Masked Men: Masculinity, Authenticity, and Shame
This is the first in what will (likely) be a series of posts on men and mental health. Having worked with men for years it’s clear that cultural expectations surrounding masculinity place an incredible - and potentially unnecessary - amount of pressure on men, which can lead to shame, low self-worth, and destructive behaviours. The impacts are far-reaching, so it’s worth exploring.
I want to give credit where credit’s due - I’m very grateful for Liz Plank’s book For the Love of Men. This book has been eye-opening for me and influenced a lot of what we talk about in this post, and (likely) future posts as well.
I hope you find it helpful.
A few years ago, a man named Kevin posted a picture of a stunning bright pink sunset on TikTok. The post quickly spread across social media, not because it was a good picture (all we know about Kevin is his first name and that he’s probably not a photographer), but because of the caption.
“I’m straight,” he said. “But… this is incredible.”
It prompted journalist and author Liz Plank to ask a question. “Men: what have you given up to be seen as masculine?”
It was a good question. If Kevin felt that simply liking a sunset would bring his masculinity into question, what else had men sacrificed?
It got a good response.
Men shared that they had given up art, dancing, and baking, on top of other interests and passions that seemed “too girly.” They talked about frantically skipping their favourite Adele and Taylor Swift songs when they came on in front of friends. They confessed to watching The Notebook and Titanic alone, “because I didn’t want to get chirped.”
They talked about learning not to cry at funerals, not to say “I love you” to their friends, not to hug too long or sit too close. They described swallowing anxiety, avoiding therapy, concealing their sexuality, and “toughing out” illness and injuries.
In short, a chorus of men talked about how the pressure to “man up” led them to hide parts of themselves big and small behind a mask of idealized masculinity.
The Code
It’s a trade many, if not all of us make every day.
Masculinity codes - the rigid expectations, norms, and rules about what it takes to be a man - are as influential as they are pervasive, appearing throughout history and across cultures.
According to a study from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, “males are expected to be tough, stoic, self-sufficient, ready to fight, risk-takers, demonstrably heterosexual…” (e.g. “I’m straight, but…”) “…socially and physically dominant, and in pursuit of status and power.”
Here’s the reality. Not many of us fit this bill - and we know it. In fact, nearly two thirds of men admit to not feeling “man enough.” Author bell hooks argues the number is even higher. “No male successfully measures up to patriarchal standards without engaging in an ongoing practice of self-betrayal,” she writes in her book The Will to Change.
But because masculinity codes are constantly reinforced through ridicule, bullying, and ostracization primarily - but not exclusively - by other men, that self-betrayal often feels like a necessity, or a given.
Precarious Manhood
The concept of precarious manhood says that being a man is less of a fixed identity, and more of an ongoing, moment-by-moment performance.
This means masculinity has to constantly be proven and can be lost with one wrong step, leaving little margin for error. In her book For the Love of Men, Plank writes, “even if a man squats three hundred pounds, biting into beef jerky with one hand and fighting a hungry bear with the other, his masculinity would still be put into question for ordering a drink that comes in a cosmo glass with a cherry at happy hour.”
This takes a toll. The pressure to conform to male norms - known as masculine discrepancy stress, or MDS for short - has been linked to depression, isolation, and low self-esteem, as well as poor health outcomes that stem simply from “playing through pain” and putting off seeing the doctor.
And the harm goes beyond the individual. MDS is regularly addressed by a broad spectrum of “manhood restoring” behaviours, which range from overeating pizza and refusing to recycle, to reckless drug use, risky sexual encounters, and violence of all types - including domestic abuse, suicide, and hate crimes.
That’s what makes Plank’s question so important. The potential consequences of men feeling they don't measure up to a carrot-on-a-stick standard are significant and severe, both personally and socially.
Attachment and Authenticity
It starts at a young age. “Learning to wear a mask… is the first lesson in patriarchal masculinity that a boy learns,” hooks says.
Gabor Maté says we’re born with two innate needs - attachment (connection with others), and authenticity (connection with one's self). But sometimes these are at odds, and when children learn that parts of them are unlovable and unacceptable, they will sacrifice authenticity in favour of attachment every time.
What happens if, for the sake of fitting in with the family or with a culture that doesn’t support our authenticity, we have to give up our connection to ourselves, our authenticity, for the sake of attachment? Then being inauthentic, being out of touch with ourselves, is how we survive. We’re afraid to be ourselves because we associate being ourselves with a threat of being rejected. And so this means that for the rest of our lives, we’re going to be in relationships where we’re afraid to be ourselves.
It’s easy to see how this happens with boys. Studies show that adults are more comfortable with boys holding toy guns than dolls, that we find boys’ tears “less pleasant” than girls’, and that parents feel more comfortable with “boyish” daughters than “girlish” sons.
And so the panic over fitting the male mold is passed down one generation after another, whether intentionally or inadvertently. “Because the fear of being emasculated is so potent, parents often end up pushing unhealthy ideals of masculinity on their own children because they are led to believe that this protects them,” Plank says. “Men think they are passing it down out of love, when of course not denying boys the full experience of their humanity is what truly loving them would look like.”
So boys learn quickly - from family, from school, from friends, from culture - which parts of them are acceptable, and which parts are not. They learn to mask the parts that risk rejection, and emphasize or emulate the actions and behaviours that invite love and attachment.
And here’s the worst part. It works.
But every time a boy is rewarded for following the code, the notion that parts of him are unlovable is reinforced over and over again, until it becomes a deeply ingrained belief. It's an avoidance behaviour that keeps boys safe and connected in the moment, while feeding and strengthening the belief that they are inherently inadequate.
The sad irony is that by doing this we also compromise the quality of the attachment. If connection only comes from wearing a mask, playing a role, and concealing parts of ourselves, then we can’t ever feel fully seen or valued. Is it any wonder that over 50% of men say, “no one really knows me”?
The Water We Swim In
That’s how it starts, and it quickly grows into an instinctive, unconscious response that continues throughout our lives - regardless of what we believe about gender roles.
Researchers from the University of Southern Florida asked men to braid human hair (a control group braided rope) and then offered them a choice - do a puzzle, or punch a punching bag. It’s no surprise that the punching bag was chosen over and over again - by both groups. But the men who braided hair hit significantly harder.
What’s more surprising is just how universal that response was. “The most liberal, non-homophobic men in our studies were just as uncomfortable braiding hair as those who hold very traditional beliefs about gender roles,” researchers said. “Men’s anxiety about violating the male gender role is almost like a classically conditioned response. People have no control over it.”
The truth is, idealized masculinity is so ubiquitous it’s practically invisible - this study proves it. It’s the water we swim in every day, influencing and shaping us all, regardless of whether we revere, or roll our eyes at it.
Making the Implicit Explicit
So what can you do about something this invisible and insidious?
There's no simple answer - as Plank says, “saying 'just let go of toxic masculinity' to a man is like saying 'just relax' to a person having a panic attack” - but it’s crucial to recognize the influence it has, both culturally and individually.
Idealized masculinity is an implicit script that has free reign to influence us as long as it stays under the radar. By naming it - and making the implicit explicit - we can begin to assess the impact it has on us and then decide if we want something different. We can ask what we have given up, whether it was worth it, and what we want instead.
This is a key part of narrative therapy - digging up and evaluating the cultural myths and narratives that influence us, and beginning to challenge their authority. As Chris Hoff says, change has to start with, “a clinical culture willing to name the harm, not as an indictment of men, but as an honest account of what the water has been doing to all of us.”
Getting Off Cruise Control
This gives us agency, and an opportunity. As Maté says, attachment is essential for a child's survival, so authenticity or self-expression that threatens connection simply isn’t an option for us as boys.
But as adults - and as men - we have a choice we never had as kids, and a chance to move away from shame and hiding, and towards authenticity. In other words - for all the undercover Adele fans from the intro - “We gotta let go of all of our ghosts / We both know we ain’t kids no more.”
This opens the door for more flexibility, choice, and authenticity in how we live our lives, or what Plank calls mindful masculinity. “Being mindful about our gender means we awaken ourselves to the habits and behaviors we've automatically come to identify with and choose which ones serve us and which ones don't,” she says. “At its core, it's about getting masculinity off cruise control.”
There's no doubt we risk ridicule, criticism, and being “chirped,” when we choose to ignore the code and intentionally take steps to reclaim what we've given up. But the potential trade off - better mental and physical health, deeper relationships, less shame, and a more authentic life - just might be worth it.
We can break the code, get out of the water, and drop the mask.
And you can enjoy that sunset, Kevin.
Photo by carlos aranda on Unsplash
