The Manosphere Didn’t Create the Problem. It Exploited It.

We won’t solve the crisis facing young men by pretending it doesn’t exist—or by handing it over to people willing to profit from it.

I recently watched one of the Surrounded debates on YouTube. The format is simple: one person stands in the middle while twenty opponents challenge their views. In this case, the guest was surrounded by self-identified members of the manosphere.

Watching the discussion made me realize that there are really two conversations happening whenever people talk about the manosphere. One is about what its followers believe. The other is about why movements like it exist in the first place. Those are not the same conversation, and I think we often skip over the second one.

The uncomfortable truth is that the manosphere did not invent a crisis among young men. It found one.

For generations, we’ve done a remarkably poor job of helping boys become healthy, emotionally mature men. Too often, fatherhood has been defined by emotional distance, harsh discipline, verbal aggression, or outright neglect. Many men simply pass down the parenting they experienced themselves, reproducing unhealthy patterns without ever questioning them.

We can—and should—do better.

Young people naturally look for models of the adults they hope to become. Girls have access to countless books, organizations, mentors, and discussions exploring identity, confidence, relationships, and personal growth. Boys have far fewer healthy resources devoted specifically to answering the question, “What does it mean to become a good man?”

That answer doesn’t require rigid gender roles. It doesn’t require teaching boys that they have to be dominant, stoic, or unemotional. In fact, quite the opposite. We need guidance that translates universal virtues—integrity, courage, responsibility, empathy, discipline, humility—into language and examples that resonate with young men as they grow into adulthood.

Instead, we often leave them to figure it out alone.

And nature hates a vacuum.

Whenever there is uncertainty about identity, someone will find a way to monetize it. In a capitalist society, insecurity is a market opportunity.

That is where the manosphere enters the picture.

Many of its most influential figures begin with a premise that feels emotionally satisfying to insecure young men: You are not the problem. Someone else is. Often that “someone else” is feminism, women generally, or modern society.

That message is comforting because it removes the burden of self-reflection. Instead of asking, “How can I become a better man?” the question becomes, “Who is keeping me from succeeding?”

The answer is always external.

But maturity begins the moment we stop assuming our problems originate somewhere else.

That doesn’t mean society has no role in shaping outcomes. It absolutely does. But personal responsibility and social responsibility are not opposites. Healthy people learn both.

Unfortunately, we rarely teach that balance.

Instead, boys hear phrases like “boys will be boys,” excusing behaviors that should be corrected rather than normalized. We dismiss emotional struggles, discourage vulnerability, and often fail to provide positive models of masculinity. Into that void step charismatic personalities who speak with certainty.

The Tate brothers are perhaps the most obvious example, but they are far from alone.

They don’t simply sell advice. They sell identity.

Follow this blueprint. Think this way. Reject these people. Buy these courses. Join this community. Become this kind of man.

For many young men searching for direction, certainty is irresistible.

Their wealth and visibility reinforce the illusion that they have discovered some hidden truth about masculinity. In reality, much of the ecosystem resembles a sophisticated marketing funnel, where confidence itself becomes the product.

That is why simply mocking the manosphere has never been an effective strategy.

If young men are looking for purpose, confidence, and belonging, they will not abandon one community unless they are offered something better.

This is where I think many critics miss the point.

The conversation shouldn’t revolve around proving the manosphere wrong. It should revolve around making it unnecessary.

That means offering an alternative vision of masculinity that is every bit as confident but grounded in accountability instead of resentment. It means showing boys that strength includes emotional maturity, that confidence includes humility, and that leadership begins with self-discipline rather than domination.

The challenge, of course, is communication.

One thing I appreciated about the Surrounded discussion was watching Mark Manson navigate that tension. Rather than trying to embarrass the people around him, he seemed more interested in creating moments where they might question their own assumptions. That’s often a far more effective approach than simply declaring someone wrong.

At the same time, I think that strategy comes with a tradeoff. When you spend too much time speaking within someone else’s worldview, you can unintentionally soften your own. Empathy is valuable, but clarity matters too. It’s possible to understand why young men are drawn to these movements without minimizing the damage many of their ideas cause.

That’s the balance we should be aiming for.

If we want fewer boys growing into angry, isolated men, we have to give them something worth growing toward. We need examples of healthy masculinity that are compelling enough to compete with the certainty offered by online influencers.

Because the manosphere isn’t thriving because it has all the answers.

It’s thriving because, for too many young men, everyone else stopped asking the questions.

For this post, I used AI (specifically ChatGPT) to format my dictated thoughts into a blog-type format. Also, the Surrounded episode I’m referring to is available here.