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The Optimization Imperative: Looksmaxxing & the Collapse of Inherent Worth

Updated: Apr 9

by Erin Sweeney for The 44 North, Second-Place Winner of our Inaugural Essay Contest


Artwork by Logan Brewer
Artwork by Logan Brewer
"Looksmaxxing offers something seductive here: a concrete explanation for inexplicable pain."

“Is it over for me?” In the exposing glow of a bathroom mirror, a young boy meticulously picks apart his facial features with surgical precision. Canthal tilt? Negative. Jawline? Insufficiently defined. Cheekbones? Too low. He has spent the day scrolling through posts where other young men share before-and-after transformation photos, amateur surgical tips, and elaborate routines under the false guise of transforming them into a version finally worthy of love. This is looksmaxxing, and it’s not your ordinary internet trend, but far more detrimental. It’s the consequence of a society that has convinced an entire generation that their worth, instead of being inherent, must be earned through an endless cycle of self-improvement, that belonging is conditional on meeting endlessly evolving standards of “perfection.”


Looksmaxxing refers to the systematic pursuit of physical attractiveness through numerous means, from skincare routines and fitness regimens to extreme cosmetic procedures such as orthognathic (facial bone) surgery. This term, originating in online male communities, frames appearance enhancement as a strategic “maximization” problem that can be solved through physical optimization. While levels distinguish between non-invasive “softmaxxing” and surgical “hardmaxxing,” the underlying philosophy remains consistent: physical appearance is a

variable to optimize one’s romantic and social success (Farrell).


The phenomenon exploits fundamental human psychology. We are, by evolutionary design, constant comparison machines. Our ancestors survived by assessing where they stood within stable communities of around 150 people, according to Dunbar’s number in anthropology.


Today, that same instinct faces an impossible feat: comparing ourselves to a curated algorithmic feed of millions (Collins).


Dating apps have weaponized this vulnerability, transforming romantic connection into a gamified meritocratic marketplace where first impressions occur in milliseconds (Cobb). A young man opens Tinder and immediately begins collecting rejections. These apps quantify what was once mysterious—attraction and desirability—transforming connection into data. Match rates, response times, read receipts. When rejection becomes numerically visible, insecurity doesn’t just seep in; it devours.


Social media intensifies this through “upward social comparison”: our tendency to measure ourselves against those who seem better off (VerPlanck). Instagram learns which idealized faces and bodies hold your attention and dispenses them relentlessly. Each scroll reinforces a brutal narrative: they have what you lack. Comparisons are always unfair: your lived reality against someone’s crafted illusion.


The digital world isn’t only a space for comparison—it exacerbates isolation, breeding what has become known as the male loneliness epidemic. Nearly 1 in 5 men now claim they don’t have close friends (Holcombe). Without anyone to remind you that you give great advice or your presence makes their day, the ruthless cycle spirals endlessly. Isolation powers comparison to unrealistic standards, which convinces you that your looks are the problem, driving you deeper into reclusive, insecurity-driven self-improvement instead of reaching out for an actual human connection.


Looksmaxxing offers something seductive here: a concrete explanation for inexplicable pain. If you’re lonely and don’t know why, the uncertainty is agonizing. However, if you can point to your “negative canthal tilt,” suddenly, chaos has order. The forums provide a taxonomy of flaws, transforming nebulous suffering into specific problems with specific solutions. You can’t fix broader socioeconomic forces driving loneliness, but you can spend six hours doing facial exercises and measuring progress, believing you’re building towards the moment you’ll finally be enough.


What makes this sinister? The vulnerability of who gets targeted. It’s happening in plain sight, actively flooding millions of feeds. These communities—the manosphere and toxic incel subcultures—don’t just happen to stumble upon vulnerable young men by accident. They actively prey on them, targeting boys at their lowest, often in adolescence, when their bodies and identities are still growing. A 14-year-old whose face isn’t fully developed is told his natural bone structure has already sealed his romantic fate. These communities offer what seems like solidarity and answers precisely when young men are desperate for both, then gradually introduce more extreme ideologies alongside the facial measurements. What begins as skincare advice can become a pipeline into misogyny, radicalization, and deepening isolation: the very opposite of the connection these young men actually need (Rosdahl).


Women have always lived this way. They have been “looksmaxxing” for centuries, though we called it something else: beauty routines and feminine self-care. The crucial difference is not only in the attribution of blame but in the stakes themselves. For women, appearance has never been optional. It has been the primary currency of social value, the prerequisite for basic respect and dignity. A conventionally “unattractive” woman faces systemic devaluation: dismissed in professional settings, rendered invisible socially, treated as if her failure to be beautiful is a moral crime. Meanwhile, a balding, “unattractive” man can still command authority and be taken seriously as an intellectual. His worth is assumed; hers has to be proven physically through her face and body.


Patriarchy works exactly like this. It controls women by linking their value to their appearance, then profits off their efforts to meet unattainable ideals. The mental health consequences have been dire. Eating disorders are the deadliest of any psychiatric illness, with about 90% of cases reported in women (Clerkin). The dramatic increase in depression and anxiety in girls can be attributed to appearance-related social pressures, but this lifelong pain and suffering has instead been normalized and even glamourized. “Beauty is pain,” we hear as if starvation is a coming-of-age ritual instead of a mental health crisis.


When women engage in elaborate beauty practices, they do so under crushing systemic necessity. The narrative whispers that if they’re alone or overlooked, they simply haven’t tried hard enough. The blame curves inward, becoming a lifetime of shamefully monitoring their own acceptability. They internalize a system designed to diminish them.


Many men approaching looksmaxxing operate from a fundamentally different position. They have not been taught that their entire social value depends on their appearance. Rather, they’re experiencing perhaps their first sustained encounter with the appearance-based judgment women experience daily. Instead of turning critique inward, they externalize it, constructing theories about female “hypergamy” (Whitney). The forums seethe with resentment towards women framed as obstacles rather than fellow human beings facing impossible standards.


This distinction matters. Women face systemic oppression that strips them of dignity and opportunity. Many men in these spaces are facing romantic disappointment, which is indeed painful but not the same as having one’s fundamental value questioned. The anger stems from entitlement, believing they deserve romantic access. When it’s not granted, they blame women rather than questioning the transactional way they’ve been taught to view relationships. While both internalization and externalization lead to suffering, externalization has contributed to concerning patterns of misogyny and gender-based violence (Patel).


Looksmaxxing is merely one manifestation of what we might call the optimization imperative: a cultural belief that human worth must be perpetually earned, measured, and improved. In society, every aspect of existence has become a spot to enhance: sleep, diet, and even social skills are subjected to relentless improvement.


This ideology rests on a dangerous premise: that we must become worthy of love and belonging rather than possessing these rights inherently. When worth is conditional, the target inevitably moves. The teenager measuring his canthal tilt will be measuring something else tomorrow, because the problem was never how he looked. The problem is the belief he needs to earn his place through ceaseless self-transformations.


Recent research makes this clear. Rates of anxiety, depression, and suicidal ideation among young people have boomed (World Health Organization). When existence becomes a performance for worthiness, the pressure becomes excruciating. The impacts go beyond individual suffering. Lonely young men become easily pushed towards radicalization and extremist ideologies offering simple answers to complex problems (Santa Cruz), creating a culture built on resentment in which misogyny flourishes. Meanwhile, women navigate impossible standards while bearing additional burdens of discrimination. The optimization culture doesn’t discriminate in its cruelty but simply distributes damage differently. Perhaps most tragically, the optimization imperative prevents the very connections it ostensibly serves. When we view relationships as transactions, only showing the best version of ourselves, we eradicate the potential of truly being known. For intimacy, we need vulnerability to embrace who we are, even with doubts and flaws.


After everything, there is hope. It’s not some faint dream, but change already happening right here. Conversations are shifting: body neutrality, believing your body is a tool for living, not an object to perfect, has now become mainstream discourse (Sreenivas). Millions of young people are seeing these ideas right when they’re most vulnerable to the optimization trap, now understanding that their worth isn’t debatable before the lie has fully solidified.


The research speaks volumes. The Harvard Study of Adult Development found a truth of beautiful simplicity after nearly 80 years of tracking its subjects’ lives: the quality of one’s relationships is a far better predictor of happiness and longevity than appearance, achievement, or material success ever could be (Mineo). Couples who were happily together after many years weren’t the ones who had the best wedding pictures, but the ones who built genuine intimacy through vulnerability, not transaction. If connection triumphs appearance, why believe the lie?


Online spaces are fragmenting in interesting ways. Yes, toxic forums still exist and continue to prey on vulnerable young men. However, positive communities are rising equally as strong. Content creators have built audiences around authenticity: no filters, discussing therapy and medication transparently, and sharing actual struggles. Fitness influencers now expose how lighting, angles, and hormonal changes drastically affect our appearance, showing even those with visible abs have belly rolls when they sit down, breaking myths that people stay “chiselled” every second. These aren't minority creators; they’re reaching millions of the same algorithmically vulnerable teenagers that the manosphere targets, offering a different story: being human was never about being “perfect.”


Some of this hope is institutional. Even schools here in Canada are incorporating media literacy into their curriculum to educate children on how algorithms use insecurity for profit (Johnson), with other Canadian organizations dedicated to upholding this, such as MediaSmarts, which educates students to critically analyze digital platforms. Policy is also moving forward to make a change. This includes legislation in the United Kingdom that has banned the advertising of cosmetic surgery targeting minors due to potential concerns about body image and mental health (Gruet). Influencers must also disclose photo editing in commercial posts to combat unrealistic beauty standards under Norwegian law (Grant). These measures won’t solve everything, but they do recognize something important: individual effort alone doesn’t stand a chance in billion-dollar industries whose main goal is to profit off of insecurities.


Although the real change happens privately: therapy sessions and group chats. People

have been realizing a key truth: There’s no such thing as “reaching a full physical potential” that

will finally make one acceptable.


This realization is contagious. Each person who breaks free weakens the system because the optimization imperative is artificially constructed. It only works if people believe in it, and increasingly, they don’t.


The path forward requires rejecting the premise entirely. We must learn to recognize the optimization imperative’s promises as lies. Building lives rich with meaning beyond appearance, pursuing passions, and creating genuine connections can offer liberation. Together, we must demolish systems that profit from insecurity while teaching young people that their worth is inherent, not earned, to create space for authentic connection.


The young man in front of his mirror, asking, “Is it over for me?” deserves an answer: No. It’s not over. It never was. His canthal tilt is irrelevant to his capacity for kindness. His jawline has no impact on his worthiness of connection. The person he already is, uncertain, searching, imperfect, is enough. The young woman, exhausted from monitoring her appearance, deserves to reclaim that energy for what actually fulfills her. This requires courage to be imperfect, to be vulnerable.


They both deserve liberation from the belief that worth must be earned. That liberation is becoming inevitable, not through optimization, but through recognizing that optimization was never necessary at all.

About the Author

Erin Sweeney is a youth advocate passionate about political literacy and confidence. As the founder of the global youth initiative Diplomatic Drop (@thediplomaticdrop) and a core team member of Let’s Change Confidence, a Plan Canada movement, she is dedicated to empowering young people around the world. Erin aspires to study law in the future.

Connect with Erin on LinkedIn & Instagram @itserinsweeney


References

Novel Idea: How Fiction Helps Us See Ourselves & Others

By Hailey Hechtman for The 44 North

Contributing Writer


The words of a Spanish novel spilling onto a desk
The words of a Spanish novel spilling onto a desk
“It’s in fiction that we find pieces of ourselves yet to be discovered, that we recognize our own humanity in the eyes of figures expressed in words and alive through our imagination.” ​​​​

I’m curled up on the couch, a book in my hand, blanket over my outstretched legs, a cup of tea on my side table, and music playing off the T.V. with some digitally rendered image of a bookstore in New York City.


I feel present for one of the few moments in my day.


Every other second, my mind is occupied with the rustling, restless thoughts that come with being a person in 2026; the distractions of the world and my day taking hold of the little attention I can muster up these days. Yet, for those hours enthralled in a story—with a central or series of characters that I don’t need to rescue, a setting that feels distant yet familiar, a plot I can follow and fumble through with the urge to know yet not the need to fix—I’m captivated.


Sometimes it’s a thick literary fiction spanning decades of family saga or interweaving relationships; others, it’s a historical reimagining, inviting me into the point of view of someone long lost or never having lived at all, in a time that I can only picture through the page. In other cases, it’s a translated work, cultivating insight into a cultural perspective that feels emotionally close yet contextually distant. In rare cases, on an evening of deep freeze in January, it’s a fantasy—complete with mystical creators, lands imposing and impossible.


Genre aside, it’s the act of escape into these spaces between pages that gives me the freedom to see myself or others from new vantage points. While the plot points may be planets or periods away from my day-to-day existence, novels allow me to question aspects of myself and others in a way that even my journal never fully captures.


They allow space for my imagination to posit questions about revenge, love, identity, deceit, decadence, and desire. They act as a frame for my own answers to emerge alongside the characters’ actions, opening an internal dialogue that rarely runs free when I stop to assess my responses in real-time. They permit me to try on personalities that, while seemingly opposing from my lived experience, somehow fit in my subconscious. They illicit emotional resonance, allowing the feelings to blossom even if I’ve never encountered a dragon, a witch, or a spy.


This can be extrapolated further to my understanding of those in my life and those around the world. Through the characters in a novel, I can identify with and recognize the lived experiences of my partner, my colleagues, the rider across from me on public transit, and the person whose image shows up across my phone screen while scrolling on social media. We often hear real-world retellings of those navigating strife, those engulfed in violence, those subjected to mistreatment.


Yet, so often when this is but a flash across our screens, we sit for a moment in rage and move forward, or feel utterly helpless yet continue to scroll to the next image, the next video. There is something about literature—maybe it’s the world building and imprinting that happens when something is on the page, maybe it’s the emotional investment that comes from our storybook days, curled up in our pjs at 8 p.m. on a school night, maybe it’s simple that these characters and stories are both not at all and yet fully real to us somewhere in our mind.


Translating that experience—those deep reflective moments stepping mentally into the shoes of another—can activate us, alongside the same sensibility in the way we look around us. The stories and settings we choose can help to contribute not only to our understanding of the broader world but to our capacity for compassion. As we dive into the inner worlds captured in a novel set across the globe, in real-world and fictional settings, we can begin to expand our hearts for those living those moments each and every day.


Empathy takes many forms within the world of a book: Pain for the protagonist’s agonizing decision, fear for the unknown as they travel off on an adventure, elation as they find themselves with their soulmate as the final chapter closes.


We can see ourselves in them and yet see them in us. Different from a film or a show, the act of absorbing a story from the crisp paper sheets of a book on your bedside table allows for greater insertion and participation; the chance to fully immerse yourself without the added layer of visual representation. The settings become an illustration of your own design, the language a tool for curating the tone and flow of conversations that move the plot forward.


It’s in fiction that we find pieces of ourselves yet to be discovered, that we recognize our own humanity in the eyes of figures expressed in words and alive through our imagination.


How many times have I dug into a first paragraph knowing that the journey will be grueling and yet I read on? How often have I wept as a character faces hardship only to lie in bed pondering the hurts I have faced myself? How enthusiastically I’ve cheered when the person I’ve followed from moment one finally sees their dream come to fruition or their plan transform into reality? In those instances, have I not stopped to assess where I am on my own road to happiness, freedom, or fulfillment?


Have I not nostalgically galivanted through childhood memories, scattered vividly, to explain the backstory? Or found myself cycling through the losses, regrets, or missed opportunities that have passed me by as those on the page make the wrong choice, let go of the wrong person, shut the wrong door?


On my literary expedition, I can place myself in many lives, yet it’s in the sentences and plot twists that shine a light on my own humanity—and that of those around me—that I find myself most transfixed; transformed.


When the lessons show themselves, the morals crafted by our architects of the human experience, I find myself enveloped in questions about what it means to be human, to be a woman, to be alive, and to be alone. The author empowers me to step into curiosity through the safety of others, like a blanket over my own shame, survival, and sensitivity. They gift me space for an internal conversation that otherwise would require a whole lot of personal commitment to self-awareness and introspection.


What if we approached every book we opened as a window into our innermost secrets—if we saw them as a chance to discover what doesn’t easily float to the forefront of our consciousness, a sort of cover that makes the digging a little easier?


What if we allowed ourselves to dream about our motivations and misgivings through the eyes of that misunderstood mermaid, the cast-aside medieval servant, that mischievous villain or that heartbroken heroine? Would we give ourselves more grace? Would we dole out forgiveness to those around us, recognizing that perhaps, as our beloved characters etched on pages, they, too, have stories hidden that take a plot reveal to understand, complete with motivations and backgrounds that have not yet been revealed?


What if we thoughtfully approach each life interaction, each new acquaintance, each uncertain scenario with the openness with which we approach a novel? Not assuming that we know the ending—that we have all the answers from the start—but instead sitting tight, navigating each oncoming segment with an understanding that with each new point and page we will gain greater insight.


We may see that some moments in life will be novellas. Others will be series. Our neighbourhoods close and far may be mysteries first unsolved, yet with time invested, patience, and the one-page-at-a-time approach, we can learn to uncover the pieces that are not just sitting on the surface. That even our own thoughts—the ones that gnaw at us as anxiety or flutter with anticipation—may not always be what they seem.


They may be the sign of a new chapter emerging, or be the clarifying instance that allows us to move on to the next book in the saga.


How can we take life a little more like a book to be read, and in turn, use each new book as a chance to better understand life? What a novel idea.

On Healthy Masculinity

Updated: Jan 14

by Asante Haughton & Helena Nikitopoulos, ​for The 44 North

Contributing Writers & Editors


A father with dark curly hair & a beard kissing his baby son on the cheek
A father with dark curly hair & a beard kissing his baby son on the cheek
"The journey toward being a good guy isn’t one of weakness, it is one of strength. To reflect on where I have failed and how I try to grow isn’t to garner sympathy or redemption points, it’s to help create more happiness for myself with the understanding that being a kind, compassionate, and emotionally healthy person will invite healthy relations from others."​

Foreword
by Helena 

 

While I am a woman myself, I empathize with the pressure society has instilled on our male population. I have never seen my father cry, nor have I seen a man cry without shame. What type of society is that? When women cry, we applaud them for their strength. Why can’t we do the same for our male counterparts — the men in our lives who are told to “stand up straight and smile,” even if they are silently carrying depression or the weight of everyday struggles? 

 

Why do we advocate for the freedom of expression except when it comes to men?

 

In rebuttal to this, I leave you with my thoughts on healthy masculinity in the hopes that we can open up more conversations about its impact and importance. 

 

Healthy masculinity is a term and practice that challenges harmful stereotypes, suggesting that men must be “tough” or conform to a narrow idea of what a man “should” be. Healthy masculinity encourages men to embrace all aspects of their true self, including their emotions of vulnerability, empathy, and authenticity. 

​

While society might expect a man to shut down or hide his feelings from those around him, healthy masculinity takes an opposite stance; it makes space for vulnerability, for sharing one’s fears, grief, or hopes without shame. Supporting others who demonstrate healthy masculinity, encouraging their growth, and celebrating their successes are ways that men can show up for one another in healthy, positive ways. This can look like checking in on a friend who is struggling, listening without judgement, or complimenting a friend for putting their own well being first — all of which build a supportive, non-competitive environment.

​

Another key element of healthy masculinity is rejecting the shame society places on men who do not conform to the ‘alpha male’ stereotype, refusing to let that narrative dictate their lives. Only by confronting these stereotypes directly and recognizing their harmfulness can one truly embody what healthy masculinity means. Emotional literacy — learning to identify, express, and regulate your feelings without fear of judgment — allows men to build stronger relationships and a deeper sense of self-awareness. Practice answering questions about yourself and your identity to hone in on who you are despite societal pressure: When do I feel most authentic in my actions and emotions? Which values truly guide my decisions? How do I express my emotions in my friendships and relationships? What strengths do I have beyond traditional ideas of masculinity?

​

Of course, these ideas are easier to talk about than to put into practice. Many men grow up without seeing these qualities modeled in their homes, communities, or media which creates a gap between those who are exposed to healthy masculinity and those who are unsure of what it actually looks like. As a result, I encourage our male readers to discuss this article with your friends, your peers, and your mentors. I firmly believe that the more we have these conversations, the closer we get to defining — and embodying — “healthy masculinity.” Of course, be patient as you navigate these unsteady terrains. As Asante’s story reveals, you are meant to face trials and tribulations as you discover what healthy masculinity truly means, so do not let that discourage you. 

​

As for us women, we should continue encouraging and supporting our male counterparts when they share something personal or vulnerable in order to create a space where men feel safe to open up without fear of judgement, ridicule, or dismissal. If feelings of discomfort or confusion come up the next time you see a man cry or express his vulnerability, ask yourself why. What beliefs or social “norms” might be shaping your reaction and do those beliefs truly align with the kind of empathy and equality you want to practice? After all, learning to be a more accepting and positive society does not just fall on the men but on us women as well—because only by coming together can we truly create a culture where everyone thrives. 

​

A Brain Dump
from Asante 

I look behind me and cringe. There is a trail of hearts, broken and frayed, in my wake. The truth is jarring. I’m the one responsible. I never wanted to be a bad guy. But I was. And I often worry that I still am, even though I’m trying my best.


When I’ve caused harm I’ve often rested on the excuse that I was “trying”. I didn’t know any better. That is true. Well, partially. Sometimes I did know better, but prioritized my own feelings and desires anyway. I wonder if I made those decisions because of arrogance. Or immaturity. Or a lack of compassion. I placed myself above others, particularly many of the romantic partners — women — of my past. Of course, I’m not proud of this admission. But I must admit this nonetheless. I was the nice guy — manipulative in my generosity. I was the bad guy — dismissive, withdrawn, unreliable, willfully mysterious. I feigned goodness while living out many of the tropes of toxic masculinity. Don’t be sympathetic. I’m just being honest. 

​

With respect to doing my best — I often told my romantic partners, who were upset with my behaviour, that I didn’t know how to be a partner. I didn’t witness any healthy romantic relationships in my household growing up. All of my friends came from single parent households. And my mother very intentionally raised me and my brothers away from the other men from my culture — Jamaica — hoping we wouldn’t become as bad as the men who had mistreated her and other women she’d known back home. Furthermore, the older men I was exposed to, regardless of ethnicity or nationality, weren’t exactly the kind of men I wanted to be like. They lied. They cheated. They conceptualized women as trophies, toys, and objects to conquer. I deigned to never be one of those guys. And yet…

​

The media is a powerful force. Though I had very little contact with older men from whom to learn — good or bad, probably bad — as a very lonely child, a latchkey kid if you will, I was a copious consumer of media. And the guys in the media, even the good guys — the heroes in the story — upon closer examination are generally awful. So whether in real life, or in fiction, any examples of manhood I was exposed to lacked the features that a good man should hopefully exhibit. But these heroes, the good guys, became who I thought I should be.

​

So, after intentionally shedding the most obvious of my bad boyfriend behaviours in my mid-20s, and after deciding to actually try my best as a partner and parent, I was still missing the mark. I wasn’t just off target, my darts weren’t even hitting the board. Each time I hurt someone I cared about, I committed to being better. I went on learning journeys consuming everything I could find on the internet about being a good guy — not the Andrew Tate, red pill, MGOTW type stuff but the actual supposed-to-be-helpful-stuff — and implemented it all as best I could. It worked marginally. Even when following all the advice I could find on the internet, I still sucked at being a good guy. The internet, as we know, provides surface level advice that lacks both depth and nuance (y’know, the stuff that truly defines personal relationships). More than that, the good guys authoring the content I consumed were likely “good” by their own estimation but not in reality. The quality of their advice wasn’t being measured by those in the best position to judge goodness, namely women. 


I had no teachers in real life who I trusted, none in media or works of fiction, and the advice section of the internet was inadequate. So where was I — am I — to learn how to be a good guy? I can’t keep putting the labour of teaching me on my partners, past and current. That’s not fair to them. 

​

The missives explaining toxic masculinity tell you how not to be — but often don’t explain how to be. So I’m often left feeling lost, wondering where to turn for genuinely good wisdom and guidance on how to be the guy I want to be; the guy the people I love and people of all identities deserve. My compass is spinning. Where is my healthy masculinity north star?


On my quest to become a good guy I had to go farther. I explored many roads. The most important of which were lined with sign posts that pointed toward men like Jason Wilson, a martial arts teacher whose content centers around how he helps the boys and adolescent men in his dojo identify, process, and become accountable to their emotions and how they express them. The primary message? Experiencing negative emotions like hurt, shame, sadness, frustration and anger as a man is normal. They don’t make you weak. And it is better to feel them than to direct them toward others through violence and abuse in an effort to reclaim the false sense of masculinity men are conditioned to believe comes from dominance and displays of power that hurt others. Jason Wilson’s content has been immensely helpful in recognizing and unpacking the false ideas of masculinity that I was wearing like a cloak.

​

Another sign post on my journey pointed me toward feminist scion, bell hooks. Particularly her work, “All About Love.” I was pointed toward this book by a friend who thought I would benefit from the wisdom within. It didn’t take long for me to get the message — love is comprised of actions that one commits to — it’s not a feeling. Love is to treat someone with kindness, respect, and gentleness. It is to consider someone’s past, present, and future condition and how one’s actions can either cause harm or bring solace across these dimensions. To be direct, to love someone is to treat them well and protect them from hurt derived from your actions. Love is action.

​

The final signpost on my journey that I’ll mention is feminism itself. Disclaimer: I don’t purport to be a feminist. That is not a title any man should bestow upon himself. We, however, can learn from the experiences of women to listen and very deeply critically reflect on how constructions of manhood and patriarchy have been and continue to be harmful to women in all areas of life. The damage men have done and continue to do to women is pervasive. But here’s the kicker, the things we do that are harmful to women are also harmful to us as men as well. 

​

Some expressions of masculinity men have come to accept as normal aspects of being a man — such as keeping one’s complex emotions to oneself, engaging in performative stoicism,  and utilizing violence to assert power — contribute to the loneliness more and more men are experiencing. It is difficult to maintain friendships and romantic relationships if one doesn’t approach others with thoughtful gestures, open communication, integrity, accountability, reliability, vulnerability, and actions that bring others closer as opposed to actions that create distance — the building blocks of intimacy.


With respect to the above, many men read these things as meaning they have to abandon any proclivities toward competition, healthy displays of physical strength, and the drive to protect their loved ones. This is not true. What we need to do is to integrate healthier modes of expression into our toolbox. In doing so, we gain the opportunity to fully express our humanity. And by creating less discord for others and within oneself, we will invite more love and happiness into our lives. 

​

The journey toward being a good guy isn’t one of weakness, it is one of strength. To reflect on where I have failed and how I try to grow isn’t to garner sympathy or redemption points, it’s to help create more happiness for myself with the understanding that being a kind, compassionate, and emotionally healthy person will invite healthy relations from others. Most of all, my journey toward being a good guys is to be a good example for my two sons. My greatest priority as a parent is to raise good men. In order to do that I have to become a good man myself. I don’t know if I am yet — that’s not for me to decide. But I will keep trying every day. Because to be a good man and to raise good men, is to help create a better world for us all.

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