Watching Adolescence and Wrestling with Modern Masculinity
One of the best things I have done recently was watching the Netflix series Adolescence – not just watching it but watching it with my 15-year-old son. That decision didn’t make the series any less harrowing, but it did make it more hopeful. I’d actually watched the first episode on my own, and I was left feeling heavy and a little lost. But watching episodes two to four together gave us the chance to pause, reflect, and talk in the moment. And the moment that undid me – again – was the final scene. I was in tears, overwhelmed by the grief of a father who felt that he had somehow failed his son. My own son saw me crying and said the most beautiful thing possible. “Do you need a hug?” he asked? And then he hugged me.
That moment will stay with me. It’s rare to find a piece of media that captures the raw emotional terrain of parenting – especially fathering boys – so honestly and unflinchingly. Adolescence is brilliant, painful, and deeply human. I connected most with the father character – not because I’m like him, but because I recognised his helplessness. His grief. His confusion at a world that no longer seems to speak his language.
There’s a scene where the investigating officer’s teenage son explains to him the coded online culture around emojis, memes, and the so-called “manosphere.” It’s a world that many parents (and teachers) may be only vaguely aware of, but it shapes the way many boys think about themselves – and about women. Part of the conversation between my son and I was around teen language and some of the ideas and symbols related to the manosphere. There were things I knew about that he wasn’t aware of and things he was very familiar with that I only vaguely recognized. I think we both learnt something new.
We also talked a bit about how interactions go down at school in his real-life experience, including how teachers sometimes react to student interaction. There was a moment in the second episode, which is set mostly in the school, when both my son and I commented that they had captured the whole school atmosphere perfectly – although we both noticed different things that rang true for us. The not-so-subtle bullying of the empty wrappers dumped on a tray; the obnoxious clown moved to the front row of class and the subsequent amusement of his buddies in the back row; the teacher who grumbled “We’re security guards and social workers now, are we? Great.”
The series didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already suspect, but it was a sobering reminder of just how confused and vulnerable young men are as they try to find themselves in a world of relentless online connection and contradictory expectations.
The Limit of Just “Being a Good Human”
I’ve previously argued that the best place to start when raising boys is to talk about what makes a good human, rather than what makes a good man. I still think that’s a helpful foundation. In a world filled with confusing messages about gender, anchoring our kids in virtues like kindness, compassion, courage, and humility gives them something solid.
But I’m no longer convinced we can stop there. Gender matters. And while the idea of being a good human is essential, our boys are constantly navigating messages that tie their value, worth, and identity to being a certain kind of man. We can’t leave them to figure it out alone.
The Apostle Paul writes in Galatians: “There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus” (Galatians 3:28). He’s not denying the existence of those categories – elsewhere he clearly addresses them – but he’s insisting they are not ultimate. They don’t define our value or our belonging. And yet, they do shape our lived experience.
So yes, let’s start by asking what kind of person someone is becoming. But then we must also ask: how do we help our sons be men of character, men of compassion, men who know how to be strong and gentle, just and merciful?
Narrow Scripts, Loud Labels
Part of the challenge is that our cultural understanding of gender roles remains frustratingly narrow. For much of the twentieth century – particularly in eras like the 1950s – gender roles were rigidly defined. Men were expected to be stoic providers, women, nurturing homemakers. It was a model that offered clarity and predictability, even if it came with serious limitations and exclusions. I’m certainly not advocating a return to that time – the decade is more symbolic than prescriptive – but I can understand the appeal of its simplicity. The problem is, rather than recognising that those traditional roles were flawed, we’ve increasingly turned on the concept of gender itself, treating it as the root of the problem rather than the outdated expectations we’ve attached to it.
That cultural confusion leaves many young men stranded. With no clear or affirming model of masculinity to aspire to, they’re left to piece together their identity from whatever sources they can find. And when the dominant message they hear is that masculinity itself is inherently problematic, we shouldn’t be surprised when they seek out spaces – sometimes toxic ones – that offer them affirmation, identity, and belonging.
Voices like Andrew Tate – the poster boy of the manosphere – offer a model of masculinity built on control, dominance, and entitlement. They blame women for men’s problems and present men as victims of a feminist conspiracy. It is both dangerous and wildly appealing to boys who feel unseen or uncertain.
Steve Rose, writing in The Guardian, explores the spread of the “sigma male” ideal:
“Sigma masculinity has blown up. It’s all over social media… and it’s helped define what could be a masculine archetype for our times, supposedly exemplified by characters played by the likes of Keanu Reeves, Cillian Murphy, Bryan Cranston and Christian Bale, plus the manosphere influencer Andrew Tate as well as actual, real life wolves. All of these and more have gone into the meme-culture blender when it comes to the sigma phenomenon, which could well be an indication of how deep it has seeped into the mainstream, and by extension into the minds of our impressionable, smartphone-addicted youth.”[1]
Even boys who reject these messages find it hard to avoid them. Tomorrow Man, a social enterprise aimed at reinventing masculinity, has this to say about the appeal and prevalence of damaging views of masculinity.
“As another spanner in the works, these online spaces are usually super engaging. When your worth is being validated by an interactive community, it’s easy to understand why our teenage boys can get hooked on the dark sides of the manosphere.
The role of algorithms
Here’s where it gets extra tricky. If your son watches a video on YouTube or engages with a post about Andrew Tate or another figure in the manosphere, the platform’s algorithm might automatically start recommending more of the same content. It’s like a feedback loop that pushes him deeper into these toxic spaces without even realising it.”[2]
The Other Message: All Men Are Dangerous
On the other side of the cultural spectrum, the messaging hasn’t been all that helpful either. One of the unfortunate side effects of some of the messaging around women’s empowerment is the unspoken suggestion that men are universally untrustworthy or dangerous. The term “toxic masculinity” is often used in ways that imply that all masculinity is toxic. One phrase I came across recently stuck with me: “pale, male, and stale.” It was in The Age, in an article by a female columnist criticising a male radio DJ for saying derogatory things about Matildas star Sam Kerr. And to be clear, his comments deserved criticism. But what struck me was how casually the writer reduced him to a stereotype—doing exactly what she criticised him for: casual sexism.
Cathy Young, writing almost a decade ago in The Washington Post (and republished in The Age), warned:
“A lot of feminist rhetoric today does cross the line from attacks on sexism into attacks on men, with a strong focus on personal behaviour: the way they talk, the way they approach relationships, even the way they sit on public transport. Male faults are stated as sweeping condemnations; objecting to such generalisations is taken as a sign of complicity… Whatever the reasons for the current cycle of misandry – yes, that’s a word, derided but also adopted for ironic use by many feminists – its existence is quite real.”[3]
Much of what she predicted has come to pass. The result? Some men are alienated. Some become angry. And some get recruited into online spaces that feed on that anger.
To be clear: we must continue to fight for the rights and safety of women. The statistics on violence against women in Australia are sobering. But this is not a zero-sum game. We do not need to devalue men in order to value women.
Gender and Sexuality in Public Discourse
We also can’t ignore the impact of public discourse around gender and sexuality more broadly. From the vitriol surrounding the same-sex marriage debate to the ongoing battles around transgender participation in sport, our national conversation has often generated far more heat than light. Both sides have contributed to a climate of fear, mistrust, and confusion.
For many young men, this has created a sense of walking on eggshells. They don’t know what they’re allowed to say, feel, or be. They hear the loudest voices – from the manosphere on one side and from reactionary corners of activism on the other – and they tune out of the conversation altogether. Or worse, they buy into one extreme because it at least offers clarity.
A Different Kind of Power
This is where Christian faith offers something different. Not a return to patriarchal models of dominance, but a reimagining of power itself.
Jesus never told his followers to seize power. He told them to give it up. “The one who is greatest among you must be your servant” (Matthew 23:11). And Paul reminds us that “God’s power is made perfect in weakness” (2 Corinthians 12:9).
Instead of focusing on how to empower one gender over another, perhaps we should focus on how to emvalue everyone equally. Yes, I know it’s not a real word. But maybe it should be. It means (in my mind) to imbue someone with value.
Men and women alike bear the image of God. Jesus lifted the value of powerless women by restoring their dignity. He challenged powerful men to give up control and serve. That’s a model worth following.
What I Want for My Sons
So what does healthy masculinity look like? Honestly, it’s hard to define. But when I think about my own sons, here’s what I hope for:
- I want them to be honest.
- I want them to treat women with respect – not performatively, but from a place of deep conviction.
- I want them to handle powerful emotions – anger, desire, frustration – with self-discipline and wisdom.
- I want them to contribute positively to the world around them, whether through creativity, service, or the integrity they bring to everyday life.
Would I want the same for daughters? Probably. But I suspect it would look different somehow. Or perhaps we’d just label it differently.
In the end, I still believe the place to begin is with the question: What kind of human are you becoming? But we must go further. We must walk with our boys through the complex terrain of masculinity – not by denying it, or condemning it, but by reimagining it.
It’s hard work. But it’s worth it. Especially when it ends with a hug from your teenage son after a tough conversation and a powerful story well told.
[1] https://www.theguardian.com/society/article/2024/jun/12/the-sad-stupid-rise-of-the-sigma-male-how-toxic-masculinity-took-over-social-media
[2] https://www.tomorrowman.com.au/blog-posts/navigating-the-manosphere-understanding-the-online-world-of-teenage-boys
[3] https://www.theage.com.au/opinion/feminists-treat-men-badly-and-its-bad-for-feminism-20160703-gpxbcp.html
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