The Strange History of “Toxic” Masculinity

For conservatives, the concept of toxic masculinity knocks down the virtues and ways of life they hold dear: strength, honor, duty, and bravery. Though, of course, these virtues are not the exclusive domain of men. But in the absence of these traditional manly virtues, Shapiro, Peterson, and their many followers are incapable of imagining other kinds of masculine ideals, so they cling even harder to the old ones. This looking backward to how men used to be is practically a national pastime; it’s not just MAGA Republicans who fondly remember the good old days. “I miss a dominant masculinity,” the once-liberal comedian Jerry Seinfeld confessed on a recent appearance on “heterodox thinker” Bari Weiss’s podcast. “I get the toxic thing…. But still, I like a real man.”

Stay Toxic

Today, toxic masculinity seems to be more an object of mockery than a lens of feminist critique or a tool of Mythopoetic self-reflection. On TikTok, the top videos for toxic masculinity are clips of men denying the term exists or claiming feminists don’t really know what it means. The rhetorical zip of the term has been watered down by the deluge of other toxic fill-in-the-blank phrases: toxic femininity, toxic positivity, toxic bosses, toxic relationships. If everything is toxic, what are we even talking about when we use that word, other than something we don’t like?

Like “woke,” “critical race theory,” or “politically correct” before it, the phrase is susceptible to willful misinterpretation and easily becomes a bogeyman. Yet, we still live in a world where the underlying facts about men and masculinity remain alarming. Compared with women, young men are experiencing unprecedented levels of loneliness and social disconnection, dropping out of school and the job market, and dying from preventable diseases, drug addiction and overdoses, and suicide. The violence men commit—against intimate partners, children, strangers, and themselves—is undeniable.

For some critics, the concept of toxic masculinity flattens the many layers of a complex social identity, including race, sexuality, class, and age. For this reason, some academics have come to prefer “hegemonic masculinity” or “machismo” or good old-fashioned “patriarchy.”

And yet, according to social workers and educators on the ground, the divisiveness of toxic masculinity as a phrase can be an asset. “In my experience teaching violence prevention programs over the past decade, the tensions arising from the term’s popularity and infamy are an opportunity,” says Dr. Will McInerney, a researcher at the Centre for Women, Peace and Security at the London School of Economics. McInerney believes that when handled the right way, the reaction the term provokes can lead to engagement. “It’s an entry-point for men to think more critically about masculinity, the harms associated with some versions of it, and the possibilities of more equitable, less violent alternatives.”

Many people may be hoping the idea of toxic masculinity will just go away once its biggest avatar, former president Trump, shuffles off the stage of public life. But when Trump announced JD Vance as his pick for vice president, he made sure that this culture war wouldn’t flame out anytime soon. Vance is 39, about as old as the term “toxic masculinity” itself, and his views are perhaps even more toxic than Trump’s. He has referred to Vice President Kamala Harris and other Democrats as “childless cat ladies” with no stake in the future of America, argued that women should stay with domestic abusers for the sake of their kids, and said he “would like abortion to be illegal nationally”—without exception for even rape or incest. Vance’s selection as Trump’s heir apparent is a reminder that the elderly former president is not the only standard-bearer of toxic masculinity in American politics, and that when he’s gone, others will eagerly replace him.

Ultimately, toxic masculinity is a metaphor, not a scientific theory. It encapsulates the idea that there is something poisonous about the way so many men conduct their lives, illustrating the personal and collective toll required to maintain rigid ideas of manliness. It undermines the myth that each man is an island, linking the inner lives of men with the broader social consequences of their behaviors. Most significantly, those aggressive, domineering alpha males we associate with toxic masculinity are still at the center of public life. And as long as they remain there, toxic masculinity will stand at the center of American culture.