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Find yourself in almost any conversation about masculinity today, and you’ll hear the same concerns: young men are lonely, angry, confused about their place in society, and increasingly drawn towards online spaces that feed resentment. But one uncomfortable truth underpins many of these issues; the homophobia woven into our culture is less about sexuality and more about punishing anything seen as feminine.
The point came up in two recent podcast conversations, one between Zack Polanski and Jordan Stephens, another between Jimmy the Giant and Jordan, where they reflected on how boys are raised. What they described is something many of us already know instinctively: that from a young age, boys are taught to fear softness, to keep their emotions at bay, to laugh off vulnerability, and to avoid anything that might be read as “feminine,” because femininity is still perceived as a downgrade.
Homophobia becomes the tool that enforces this. Not simply by targeting queer people, but by policing the boundaries of acceptable masculinity. A boy who cries, shows affection, or enjoys things unconventionally “for boys” can find himself mocked, isolated, or shamed before sexuality even enters the picture.
It is a repackaged form of misogyny.
The consequences are visible everywhere. Data from the UK and US shows young men are now among the loneliest groups in society. In fact, a quarter of men aged 15-34 in the US report feeling lonely “a lot,” and several British studies show millions of men experience weekly or even daily loneliness.
This emotional recession creates perfect conditions for the manosphere, a growing ecosystem of online influencers who promise belonging while feeding misogyny, anti-LBGTQ sentiment and a narrow, combative idea of masculinity. When boys are denied emotional skills and safe relationships, it’s easy for resentment to slip in and harder for them to build meaningful connections with anyone, including other men.
When you strip men of their emotional vocabulary, you leave them with only anger, withdrawal, or bravado. The repercussions are playing out right before us.
To understand how cultural expectations shape this dynamic differently, it is useful to look at the Philippines. In this country, LGBTQ+ rights remain unprotected on paper, yet gay men are highly visible in everyday life.
There’s a paradox here. In many Filipino communities, the “bakla,” often flamboyant, witty, and expressive, is welcomed. Gay men host TV shows, style celebrities, run beauty pageants and bring life to neighbourhood events. Their femininity isn’t hidden, but a part of the vibrant texture of Filipino culture.
But acceptance comes with conditions.
The warmth tends to last only as long as gay men stay within certain roles: the funny one, the stylish one, the beautician, the performer. These are forms of femininity that entertain and comfort, but don’t challenge. Step outside that, demand legal protections, push for political power, or simply be serious, and the tone switches.
It’s a harsh reminder that visibility doesn’t mean equality. A society can celebrate femininity in men and still deny them rights.
That, then, is the link with Western homophobia; both systems, one through overt hostility, the other through conditional tolerance, stem from the same belief that femininity must be controlled, contained, and kept in its place.
The policing of gender hasn’t stayed online or in cultural norms. It’s now shaping politics.
Across the UK and US, right-wing movements are capitalizing on the panic around masculinity. Figures like Donald Trump and political parties such as Reform UK rely heavily on nostalgic appeals to a “lost” traditional manhood. They frame feminism, LGBTQ+ rights, and even mental health conversations as threats to male identity.
Young men who are isolated or struggling are particularly vulnerable to this message. When society doesn’t give them a healthy model of masculinity, reactionary politics offers them a caricature: assertive, aggressive, unapologetic, unemotional. This is a construction of masculinity sustained by insecurity and an aversion to the feminine.
Misogyny draws them into the ideology, homophobia cements their allegiance, and everyone loses.
Men lose the ability to form deep friendships, express themselves, or ask for help. Women take the blow of resentment and violence from men who never learnt how to process feelings of rejection, disappointment, or vulnerability. Queer people are blamed for “changing” masculinity or “undermining” tradition. And communities’ fracture as anger replaces connection.
This isn’t a crisis of circumstance; it is a crisis by design. It’s built on decades of telling boys that femininity is shameful and emotion is weakness.
If we stopped teaching boys to fear softness, we’d see a different world: fewer lonely men, fewer angry and radicalized young people, fewer women harmed by men who were never given space to feel, and fewer queer people used as scapegoats for society’ anxieties.
The answer is not to scrap masculinity; it is to widen it. Emotional honesty, tenderness, and vulnerability aren’t “feminine;” they’re human. And the more space we give men to be fully human, the stronger our relationships and communities become.
Allowing men to feel again isn’t a threat to society, it’s how we start repairing it.
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