Masculinity, Remixed

Strength, sensitivity, and the battle over what it means to be a man

At one of those dinners where we have just enough wine to open up but not enough to make us careless, a friend mentioned that his son was struggling with what it means to be a white man today. I resisted initially, thinking that after centuries of advantage males suffering some confusion might not be a bad thing. But his genuine concern stayed with me and nagged for a deeper look.

A few weeks later at another dinner, I raised this question about how men define masculinity today. My friend Jess, a traditionally successful older man, surprised me by saying, “At least men today have a choice.” He went on to explain that when he was growing up in Erie, PA masculinity came with tight boundaries and little tolerance for personal expression.

These two conversations, both led by men I consider to be among the best I know, imply a stark choice: young men can accept unprecedented freedom to choose their “brand” of masculinity and deal with the anxiety that causes, or they can retreat to the relative safety of a conventional, but more rigid, definition.

Photo by Tim Mossholder on Unsplash

The Expanding Universe of Male Identity

Like Jess, when I was growing up men could have different personalities and appearances, but they all more or less conformed to a stereotype. My father was a coach and our house attracted males like other homes collect dust. All of them were reliably brave, protective, strong, and stoic. Occasionally one showed up who was funny or notably smart, but generally those who deviated from the standard mold were quickly labeled pussies, nerds, or both.

Fast-forward a few decades and we have what biologists might recognize as “adaptive radiation” of the male species — a rapid diversification of types expanding the definition of what it means to be a man. The leading edge of this transformation has shown up in one industry after another.

Entertainment moved beyond the archetypal rugged or suavely sophisticated leading man, and now offers a wide range of more dimensional male characters. Ted Lasso showcases a warm, emotionally intelligent coach, while Schitt’s Creek serves up the stylish, neurotic, and openly pansexual David Rose. In real life, the actor Timothée Chalamet combines vulnerability, fluidity, and emotional expressiveness with an overt ambition usually associated with brute force.

As hyper-macho rappers age out, Kendrick Lamar reshapes their image into something more sophisticated and introspective, while performer Harry Styles embraces a non-conformist approach to gender and identity. In business Tim Cook, an openly gay CEO, quietly steers Apple to unprecedented value, while Satya Nadella reshapes Microsoft with a management style rooted in collaboration and void of drama.

Sports have not shied away from this phenomenon. The performative bravado of professional athletes has given way to the quieter substance of Steph Curry, whose playfulness, humility, and deep family ties redefine what it means to be a super star. Formula 1 racer Sir Lewis Hamilton and football player Travis Kelce are likewise revamping the boundaries of masculine behavior, even in sports notoriously hidebound.

This surge of visible models grants men greater autonomy in shaping their identities, freeing them from restrictive scripts. Yet paradoxically, this very freedom seems to breed angst, especially among young men who find the path to manhood no longer simple.

Women faced a similar reckoning in the 1970s and ’80s, but their expanded choices emerged more gradually, allowing time for adaptation and a slower proliferation of role models. Men have more choices, less time, and potentially greater risk of failure. Their anxiety is merited.

Too Many Options, Too Much Pressure

We celebrate choice in America, equating it with independence and opportunity. A wider selection means more chances to find the right fit. But psychology tells a different story. When faced with too many choices, we often freeze up or retreat to what feels safe and familiar.

This “choice paralysis” shows up everywhere. Walk into a grocery store with 40 versions of granola, and you might leave with none. Ask someone to pick a movie from thousands available and they’ll likely rewatch an old favorite. The same dynamic applies to identity, but with far greater consequences.

Pretend you’re a 15 year old boy stepping into a crowded room, surrounded by a dizzying variety of masculinity. At one end stands the old-school cowboy — a man of few words but decisive action. Nearby, an affectionate father soothes his toddler while casually discussing therapy. Across the room, a startup founder, clad in a hoodie, preaches hustle culture, while a fitness influencer flexes in the corner, touting testosterone levels and primal instincts. A group of men in well-tailored suits trade financial advice, while another group garbed in beachwear trade surf stories.

Each of these men looks at you and says, “This is what a real man is.” And you are expected to choose.

Granola selection has low stakes. If you don’t like it, you try a different one. But identity isn’t so simple. The apprehension doesn’t just come from the expanded choice set. It also comes from the fear that choosing wrong commits you to a life path you may not be able to change later. The wrong choice can mean losing respect, feeling like an imposter, or facing rejection from the communities that once felt like home.

Young girls face a similar dilemma, but one of the advantages females retain is permission to change — repeatedly. I can’t tell you how many young female friends of mine have “experimented” with being lesbian or bi, with no qualms about reversing that decision later. Likewise, I have girlfriends who started as artists and became startup entrepreneurs, or at-home moms who became doctors later in life, or athletes who became authors.

Women who change are viewed as flexible or emotionally in tune, while men who shift their opinions or behavior are often criticized as undisciplined or indecisive.

The Political Battle for Best Man

This new “awakening” of male possibilities would be difficult under normal circumstances, but it’s particularly difficult when the richest man in the world is walking around with a chainsaw, 13 children with 4 different baby mammas, and a company that makes rocket ships. He’s accompanied by a phalanx of similar uber males including Pete Hegseth (“you can’t shoot values”), Dan Bongino (“my goal is to own the libs”) and of course President Donald Trump. All are emphasizing a return of male energy.

The appeal of these old world masculine models isn’t just in their policies or even their personality — it’s the clarity they offer. There’s no ambiguity in their world, no nuanced choices about identity or expression. Real men are strong, decisive, and uncompromising. They don’t apologize, they don’t show weakness, and they certainly don’t wear dresses. They don’t even wear beige suits.

Politicians who openly welcome or model new male identities exist. Pete Buttigieg certainly fits that role as does John Fetterman, but they are singular characters, with no posse of followers. They are not familiar choices with a long history of acceptance. There’s no safety in copying them.

Today’s political strongman model offers an easy-to-follow script, shielding men from the discomfort of forging their own path. The promise isn’t just political; it’s personal. Follow me, the message goes, and never question your masculine identity again. You’ll always have highly visible role models leading the way who you can emulate unthinkingly.

There’s comfort in that clarity, even if it comes at the cost of a newly gained freedom.

The Price of Certainty

Reverting to narrow definitions of masculinity might ease anxiety, but it exacts steep personal and societal costs.

Relationships suffer first. Men who adopt inflexible masculine roles often struggle to form deep connections, particularly with other men. They might have drinking buddies or workout partners, but genuine friendship requires vulnerability — one of the many “soft” qualities traditional masculinity rejects.

Inflexible masculine codes also undermine mental health. Here the statistics speak volumes: traditional men are far less likely than women to seek help for depression, anxiety, or emotional distress. The “real men don’t cry” mentality doesn’t prevent pain — it just ensures men face it alone.

Career limitations present another hidden cost. Traditional masculine ideals emphasize dominance and competition, traits increasingly at odds with modern workplace demands. Companies now prize emotional intelligence, collaborative skill, and adaptability — capabilities often underdeveloped in men trained to be authoritative.

Perhaps most concerning is how a constrained version of masculinity perpetuates itself. Men who feel pressured to maintain tough exteriors often become harshest with their sons, pushing them toward the same limiting standards. This creates what sociologists call generational trauma — emotional damage passed down through teaching young men to deny core parts of themselves.

What Will They Choose?

In a world with wicked problems, we need men who embrace nuance, lead with compassion, excel in creative problem-solving, and play well with others. We need leaders who can listen attentively, acknowledge uncertainty, and adapt to shifting realities. Most importantly, we need men secure enough in their own identity to allow others to define masculinity on their own terms.

Perhaps a 15 year old boy would be less intimidated by new models of masculinity if he thought of it as an expansion pack, similar to the extra content offered with video games that adds new levels, characters, storylines, and more to keep things fresh. He could think of the various options as bonus features rather than existential decisions. Go ahead, try out the chainsaw mentality, then later switch to a choice supporting more articulate communication. It would be less about rejecting traditional masculine virtues, and more about integrating new ones into a more complete and mature human experience.

Will men resist the siren song of macho politicos and learn to embrace a more free-form self-definition? I don’t know. Despite my name, I’m not a man anatomically or any other way. When I wrote about women’s identity, I spoke from deep experience. Here I’m only able to speculate.

I recognize that the pull of a simplified and traditional identity is strong, especially in uncertain times, and especially when we’re being served a daily dose of hyper masculine figures and messages. But I also see the immense value in giving men room to explore who they are. I’m betting on 15 year old boys who want more freedom, not less.

Your Turn

As I noted, this is not a field where I have any deep, intuitive sense, other than that I truly like men. So I’m hoping to learn from the men in my life and my audience. Maybe we all can.

1. If you’re a man, how do you define masculinity or is it irrelevant to you?

2. What value, if any, is there in defining males and females differently?

3. Are there masculine values you don’t personally admire, but feel are important to allow others to embrace if they want?

4. If you were a 15 year old boy, what new options of masculinity would you want to try out?

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