a professional mixed martial artist who has over 3 million followers on Instagram.
His public profile proves that hypermasculinity can carry more than just violence: he is using his platform for social good through charity work and mental health campaigning.
Tech and financial independence
Hypermasculine social media influencers also attract followers through their pursuit of financial independence. The allure of an aspirational lifestyle is not surprising in an era of financial uncertainty, especially when influencers purport that their successes are replicable. Andrew Tate’s “education system” The Real World, for instance, offers to teach paid subscribers the pathway to financial success when they sign up.
At the same time, “tech bros” have become a defining financial success story. They are aspirational figures for some young men – simultaneously representing elite financial power and a self-sufficient, anti-establishment swagger. I am not suprised by their popularity, as in my work with young men in the north east of England, anti-elite narratives were often repeated.
Again, though, there are positive examples to be found in this hypermasculine space. Gary Stevenson, whose YouTube channel has over a million subscribers, represents this. On one level, he is a hypermasculine trader who claims he won his job through a card game and whose high-risk gambling brought great rewards. Yet he now calls himself a “people’s economist” and uses his significant media profile to highlight structural disadvantage instead of aspirational lifestyles.
Making space for hypermasculinity does not mean it should replace other forms, such as caring masculinities. But we need to engage with the hypermasculine and listen to those who value it to better understand it. We should not assume the hypermasculine is always problematic. In acknowledging, and avoiding demonising this kind of masculinity, we can ensure greater representation for young men and boys, while continuing to challenge sexism, misogyny and other social ills.
Michael Joseph Richardson has received funding from the Economic and Social Research Council Impact Accelerator Account (ESRC IAA), Arts Council England and the National Lottery Climate Action Fund.
This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.
