They have little hope, plenty of hate and scant traces of what most would consider humanness.

Something appears to have infiltrated the minds of young men, reminding them that they should think and behave as men — men as defined not by feminists, gender benders or purveyors of wokeism, but as “real men,” restored to a state that once prevailed before reformers began to pervert what nature intended. Websites, blogs and social media apps serve as conduits for these young men to express their views, particularly their hostility toward women and the rights they have claimed in recent decades. The collective enterprise of these young men is known as the “Manosphere.”

The term itself was first used in a 2013 book The Manosphere: A New Hope For Masculinity, though its associations with misogynistic violence, sexual assault and online harassment came later.

The Manosphere seems to sit incongruously on a cultural landscape reshaped by the #MeToo movement, gender fluidity, transgender visibility and a growing commitment to diversity, inclusivity and equality — a landscape where traditional notions of masculinity were expected to evolve rather than reassert themselves. The zeitgeist appeared to be leaving behind what was once called hegemonic masculinity — an ideal emphasizing power, strength, dominance, competitiveness, emotional suppression, heterosexuality and authority over women.

So, why has the Manosphere sprung into being? Who or what is to blame? Is it genuinely threatening, or are we exaggerating its importance?

The red pill

Before I address these questions, let me clarify our subject. The Manosphere is a collection of online communities where “red pill” acolytes gather to discuss and promote what they consider to be an awakened understanding of gender dynamics and masculinity.

The term “red pill” refers to a process by which someone’s worldview is transformed, often dramatically, revealing a hidden and sometimes disturbing truth about the world. (The metaphor originates from the 1999 film The Matrix, in which a blue pill maintains a conventional conception of reality while a red pill exposes a more unsettling truth.) In cyberspace, multiple versions of reality coexist; populist politics and neo-mystical abstractions compete, offering different paths to what red pill men believe is the concealed truth about manhood.

In these spaces, like-minded young men share personal experiences, validate each other’s views and sometimes just challenge liberal or progressive narratives on sex, gender and other matters. The range of subjects up for discussion is vast. Manosphere devotees pontificate about geopolitical issues as easily as they issue personal advice.

Andrew Tate

Cultural change always stirs pushback. From the moment feminism began to gain traction in the late 1960s, the traditional conception of men as leaders, providers, protectors and breadwinners came under threat. For many men who rejected overt sexism and the strict traditional male role, sharing domestic responsibilities was acceptable. Yet, in recent years, certain figures have emerged who advocate a return to an earlier era, one in which men wielded overwhelming power and purpose.

Several prominent voices have critiqued the changing gender hierarchies and called for a reversion to traditional arrangements. The Canadian academic Jordan Peterson is influential in this space. American Paul Elam argues that “most of the discrimination is faced by men. The fact of the matter is that men are suffering.” Daryush Valizadeh, known as Roosh V, brands himself a “neo-masculinist,” and Rollo Tomassi is the author of The Rational Male. Yet, without doubt, the most influential presence in the Manosphere is Andrew Tate, the former kickboxer, who has become the most persuasive proponent of hegemonic masculinity in the digital age.

Tate has amassed a huge following of young men, all drawn to his rejection of recent cultural change and his support for a return to “traditional” values. Together with his brother Tristan, he is currently facing allegations of trafficking minors, sexual intercourse with a minor and money laundering, charges he denies. His social media presence and legal scrapes have made him a globally renowned, if notorious, figure.

The popular view is that Tate’s influence reflects the appeal of hegemonic masculinity in an era where some men feel disempowered, marginalized and adrift. His popularity also underscores the power of social media algorithms in amplifying polarizing figures and the receptivity of younger audiences searching for some sort of identity. In another era, someone like Tate might have been dismissed as a psycho-chauvinist or an unreconstructed misogynist; today, he stands as the archetypal influencer.

Tate was referenced in the Netflix series Adolescence, which dramatizes the arrest of a 13-year-old boy who fatally stabs an older schoolgirl for mocking him as an “incel” (involuntary celibate). The drama, written by two middle-aged men, seeks to raise points about the Manosphere. The boy, for instance, betrays barely concealed anger during an interview with a female psychologist and seems to harbor an understanding of sex that is dismembered from sexual attraction, feelings, intimacy or actual sexual activity.

Moral Panic?

Some might assume that Tate possesses an almost clairvoyant ability to deliver a scabrous moral lesson about liberal hypocrisy masking a “real” reality. In this respect, he resembles other gender reactionaries of the past. Yet, his ability to influence young men prompts a pertinent thought: Why are they letting him in? Or are they?

Two contradictory conclusions emerge. If young men are embracing him, it may be because they sense personal powerlessness or detachment — perhaps even experiencing isolation or estrangement from society. Stripped of male role models, possibly due to the prevalence of female-headed single-parent families, they turn to figures like Tate who promise an alternative world in which men dominate and where authenticity is reclaimed.

Conversely, if the Manosphere is not as extensive and formidable as the popular media suggests, it wouldn’t be the first time that the media’s focus on a potentially troublesome pattern of behavior has precipitated widespread fear or anxiety, spiraling into a moral panic. Historically, such apprehensions have centered on youth subcultures, Satanism and video games, among other things. Media coverage of these amplify fears until a self-fulfilling prophecy takes hold. In recent years, TikTok and cellphones have undergone similar treatments from the media. (In the UK, the reported prevalence of zombie knives precipitated a panic, resulting in a government ban on the weapons.)

It’s possible that the Manosphere is more a media figment than an actual movement. If so, we may be nurturing a fictitious monster, only to become ensnared in its myth. There is little concrete evidence to support its existence, though Tate’s hold on the popular imagination is evident in his prodigious metrics on Google searches and social media — especially on platforms like Rumble, where his content has garnered billions of views, suggesting a vast audience that likely includes many young men (YouTube banned Tate for his “hate speech” in 2022).

I have posed questions for which there are no definitive answers. There are no membership cards for the Manosphere, and few would openly identify as misogynists.

The Manosphere, like the web itself, is diffuse, pervasive and largely anonymous. It remains unclear how many of those who encounter manospheric material truly embrace its worldview. Many might be merely curious. Are they “lost boys” or bitter, hateful teenagers capable of genuine malice? Or are they phantoms, conjured by an overactive media’s imagination?

[Ellis Cashmore is the author of The Destruction and Creation of Michael Jackson, Elizabeth Taylor, Celebrity Culture and other books.]

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Fair Observer’s editorial policy.