The rise of the manosphere and its impact on American culture

How masculinity-driven media reshaped politics, entertainment, and social discourse.

Illustration by Febrina Tiara

By Novanka Laras

Last month, Mark Zuckerberg sat down with Joe Rogan, the king of podcasting, and made an unfiltered statement about American business culture. His message was blunt: It was time for corporate America to regrow its manhood.

“The corporate world is pretty culturally neutered,” Zuckerberg, the CEO of Meta, told Rogan. “A culture that celebrates the aggression a bit more has its own merits.”

He didn’t stop there. “Masculine energy, I think, is good,” he added.

At first glance, these words seemed unexpected, coming from a man long caricatured as an emotionless liberal technocrat. For much of his career, Zuckerberg delegated Meta’s day-to-day operations to Sheryl Sandberg, a champion of corporate feminism and the author of Lean In, a manifesto on women’s empowerment in the workplace. Yet here he was, openly suggesting that his world—Silicon Valley, corporate America, and perhaps the country at large—had swung too far in the opposite direction.

But was this really surprising? The statement wasn’t just a moment of candor; it was the latest sign that a growing masculinity movement had moved beyond the fringes and into the mainstream.

From digital subcultures to cultural dominance

For years, an undercurrent of masculinity-focused ideology has been brewing, mostly in digital spaces. Now, it has spilled over into politics, entertainment, and the cultural conversation at large.

Zuckerberg’s comments came just days before Donald Trump returned to the White House, where many of his supporters expected him to embody this same masculine energy. Throughout his campaign, Trump targeted young men by appearing on podcasts with massive male-dominated audiences, including The Joe Rogan Experience, Impaulsive, and This Past Weekend with Theo Von.

These podcasts are part of a vast ecosystem that has been loosely labeled the “manosphere.” The term describes a broad range of media content aimed at men, from self-improvement and fitness to combat sports and dating advice. Some of it is innocuous—motivational content, discussions on personal responsibility, and health tips—but other corners of this space embrace a more controversial ideology, including anti-feminist rhetoric and rigid gender roles.

The manosphere isn’t just an online phenomenon anymore. It has shaped a new wave of cultural and political figures, many of whom have moved beyond internet fame to real-world influence.

The diversity—and dangers—of the manosphere

Despite its often monolithic portrayal, the manosphere is not a single ideology. Like Trump’s political coalition, it is an umbrella term that covers libertarians and authoritarians, traditionalists and futurists, jocks and intellectuals.

It also ranges from the mainstream to the extreme.

At one end of the spectrum, there are figures like neuroscientist Andrew Huberman, whose wildly popular YouTube channel focuses on self-improvement, discipline, and health optimization. At the other extreme, there are men like Andrew Tate, a former kickboxer turned influencer who has openly stated that women should not have voting rights and that they bear responsibility for their own sexual assaults.

Podcasters within this space often cross-promote each other’s work, creating the impression of a unified front. Yet the reality is more complex. The manosphere is built on a foundation of shared grievances—against feminism, political correctness, and perceived societal weakness—but its individual voices vary greatly in philosophy and style.

The manosphere’s march into mainstream politics

The term “manosphere” once referred to niche online communities, particularly those focused on extreme anti-feminist ideologies. Spaces like the “incel” (involuntary celibate) forums, pickup artist communities, and men’s rights activists were seen as digital backwaters of bitterness and resentment.

No longer.

Today, the influence of this movement extends well beyond the internet. The most visible moment of its mainstream arrival was Trump’s 2025 inauguration. Among his high-profile guests were combat sports legends like Conor McGregor and UFC president Dana White, YouTube influencers like Logan and Jake Paul, and even Elon Musk—whose social media platform X (formerly Twitter) has become the ideological home of many manosphere figures.

This moment made one thing clear: What was once a subculture has now fully entered the halls of power.

The cycles of masculinity and backlash

The resurgence of male-focused media isn’t a new phenomenon. Masculinity, as a cultural force, has ebbed and flowed throughout American history, often in response to gains made by feminism.

Susan Faludi’s 1991 book Backlash: The Undeclared War Against American Women argued that American culture follows a predictable cycle. When women make progress, a counter-movement inevitably arises to reassert male dominance.

We’ve seen this pattern before.

• In the 1960s and 70s, second-wave feminism pushed for workplace and educational equality. By the 1980s, the “men’s rights” movement emerged, claiming that divorce laws, alimony, and custody battles unfairly favored women.
• In the late 1980s and 90s, political correctness and workplace harassment laws reshaped gender interactions. This was met with a wave of hyper-masculine, anti-feminist entertainment—think Howard Stern’s shock-jock radio, The Man Show on Comedy Central, and the rise of crass “lad mags” like Maxim.
• By the 2010s, feminism had become a dominant cultural force again, popularized through #MeToo and mainstream media. As a counter, figures like Jordan Peterson, Joe Rogan, and Barstool Sports built massive audiences by promoting traditional masculinity.

The current moment is just another iteration of this pattern—only now, the manosphere is bigger, more sophisticated, and more politically connected than ever.

Why liberals struggle to counter the manosphere

Faced with this growing influence, many liberals and feminists have scrambled for a response.

Some argue that the left needs its own version of Joe Rogan—a populist, countercultural voice that appeals to young men. Others attempt to offer “manosphere alternatives,” such as progressive self-improvement content.

But these strategies often miss the core appeal of the manosphere. Its success is built on rebellion. It thrives on being the counterpoint to mainstream narratives about gender and identity. Any attempt to create a “progressive manosphere” runs the risk of feeling inauthentic, failing to capture the raw energy that has propelled figures like Rogan and Tate to global fame.

Another challenge is the broadness of the manosphere itself. Its content ranges from fitness tips to misogynistic rhetoric, making it difficult to analyze—or counteract—without overgeneralization. Is listening to Andrew Huberman’s advice on sleep and nutrition the same as embracing Andrew Tate’s views on women? Should we view Theo Von’s comedy podcasts through the same lens as explicitly political manosphere influencers?

By lumping together all male-oriented content as part of a problematic movement, critics risk pushing more people toward it.

What comes next?

The manosphere is not going away. If anything, its influence will only grow as it solidifies its place in mainstream media and politics.

However, history suggests that no cultural wave lasts forever. Just as previous masculinity surges eventually faded—replaced by more inclusive or balanced perspectives—this one will also hit its limits.

The real question is what happens next. Will we see a more nuanced understanding of gender and masculinity emerge from this debate? Or will the manosphere continue to push cultural and political conversations toward further polarization?

For now, one thing is certain: The battle over masculinity is no longer just an online phenomenon. It’s shaping the future of American culture in real time.