A flexed bicep, to me, is as symbolic of manliness as a moustache or calloused hands. It represents hard work – a ritualistic tearing of muscle in the name of growth.
What started as trying to undo the beer and takeaways of my twenties has turned into a deep respect for my body. Acknowledgment how it can synthesise lifting something up and putting it back down, over and over, into resilience and peace. I feel happier, more capable, and for the first time in my life I don’t hate what I see in the mirror.
Body building is inherently masculine – rightly or wrongly – and so therefore absolutely and entirely binned.
This mix of my new-found health and joy is at odds with what society needs me to be as a man.
How can the strength and power of my testosterone-fueled vessel co-exist with my own tenderness and sensitivity?
Where does the need for control and competition meet my delicate emotions and thoughtfulness?
Why does the world treat men with privilege yet our number one killer is ourselves?
I think a lot about what it means to be a man. And in 2024 I’ve mostly thought about muscles.
This essay is featured in our 2020-2024 book. You can buy it in the shop.
A flexed bicep, to me, is as symbolic of manliness as a moustache or calloused hands. It represents hard work – a ritualistic tearing of muscle in the name of growth.
What started as trying to undo the beer and takeaways of my twenties has turned into a deep respect for my body. Acknowledgment how it can synthesise lifting something up and putting it back down, over and over, into resilience and peace. I feel happier, more capable, and for the first time in my life I don’t hate what I see in the mirror.
Body building is inherently masculine – rightly or wrongly – and so therefore absolutely and entirely binned.
This mix of my new-found health and joy is at odds with what society needs me to be as a man.
How can the strength and power of my testosterone-fueled vessel co-exist with my own tenderness and sensitivity?
Where does the need for control and competition meet my delicate emotions and thoughtfulness?
Why does the world treat men with privilege yet our number one killer is ourselves?
I think a lot about what it means to be a man. And in 2024 I’ve mostly thought about muscles.
A flexed bicep, to me, is as symbolic of manliness as a moustache or calloused hands. It represents hard work – a ritualistic tearing of muscle in the name of growth.
I've actually thought a lot about muscles since 1996 when, one Saturday evening, I had a religious experience. An epiphany.
A vision of a naked, chiseled, Austrian man.
Arnold.
Specifically?
Terminator.
Two.
I didn’t have many male role models growing up so my understanding of “man” was made by everything that surrounded me. Films. Books. Music. Video games. And so my fascination with these larger than life characters has been a big part part of my worldview.
There is though, bear with me on this one, something deeper to Terminator 2. On the surface it is a ‘sci-fi action thriller about a robot sent back from the future to save humanity’. But it’s disguising something much more tender: the story of a troubled teenage tearaway abandoned by his mother (thanks to the State) and his father (thanks to Terminator 1). There is a juxtaposition of these men: the unstoppable killing machine and the naive boy. Perhaps an allegory about the roles of men in society: both as tools for our master’s bidding, and as scared youths.
This is the male experience.
One Saturday evening in 1996, I had a religious experience. An epiphany.
A vision of a naked, chiseled, Austrian man. Arnold. Specifically? Terminator (Two).
Being assigned “man” by the primordial goop exchanged by our parents means that we have a very volatile chemical buzzing around our bodies. It causes us to be what the world doesn’t like about men. It makes us aggressive. Competitive. It makes us do the things that our bodies do. And if unchecked it makes us dangerous.
But it is also what makes us a man.
Testosterone.
The term ‘toxic masculinity’ has dropped its prefix as if toxicity is inherent along with all of the ingredients that make it. There is a systemic devaluing of Man. The clumsy synecdoche of the ingredients and the cake. Much like the pinkwashed feminisation of Gay. The same way a love of disco and glitter means you’re a friend of Dorothy, an embrace of masculinity means you’re toxic.
This is the struggle we inherit. Society's rejection of masculinity can be tethered directly to the rise in male mental health issues. Rubbing salt into the wound of what is already happening in our bodies. When we approach 30, our testosterone starts to lower. As a result we get fat. We lose muscle. And we start to experience “low mood”. That is to say: depression.
But it doesn’t have to be that way.
We can’t fight against our masculinity but we can channel this dangerous chemical into betterment. A better idea of manliness. One in which we can balance our power with tenderness and love. Where the most flamboyantly kind and gentle man can pop a bicep in the mirror and feel proud to be strong.
OK, we can’t fight against our masculinity but we can channel it. We can channel this dangerous chemical into betterment: a better idea of manliness. Something positive. One in which we can balance our power with tenderness and love. Where the most flamboyantly kind and gentle man can pop a bicep in the mirror and feel proud to be strong.
In 2024, I’ve been making my own mind up about what it means to be a man. Coming to terms with the fact that the “men” people hate, the ones that are tweeted about, the ones that make headlines, are not really men at all.
Because I am.
I sport a moustache. Stubble. Listen to heavy metal. I love burly dudes saving the world in a vest and a “yippee ki‐yay motherfucker”. I cry at how cute my dog is. I tell my male friends I love them. I hug them tightly. I love disco music and sequins and I love muscles.
Being a man is a struggle. But perhaps it’s that struggle that makes the man.
This is the first one!
Published tomorrow!