Machismo is now the order of the day in the White House. Tech billionaires touting their “masculine energy” as front-row guests at Donald Trump’s inauguration, Pete Hegseth using his Senate confirmation hearing to boast about the number of push-ups he did that morning, Trump’s crude remarks about being well-endowed, and now a heated exchange in place of a diplomatic meeting in the Oval Office. From a scholarly perspective on the history of masculinity, this is not a return to traditional notions of manhood: it’s a new form of masculinity entirely.
The concept of masculinity itself, of course, is not new to politics. But what sets this administration apart is how it uses masculinity for politics. Consider the format in which billionaires have pledged their allegiance to Trump, from Mark Zuckerberg’s scrapping DEI to Elon Musk changing his X handle to “Kekius Maximus.” Where these men once criticized Trump, the visible face of power in the U.S. now uses impulsion, aggression, and male egocentricity to offer him more power. All these men have one thing in common: they’ve built their reputation as disruptors, posturing themselves in opposition to traditional forms of governance. Now in government, they’re enforcing a cultural monopoly over the definition of manhood to distort the balance of power with the White House at the center, eroding democracy in the process.
In the run up to the election, Trump answered young men’s disaffection by creating space for them to feel marginalized. And he was right: young men are experiencing a divergence in educational attainment, worsening health outcomes, and an inability to find stable employment. The issue is rooted in policy failure, but young men’s anger manifests socially—fueled by a belief that women’s advancement comes at the expense of their identity and progress. This trend has emerged over the last six years, fueling a “great gender divergence” across the globe felt most strongly among Gen Z—young women report to be 30 percent more liberal than young men. As men and women polarize by blaming each other, democracy will continue to destabilize unless we use this critical juncture to open up a conversation on the future of masculinity.
Trump has weaponized the real anxieties that surround what it means to be a man in the 21st century: submit to the crushing expectations of traditional masculinity while suffering from worsening outcomes. Men are tired of being labelled as those in power, and angry that their gender identity precludes them from being seen for who they are. They’re also lonely, finding it hard to relate to women and not knowing what their place in the world is. All men are caught in the crossfire, questioning their own role in society and manhood.
Even before the new tech-bro form of masculinity emerged, the weight of traditional expectations of what it means to be a man was already causing men harm. Increased conformity to masculine norms reduces men’s ability to engage with health care providers, worsening health outcomes. Our society would benefit from a clear road map for who men can be, but one that constricts masculinity to the narrow example set by tech billionaires—and realistically one only accessible to those afforded similar opportunities—only harms men. As men are no longer encouraged to become providers, respected leaders, or community pillars, and instead pushed to follow in Zuckerberg and Musk’s footsteps, society writ large will suffer. Make no mistake:the emerging definition of manhood consolidates Trump’s power, encouraging conformity to an ideal that is out of reach.
What’s curious—and important—is how few men want masculinity to be about “risk tak(ing)” or being “physically strong.” The Pew Research Center found that 60 percent of the U.S. population want to place more value on men being “caring, open about their emotions…or affectionate.” Without a counter-narrative, we not only risk continued political divergence from women but a concept that further excludes men.
In the weeks since the election, the “your body, my choice” movement has been emboldened. Women across the U.S. are filled with fear, anger, and confusion on what the future holds for their reproductive freedom. But men, too, deserve better than the new masculinity. My research began with digging deeper into what disaffected men need and the imperative to listen to what these voters are asking for. If we fail to understand the majority, we risk having the minority with the loudest voices against women’s rights overtake the narrative.
Reclaiming what makes masculinity so endearing—its honesty, integrity and discipline—has never been more essential to the survival of our democracy. The future of masculinity is at stake, and with it, the future of democracy itself.
Alice Lassman is a researcher and policy expert on economic policy and societal dynamics, with experience at McKinsey, the UN, and the OECD, and work featured in major publications and media.
The views expressed in this article are the writer’s own.
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