A Brief Return To Cringe Masculinity
Traditional masculinity is back—in politics, media, and dermatology—but it’s at odds with what Americans value and what gay men know to be harmful. Hopefully, it’s just a temporary step backward.
In the U.S., the conservative obsession with a return to traditional masculinity is the subtext to almost every topic: immigration, trade, budget, geopolitics, and, of course, the "culture war" and the anti-trans agenda.
The performative cruelty of ICE, the celebration of economic injustice, the shrugging off of Gazan or Ukrainian suffering, the persecution of trans people, or the bullying of world leaders in the White House—all are caricatures of the worst instincts of men.
With traditional masculinity, Republicans aim to celebrate traits such as stoicism, dominance, assertiveness, self-reliance, emotional restraint, competitiveness, physical strength, and protectiveness—qualities historically associated with men’s roles as providers, protectors, and leaders in patriarchal societies.
We knew that this had graduated to a political project when JD Vance told CPAC:
American culture wants to turn everybody, whether male or female, into androgynous idiots who think the same, talk the same, and act the same.
As often with this administration, it quickly veered into self-parody. First, JD encourages young men to share salacious jokes and a couple of beers. Then, Secretary Hegseth became obsessed with “restoring a warrior mentality” in the military. Last month, Politico noted in a piece on cosmetic surgery in Washington that “strong jawlines and prominent chins are de rigueur”. This week, The Economist reported that testosterone shots are out of control in the U.S.
Unfortunately, this infantile nostalgia for primitive forms of manhood has real global consequences. We’re now told that pragmatism must override empathy in war and immigration. That competition should replace collaboration in diplomacy and trade. That instinct should overrule reason—even in matters of global crisis, as The Atlantic devoted its entire August issue to the rising threat of nuclear annihilation. And that world domination is the ultimate goal.
The country feels caught between two clashing visions of masculinity: the softened, self-aware kind visible in pop culture—think Pedro Pascal, Timothée Chalamet (that Trump hopes to fight with his ridiculous “Special Ambassadors to Hollywood” program) or Lil Nas X —and the hyper-masculine version staged in Washington and Corporate America where the Trump brigade hopes militaristic cosplay will turn into never ending profits.
Pete Hegseth’s awkward pitch for U.S. 'drone dominance' last week felt like a testosterone-fueled parody - a must-see.
For a gay man of my generation, Vance and Hesgeth's antics feel regressive and threatening. Our first experience of discrimination often came as accusations that we weren’t "man enough." Usually at home—from fathers, uncles, brothers— at school from other boys, and occasionally from the women in our lives too. I’ve always thought of this as a kind of low-level conversion therapy: subtle, but with lifelong harmful consequences.
The pressure to conform to traditional masculinity often coincided with a loss of authenticity. And authenticity, I’ve come to believe, is a key ingredient in queer success. The more we lie about who we are, the less room we have to grow into who we can be.
When I was a child, my father once convinced me to change my handwriting because it was "too feminine." I went from writing in curly cursive to mimicking the stiff, linear print of a typewriter. The consequence was that I quickly gave up writing. I also deliberately deepened my voice because there was a premium on sounding like a man. I started sucking in my cheeks—a subtle habit my friend and kids now recognize as a leftover attempt to make my face look more masculine.
When I came out in the early 2000s, D.C., the pressure to conform to masculine norms only grew—this time enforced from within the gay community. Gay culture then felt like a shrine to hypermasculinity: chiseled bodies, military fantasies, and a rigid social pecking order. The remnants of that culture—captured well in Michelangelo Signorile’s books —are precisely what the administration is trying to revive with its insidious 'normal gays' narrative.
America’s obsession with masculinity also shaped my tastes in men. I started seeking a combination of rugged urban masculinity and emotional unavailability, which was a recipe for disaster. The “modern lumberjack” proved to be very difficult to live with on a daily basis. If culture has shaped my relationships, thank you for nothing.
It’s hard to know who I’d be without those early pressures. But in my thirties, my perspective began to shift. A decade connected with the Radical Faeries, the gradual softening of gay culture, and becoming a dad all helped reshape my understanding of manhood. I focused less on performing and more on becoming a better person.
In the past decade, I also saw more gay men embracing and exploring the complexity of their character through their clothing choices, expressions, and connections with one another.
Today, I believe there’s real power in embracing one’s connection to the feminine—and in checking our masculinity when it leads to endless cycles of conflict and hurting others. That belief is central to my professional work: showing that LGBTQ+ professionals bring a unique, often more emotionally intelligent, form of leadership.
It looks like most of America is on a similar journey. According to 2024 findings from the Pew Research Center, most Americans, including many Republicans, hold surprisingly progressive views on the topic. A majority believe we undervalue stereotypically “feminine” traits in men, like being caring, emotionally open, or affectionate. Meanwhile, the public largely rejects “laddish” behaviors—drunkenness, casual sex, and sexist jokes. And over half the country, including many conservatives, supports men taking on roles like stay-at-home parenting. The data suggest that while hyper-masculine imagery dominates Trump’s political theater, it doesn’t reflect how most Americans think—or live. And that’s encouraging.
At home, I watch my children and their friends freely express their emotions, play with gender expressions, show genuine empathy for their mates, and grow into responsible teens with joy, creativity, and respect. That’s a train the Republicans will have a hard time stopping.
We may not be able to stop the JD Vances and Pete Hegseths of the world from indulging in their macho cosplay—or from feeding off the insecurity and self-doubt they instill in others. But we can laugh at them—like we did watching JD Vance sprint awkwardly this week—and live as proof that there are countless ways to be a man, and none of them require oppression, cruelty, or a costume.