Men Wanted - Part Three

In Part Two, I explored the gap that has opened as women have spent generations questioning the roles assigned to us, while many men have not yet recognised that they are being asked to undertake a similar journey.

Women becoming more independent did not make men worthless. It made women less dependent upon the traditional things men were taught would guarantee them a central place in our lives.

That distinction matters.

A man can still be admired for his ambition, competence, strength or success. But those qualities alone no longer guarantee him a woman’s attention, affection or willingness to organise her life around him. Increasingly, women can ask not only whether a man is capable of providing, but whether he is emotionally present, relationally mature, safe to disagree with and able to share a life without needing to remain at its centre.

That creates a difficult moment for men who faithfully followed the old instructions.

They were told to work hard, become financially successful, project confidence, avoid weakness and prove their worth through status. They were taught that sexual success demonstrated masculinity and that being chosen by an attractive woman confirmed their place among other men.

Then some arrived at adulthood to discover that the promised outcome was no longer guaranteed.

Women might admire their achievements without wanting to date them. They might be attracted to them without accepting their behaviour. They might refuse them despite the money, the car, the confidence, the body or the social status. They might choose to remain single rather than become responsible for maintaining the life around them.

For some men, this creates a genuine identity crisis.

Who are they when the things they were told would make them desirable are no longer enough?

What are they meant to do with loneliness, rejection, uncertainty and the growing awareness that women have more freedom to choose?

There are thoughtful answers to those questions. They involve emotional growth, community, accountability and the difficult work of becoming more fully human.

But the manosphere offers something much easier.

It tells men that the old instructions were correct.

They simply were not following them forcefully enough.

The manosphere often presents itself as disruptive.

Its leading voices position themselves as courageous truth-tellers willing to say what polite society, feminism or political correctness supposedly refuses to admit. Their language may sound modern. Their messages arrive through podcasts, video clips, private communities and social media algorithms. They display expensive cars, muscular bodies, luxury travel and women treated as evidence of success.

But beneath the contemporary packaging sits a deeply familiar promise.

Become wealthy enough, dominant enough, physically impressive enough and emotionally detached enough, and women will organise themselves around you.

The details vary, but the message is remarkably consistent. Men are encouraged to accumulate status, suppress vulnerability, treat relationships as power struggles and understand women primarily through their usefulness or availability to men.

Sex becomes conquest.

Attention becomes currency.

Relationships become negotiations over who holds control.

A woman’s independence becomes evidence that she has been corrupted. Her boundaries become manipulation. Her refusal becomes arrogance. Her sexual autonomy is condemned unless it serves the man judging it.

None of this is new.

It is the old relationship job description performed more loudly, stripped of some of the social responsibilities that once accompanied it, and sold back to men as liberation.

Traditional masculinity at least claimed obligations alongside authority. A man was expected to provide, protect, remain committed to family and carry responsibility for those who depended upon him. The manosphere can retain the entitlement while discarding the duty. It tells men to demand loyalty without practising reciprocity, seek submission without accepting responsibility and expect women’s bodies, care and admiration without becoming accountable for the lives they affect.

It is not a return to tradition so much as the extraction of tradition’s privileges.

It would be easy to dismiss the men drawn into these spaces as simply foolish, hateful or weak.

That may satisfy those of us watching from the outside, but it does not help us understand why the message travels so effectively.

The manosphere speaks directly to pain that is often real.

Some men are lonely.

Some feel invisible.

Some are struggling financially, professionally or socially.

Some have little experience of intimacy and no language for the shame they feel about it.

Some have lost relationships and do not understand why.

Some have been taught that asking for help is weakness, therapy is indulgence and emotional vulnerability will make them undesirable.

Others have done many of the things society once promised would make them successful and still feel disconnected from the life they expected to have.

The manosphere meets them inside that confusion and offers certainty.

You are not lost because the model was incomplete.

You are lost because women changed the rules.

You are not lonely because you were never taught how to create emotional intimacy or sustain community.

You are lonely because women have become too demanding.

You are not being rejected because another person has the right to choose.

You are being denied something you earned.

That explanation can be enormously relieving because it relocates responsibility.

The man does not need to examine himself, grieve what he was taught or develop unfamiliar capacities. He does not need to ask whether he listens, whether women feel safe around him or whether his idea of partnership leaves room for another complete person.

He only needs to become more powerful.

More disciplined.

More physically imposing.

More financially successful.

Less emotional.

Less trusting.

Less willing to accept a woman’s authority over her own choices.

Pain becomes proof that someone else has wronged him. Growth is replaced by grievance.

There is nothing wrong with feeling disappointed when someone does not choose us.

Rejection hurts. Loneliness hurts. Wanting intimacy and not finding it can become a profound source of sadness, self-doubt and shame.

Men deserve compassion in that pain.

But compassion does not require us to confuse disappointment with entitlement.

No amount of self-improvement creates a debt that a woman must repay with attention, affection, sex or partnership. A man can become fitter, richer, more confident and more socially accomplished, and a woman can still say no.

Her refusal does not invalidate his work.

It confirms her autonomy.

This is where the manosphere’s promise becomes particularly dangerous. It encourages men to understand women’s choices not as independent human decisions, but as verdicts on male status.

If a woman chooses him, he has won.

If she refuses him, she has humiliated him.

If she chooses another man, that man has defeated him.

If she prefers no relationship at all, she is considered damaged, deluded or dishonest.

The woman herself almost disappears. She becomes a mirror through which men assess one another.

Her beauty elevates the man beside her.

Her sexual history affects his status.

Her rejection wounds his masculinity.

Her obedience proves his dominance.

This may look like an obsession with women, but it is often still organised around the approval of other men. The woman functions as evidence inside a male hierarchy.

The trophy wife was one expression of this. Her beauty and polish confirmed that her husband had achieved enough to possess the life she represented.

The manosphere intensifies that logic. Women become visible markers of male success, and their refusal becomes an intolerable disruption to the system.

One of the most persistent claims within these spaces is that women say they want emotionally aware or respectful men but are secretly attracted only to dominance, wealth and conventional masculine power.

There will always be individual women whose choices appear to support that story. Women are not immune to unhealthy patterns, social conditioning or attraction to status. Some women prefer traditional roles. Some are drawn to powerful men. Some participate willingly in relationships that others would not choose.

But individual preference does not restore a universal rule.

More importantly, many women are not rejecting masculinity itself.

They are rejecting the ways masculinity has been used to justify entitlement, control and emotional absence.

A woman may be deeply attracted to strength while refusing domination.

She may value confidence while disliking arrogance.

She may appreciate financial stability without wanting to be financially controlled.

She may desire masculinity without accepting misogyny.

She may enjoy being protected without being treated as property.

She may want a man who can lead in some moments and follow in others.

The problem is not that men have become insufficiently masculine.

It is that too narrow a version of masculinity has left many men unable to distinguish strength from control, confidence from certainty, desire from entitlement and protection from possession.

When women reject that version, the manosphere tells men to intensify it.

It sends them further down the path that is already failing.

I spent approximately fifty years being socialised and perceived as male. During much of that time, masculinity was strongly tied to sexual prowess.

A man’s status among other men could be shaped by whether he attracted women, how many women he had slept with and how confidently he spoke about sex. The underlying measure was often acquisition rather than intimacy.

• Could he get the woman?

• Could he keep her?

• Could he satisfy a culturally masculine performance?

• Could he tell the story afterwards in a way that elevated him among men?

Women’s greater sexual autonomy changes this calculation too.

Sexual experience does not necessarily demonstrate relational competence. Confidence without attentiveness may feel unsafe. Assertiveness without consent becomes coercive. A man can understand sexual technique while knowing very little about emotional intimacy, mutuality or how to remain present with another person.

Women are increasingly able to say that being wanted sexually is not enough if we are not respected as people.

The manosphere struggles with that distinction because it continues to treat access as the outcome. It teaches men how to obtain attention, create attraction or maintain control, but often says very little about how two people build trust, repair hurt, communicate honestly or remain emotionally connected after the performance ends.

It may teach pursuit.

It does not necessarily teach partnership.

The manosphere also promises men protection from shame.

• Do not reveal too much.

• Do not appear uncertain.

• Do not let a woman know that you need her.

• Do not apologise unless it preserves your advantage.

• Do not allow vulnerability to weaken your position.

The man is told to become emotionally unreachable so that no one can hurt him.

This can resemble strength, especially to someone who has been wounded. But emotional invulnerability does not eliminate pain. It makes pain harder to process and connection harder to sustain.

• A man who cannot name fear may express anger.

• A man who cannot admit loneliness may demand attention.

• A man who cannot tolerate rejection may attempt to punish the person who refused him.

• A man who cannot apologise may turn every conflict into a battle over who is right.

• A man who experiences tenderness as weakness may reject the very experiences that could make life less lonely.

The performance protects the image while deepening the isolation beneath it.

This is why the choice represented in the graphic for this series is not simply between a relationship and being single.

It is between isolation and belonging.

The old script promises power, but it can leave a man unable to create the intimacy, friendship and community he says he wants.

Belonging requires more than being admired.

It requires being known.

And being known requires allowing other people to encounter something real.

Social media has intensified these messages by rewarding certainty, outrage and conflict.

The man quietly learning how to communicate better is unlikely to become a viral spectacle.

The man telling millions of people that women are manipulative, men are under attack and dominance is the only answer is far more likely to attract attention.

Algorithms do not necessarily reward what helps people flourish.

They reward what keeps people watching, reacting and returning.

Fear travels.

Anger travels.

Humiliation travels.

A young man may begin with a fairly ordinary question about confidence, dating, fitness or relationships and gradually be led towards more extreme content. Each step is presented as another hidden truth.

First, he is told to improve himself.

Then he is told women only respect wealth and power.

Then that women routinely lie about what they want.

Then that equality has made relationships impossible.

Then that women must be controlled, socially restricted or returned to traditional roles.

The journey may not feel radical from inside it. It can feel like a succession of explanations finally making sense of personal pain.

That is why simply telling men not to watch these figures is unlikely to be enough. The content gives them identity, community and an explanation for their unhappiness.

Something healthier must offer more than condemnation.

It must offer belonging without requiring hatred.

Purpose without domination.

Masculinity without performance.

Accountability without humiliation.

This cannot remain a conversation only about what misogyny does to men.

Women live with its consequences.

We encounter men who believe our attention is owed to them.

Men who respond to rejection with insults.

Men who enter our online spaces to bother, harass and threaten us.

Men who interpret disagreement as provocation and confidence as arrogance.

Men who believe a relationship gives them authority over a woman’s clothing, friendships, body, movements or future.

Men who do not need to know a woman personally before deciding she should be punished for speaking.

The woman may be a partner, colleague, stranger, public figure or someone whose post has simply appeared on a screen.

She does not have to choose a man for his version of masculinity to affect her.

That is why this series became larger than a reflection on romantic relationships.

A man’s capacity for equality is revealed not only by how he treats a woman who loves him, but by how he treats a woman who owes him nothing.

• Can he respect her when she says no?

• Can he leave her alone when she does not respond?

• Can he disagree without threatening?

• Can he experience her independence without imagining it as an attack?

• Can he see a woman living visibly and freely without needing to reduce, sexualise or punish her?

This may be one of the most important tests of an enlightened man.

Can he respect a woman as an equal when there is no possibility of reward?

Whenever women describe these patterns, someone usually insists that it is not all men.

Of course it is not all men. But it is always a man.

There are men who reject misogyny, challenge one another, listen to women and work consciously to create safety. There are men who have deep emotional lives, practise accountability and understand that masculinity does not depend upon controlling anyone.

But women do not experience gendered harm statistically.

We experience it situationally.

The stranger approaching us does not arrive with evidence that he is safe.

The man replying aggressively online does not become harmless because most men would not behave that way.

The partner beginning to control small parts of a woman’s life does not announce how far the behaviour may eventually go.

Women assess risk because the cost of misjudging one man can be enormous.

“Not all men” may be factually correct, but it does not answer the pattern. It asks women to interrupt the description of what happens to us in order to reassure men who do not want to feel associated with it.

A man who has done the work does not need that reassurance at the centre of every conversation.

He can hear the pattern without insisting that his personal innocence makes it less important.

And perhaps more importantly, he can ask what role he plays in changing the culture among men.

Does he challenge the joke?

Does he question the friend who speaks about women with contempt?

Does he remain silent because disagreement would make the room uncomfortable?

Does he recognise misogyny only when it becomes extreme, or when it is still being normalised as humour, banter, conquest and male bonding?

Women cannot dismantle the culture men create with one another.

Men have to participate in that work.

One of the manosphere’s greatest deceptions is convincing men that the alternative to dominance is submission.

• Either you control or you are controlled.

• Either you lead or you are weak.

• Either women need you or you are irrelevant.

• Either you suppress emotion or you become fragile.

But human relationships are not limited to hierarchy.

A man can be powerful without using power over someone.

• He can be assertive without becoming coercive.

• He can be emotionally open without surrendering self-respect.

• He can support a woman without becoming subordinate to her.

• He can receive care without becoming dependent upon one person for his entire emotional survival.

• He can belong without possessing.

The healthier alternative is not a diminished man.

It is a more complete one.

That is precisely what the old script and the manosphere both fail to offer. They give men a narrow identity and then tell them that everything beyond it is weakness.

Authenticity becomes dangerous because it might reveal tenderness.

Emotional courage becomes weakness because it requires uncertainty.

Listening becomes submission because someone else’s perspective is allowed to matter.

Accountability becomes humiliation because the man is no longer positioned as the final authority over his own impact.

Yet these are the capacities that make belonging possible.

The manosphere asks men how to become powerful enough that women will want them.

It rarely asks whether the life it offers will make them less lonely.

• Will more dominance create deeper friendships?

• Will emotional suppression make intimacy easier?

• Will treating women as adversaries help a man build a safe and loving relationship with one?

• Will sexual conquest create the experience of being known?

• Will contempt produce community?

• Will control create belonging?

The answer seems obvious when the questions are stated plainly.

But the promise remains attractive because it protects men from something more difficult: accepting that the old job description may have failed them as well as women.

Men were taught that worth came from performance.

The manosphere tells them to perform harder.

A more hopeful path asks them to stop performing long enough to discover who they are.

That requires courage.

It requires grieving the life they were promised.

It requires taking loneliness seriously without making women responsible for curing it.

It requires building friendships, emotional language and community before expecting one woman to provide all three.

It requires seeing equality not as the reason men are suffering, but as the condition through which men might finally become free from a role that never allowed them to be whole.

The manosphere offers a return to isolation dressed as power.

The alternative is belonging.

In Part Four, I will explore what I mean by the 21st-century enlightened man: not a man elevated above women, but one who has done enough work to meet women as equals, respect them when they do not choose him and become more fully himself in the process.