So early this year, Mark Zuckerberg decided corporate culture needs more "masculine energy." Then Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth jumps in, saying the military—employer of 2.1 million Americans—needs to get back to a "warrior ethos." You know, aggression, athleticism, all that classic guy stuff.
But here’s where it gets weird: ICE recruits are apparently flunking basic fitness tests. And Hegseth allegedly put a *makeup room* in the Pentagon. This reminds me of my old boss who trashed a candidate for being "kind of girly," then spent his lunch breaks researching spa packages and buying floral polos online. What?
The whole masculinity thing is a mess. GQ’s 2025 survey asked nearly 2,000 American dudes to define "masculine," and they said: strong, protective, tough. Cool. But when asked how they’d *actually* want friends to describe them? Respectful, honest, responsible. So even men don’t know what masculinity means anymore—and 68% of them think about it daily.
"Guys are getting mixed signals," says Dr. Sarah DiMuccio, who researches this stuff. "Be more open and empathetic! But also: man up and be decisive!" Meanwhile, workplace leaders are pushing this narrow, kinda-toxic version of masculinity that decides who gets heard, who gets promoted, and what behaviors get a gold star. It’s costing us real money—like $15.7 billion a year in the US alone.
The performance (and the anxiety)
As a gay man, I’ve always known masculinity is basically currency. But growing up in a progressive house, I didn’t stress about it much. That changed after I got passed over for a promotion.
My manager—the floral-polo guy—had pushed me to apply, said I was perfect for it. Somehow, my being gay came up in the interview he sat in on. Afterwards, his unofficial feedback? "I think they wanted more of a sports-and-beer guy."
Can I prove it was homophobia? Not in court. But come on.
A 2022 study found that both gay and straight men prefer their gay colleagues in leadership to act masculine. Even at progressive companies, I now strategically pick when to mention my sexuality. Because work culture rewards one very specific flavor of "masculinity," and everyone else has to audition for it.
Dr. Travis Speice, a sociologist, puts it bluntly: "Sometimes it doesn't matter how *you* perform—it's other people deciding if you're acceptable." That’s why Hegseth’s Pentagon makeup room isn’t seen as contradictory. If you're already deemed the "right" kind of masculine, you can do whatever you want.
Still, says Speice: "If the performer thinks there's a social advantage, no performance is absurd."
Here’s the kicker: all this performing screws everyone over. A 2018 study called "Work as a Masculinity Contest" found that workplaces where guys are constantly trying to out-man each other are toxic as hell—full of bullying, fewer opportunities for women, more burnout, worse mental health all around.
"Success stops being about hitting targets," the study says, "and starts being about proving you're more of a man than the next guy."
Meanwhile, DiMuccio’s 2021 research found 94% of men experience "masculine anxiety"—the stress of living up to masculine expectations. But it doesn't always look anxious. "Sometimes it's bravado, competition, or just checking out," she says. Speice adds that straight guys often feel *extra* pressure to perform, terrified someone will question their "real man" card.
Tech bros: the loudest example
Right now, no industry embodies this absurdity more than Big Tech. As Zoe Bernard wrote in Vox, Silicon Valley is having a "very masculine year"—for the third year running. Zuckerberg, Bezos, and Elon Musk have ditched the hoodies for MMA training and bow hunting. They’re the poster boys for "I'm not insecure, you're insecure" masculinity.
Nick Clegg, former Meta exec, recently called the trend "cloyingly conformist," adding: "I couldn't, and still can't, understand this deeply unattractive combination of machismo and self-pity."
Dr. Peter Glick, who co-wrote the "Masculinity Contest" study, says traditional masculinity used to come with a set of privileges that some guys feel are slipping away thanks to gender equality and DEI efforts.
"We've moved into a phase of highly reactive, defensive, aggrieved masculinity," he says. "Especially among men who resent losing status, power, and a clear script for how to be a man."
DiMuccio points to the "manosphere"—that online rabbit hole of blogs and forums peddling traditional masculinity and hating on feminism. "Men are promised belonging and purpose, but it's deeply misogynistic and just doubles down on the narrow performance," she says. These spaces feed on masculine anxiety and turn it into resentment—and more posturing.
As Clegg put it: "If you're used to privilege, equality feels like oppression."
So what now?
Growing up, I never worried about seeming masculine. I credit my dad—a retired Marine colonel who, on paper, is Peak Traditional Man: tall, stoic, commanding. But his masculinity is actually nuanced. He's protective without being aggressive, confident without being loud, and never needed to prove he was "the man." He just... was a decent guy.
Maybe that's what workplace masculinity could be: a steady, grounded presence that doesn't default to toxic BS or demand everyone else play along.
DiMuccio thinks most guys know, deep down, that toxic behaviors—talking over people, overcompensating, never asking for help—kill teamwork. "But the social rewards for being seen as masculine are still so strong they override logic," she says. "We need to change what we reward as leadership and success."
Look, masculinity isn't going anywhere. It'll keep shaping who gets ahead and who gets heard. We can laugh at the hypocrisies—and trust me, they're everywhere—but the performance matters. It shapes teams, culture, and business.
Maybe recognizing it's all a bit of a game will help more guys stop playing pretend.