Inside the Gayest Manosphere
All Talk—Is the Action
Everyone’s talking about the new documentary on Netflix, Louis Theroux: Inside the Manosphere, like it’s some kind of revelation—when really, it’s just a closer look at a subculture that almost feels like the gayest corner of supposedly straight men. These boys—man-children, really—are the same ones who’ve been making headlines for years with their small, insecure, overcompensating behavior.
Theroux frames it as “the new world of men who are redefining what it means to be a man.”
Yeah—we did something like this in the 1970s. Long hair, tight Levi’s 501 button-fly jeans, skinny T-shirts—the Age of Aquarius colliding with the Gay Liberation movement. A subculture that, frankly, seemed like it was having a much better time.
Only difference? We had the cojones to come out of the closet.
What we have now are insufferable, butch babies who act kinda gay and have returned to the closet—via the gym. Many of the leaders of the pack are absolutely gladiator-ish. They’re buff, sculpted, full-on muscle queen wannabes, though they’d never admit it.
Did I need—or even want—to watch this documentary? No. But if I’m going to write about this particular clusterfuck of needy babies, I had to see it for myself.
The manosphere is completely obsessed with looking at themselves and each other. Men watching men, judging men, performing for men (M4M).
Women are props in this world. All their big talk like misogynists is some kind of badge of honor, but they are simply overgrown teenagers who can’t crawl out from under their own immaturity.
The manosphere has been around. Remember Josh Hawley, even before his 2023 book Manhood: The Masculine Virtues America Needs, arguing that society is collapsing because men have lost their way—and that we need to return to responsibility, strength, leadership.
After I saw a couple of pictures of Josh and other manosphere types, like Harrison Butker, whose claim to fame was that wildly misogynistic college graduation speech, I knew this movement was on the rise.
What we’re seeing online feels like a warped, almost cartoon version of Real Men Don’t Eat Quiche.
In the film, we have a cast of characters:
Harrison Sullivan—tatted, TikTok pretty-boy energy, surrounded by “pussy boys,” or what he would call them outside his sphere. They are adorable. He says he coaches boys—training them to be men.
Ed Matthews—looks like a bottom, frankly.
Justin Waller in Miami—preaching dominance while living a double standard: he can sleep with women; his wife cannot. One-way monogamy dressed up as philosophy, reminiscent of Sharia-law Islamists or Mormons.
Myron Gaines, whose real name is Amrou Fudl. Gee, I wonder why he changed his name. Vanity or fear?
Running through all of these man-children is the same theme: control, dominance, hierarchy, access to women—talked about endlessly, obsessively.
They profess masculinity so loudly it starts to sound like they’re trying to convince themselves.
Which brings me to the part no one is really saying out loud.
When you start looking at it this way, the whole manosphere shifts. All this talk about “manhood” starts to feel like a coded world—sizing each other up, performing for each other.
Step back and it’s kind of ridiculous. The chest-beating, the dominance talk, the constant need to prove something—it doesn’t read as strength. It reads like overcompensation.
There’s a scene where HSTikkyTokky sets up an older gay man whom he has lured in, and it’s all a ruse—his posse beats the guy up.
Why create that situation in the first place unless there’s something deeper going on? A perversion of sorts. They are all social deviants to participate in that scam for clickbait, filmed live for YouTube.
[SIDEBAR] If I can take creative liberty and apply this quote from Shakespeare:
“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”
Same with the constant proximity to porn culture. These guys don’t just talk about sex—they treat it like spectacle. Everyone looks and acts like they’re auditioning to be porn stars, especially the bimbos in their universe.
Then Theroux asks, “Has it become fashionable to hate Jews?”
It might be the most obvious question in the entire film. Isn’t that what gets the most clicks these days?
But when you zoom out, the whole thing feels like performance on top of performance.
Maybe the crisis of masculinity isn’t that men don’t know what it is to be men. Rather, their daddy issues have come home to roost.
If you haven’t read or listened to my book, please do.
