The Reasonable Man

Evan liked to think of himself as fair.

He listened. He adjusted. He didn’t raise his voice. When there was tension, he assumed he had missed something—some emotional nuance, some unspoken need. That, he believed, was maturity.

When his wife, Laura, came home upset from work, Evan canceled his plans without mentioning them. It seemed obvious that her day mattered more. When she criticized his tone, he apologized—even when he wasn’t sure what he had done wrong. If she was unhappy, the situation required fixing, and fixing required him.

This wasn’t resentment. It was love.

At least, that’s what Evan told himself.

When decisions came up—where to live, how to spend money, which friendships to maintain—Evan instinctively deferred. Laura had stronger feelings, clearer opinions. He told himself that intensity meant importance. If something mattered more to her, then it mattered more, period.

When his friend Mark complained about feeling sidelined in his own marriage, Evan felt embarrassed for him.

“You just have to be more emotionally aware,” Evan said. “Women carry more of that burden.”

Mark didn’t argue. He just looked tired.

At work, Evan was the same way. When female colleagues spoke, he nodded, encouraged, amplified. When men expressed frustration, Evan subtly distanced himself. He didn’t want to be that guy—the one who failed to notice women’s struggles. If there was a conflict, he assumed the woman had been wronged, even if the facts were unclear. Experience had taught him that neutrality was risky.

Better to err on the side of empathy.

At home, Evan grew quieter over the years. Not withdrawn—just careful. He edited himself mid-sentence. He learned which opinions created friction and which disappeared smoothly. He stopped bringing up his exhaustion. He told himself it wasn’t that bad. Other men had it worse.

When Laura once asked why he seemed distant, Evan froze. The question felt dangerous, like stepping onto thin ice. He reassured her quickly, explaining that he just needed to “work on himself.” She nodded, relieved. The conversation moved on.

Evan felt oddly proud of that moment. He had protected the relationship.

It wasn’t until much later—after a sleepless night, after rereading an old journal entry he barely remembered writing—that something shifted.

The entry was simple:

I don’t know where I went.

That sentence unsettled him.

He started paying attention—not to Laura’s emotions, but to his own patterns. He noticed how quickly he assumed women’s distress carried moral weight while men’s distress required explanation. How often he treated female discomfort as an emergency and male discomfort as a character flaw. How rarely he asked whether his needs were reasonable, and how often he assumed they were negotiable.

He realized something uncomfortable: none of this had been demanded outright.

He had assumed it.

He had assumed that women’s feelings were more fragile, more important, more deserving of protection. That men should absorb impact quietly. That harmony depended on male self-erasure. That good men yield first—and keep yielding.

Only then did Evan have a word for what he had lived by.

Not kindness.
Not empathy.
But a quiet, invisible prioritization—so ingrained it had felt like morality itself.

Gynocentrism.

He didn’t feel angry when he named it. He felt sad. Sad for how natural it had seemed. Sad for how reasonable it had felt to place himself last without ever calling it a choice.

For the first time, Evan wondered what fairness would look like if it included him.

And the question, once asked, refused to go away.

How Male Loneliness Is Commonly Explained

🔹 1. “Men Deserve the ‘Male Loneliness Epidemic’”

“The male loneliness epidemic exists because men want to control women instead of respecting them… Most of the single men I’ve seen complaining about how lonely they are don’t see women as someone to connect with, but rather as a ‘game’ they must win.”
— from Men Deserve the “Male Loneliness Epidemic” (Medium) Men Deserve the “Male Loneliness Epidemic” (Medium)

🔹 2. Her Campus: “Why the ‘Male Loneliness Epidemic’ Is Men’s Fault”

“…this epidemic is typically used to describe the recent increase in male isolation… There are many potential reasons — especially with the rise of social media — which can detract from human interaction.”
— from Why the “Male Loneliness Epidemic” Is Men’s Fault (Her Campus) Why the “Male Loneliness Epidemic” Is Men’s Fault (Her Campus)

🔹 3. Psychology Today: Framing Loneliness via Men’s Emotional Defense Patterns

“Men are often encouraged to be stoic instead of vulnerable, which makes it difficult for them to open up and form emotional connections…”
— from Is Male Loneliness a New Epidemic or an Age-Old Struggle? (Psychology Today) Is Male Loneliness a New Epidemic… (Psychology Today)

🔹 4. Elephant Journal: Blaming Choices for Loneliness

“The male loneliness epidemic isn’t an epidemic, it’s the consequence of poor choices. Companionship isn’t a right, it’s something you earn.”
— from The Male Loneliness Epidemic — Real Talk. (Elephant Journal) The Male Loneliness Epidemic — Real Talk. (Elephant Journal)

🔹 5. Salon: Explicit Mention of Blame in the Discourse

“…some may acknowledge male loneliness… but then insist it’s self-inflicted — a failure of men to take personal responsibility.”
— from Don’t Blame Women for Men’s Loneliness. Blame Capitalism. (Salon) Don’t Blame Women for Men’s Loneliness (Salon)

🔹 6. Medium: Claim that the “Male Loneliness Epidemic” Is a Myth

“Although researchers have been exploring loneliness as a societal epidemic… Stories abound about how men deserve to be lonely, while others contend that they’re not really lonely; they’re just wallowing…”
— from Is Male Loneliness a Sexist Myth (Medium) The Male Loneliness Epidemic Is a Sexist Myth (Medium)

The Quiet Lie Behind Male Loneliness

It Is the Predictable Result of a Culture That Eliminated Male Space

Before men were lonely, there were places.

Places where men showed up without an agenda. Where conversation happened sideways, not face-to-face. Where no one asked men to perform vulnerability, explain themselves, or justify their presence.

Those places didn’t disappear because men rejected connection. They disappeared because our culture decided male-only spaces were no longer acceptable. And once they were gone, men were told that their resulting loneliness was a personal failure.

There has been a noticeable shift in recent months. A growing number of articles now
acknowledge male loneliness and even gesture toward men’s emotional needs. On the surface, this looks like progress — and in one narrow sense, it is. For decades, male loneliness was either ignored or mocked.

But many of these pieces commit the same quiet betrayal.

After briefly acknowledging that men are lonely, many articles abandon subtlety altogether and place responsibility squarely on men themselves. Men don’t open up enough. Men don’t try hard enough. Men don’t build friendships properly. Men resist emotional growth.

What is missing is the most obvious factor of all: our culture systematically dismantled the spaces where men and boys once formed friendships.

Men Did Not “Forget” How to Connect,
They Lost the Places Where Connection Happened

Male friendships have never primarily formed through structured emotional disclosure. They formed through shoulder to shoulder shared activity, regular presence, and low-pressure companionship. Men bonded by working alongside one another, not by facing one another across a table and “processing.”

For generations, this happened naturally in male-only spaces:

• Service clubs

• Fraternal organizations

• Trade guilds and apprenticeships

• Male sports leagues

• Scout troops

• Men’s religious groups

• Informal gathering places like barbershops and workshops

These environments weren’t about exclusion. They were containers — places where boys learned how to be men from men, and where adult men maintained connection without self-consciousness or surveillance.

Now consider what has happened.

• Barbershops are co-ed and transactional.

• Service clubs are now largely co-ed, and the informal freedoms that supported male bonding in male-only environments have largely disappeared.

• Community sports are co-ed or heavily regulated.

• Even the Boy Scouts are co-ed.

One by one, male spaces disappeared — not because men abandoned them, but because our culture increasingly viewed male-only environments as suspicious, outdated, or morally problematic.

The Asymmetry No One Wants to Name

At the same time male spaces were dismantled, female-only spaces proliferated.

Women-only gyms are accepted.
Women-only scholarships are celebrated.
Women-only commissions exist at every level of government.
Women-only networking events, parking, subway cars, retreats, and support groups are commonplace.

“Women-only” is understood as necessary, protective, and empowering.
“Men-only,” by contrast, is treated as exclusionary at best and dangerous at worst.

The result is an unspoken rule that everyone knows but few admit:

Women may gather without men. Men may not gather without women.

This is not equality. It is a double standard — and it has consequences.

 

Then Comes the Blame

Once the social infrastructure that supported male friendship is gone, men are told to adapt. To reinvent themselves emotionally. To “do the work.”

When they fail — when loneliness deepens — the problem is framed as internal. A defect of character. A failure of emotional literacy.

This is, by feminism’s own definition, blaming the victim: holding responsible the very people who have been placed at a disadvantage by cultural change.

Women’s suffering is explained structurally.
Men’s suffering is explained morally.

Layered onto this is something rarely acknowledged — the hostile cultural judgment directed at men and boys themselves. When boys grow up hearing that masculinity is “toxic,” that they are potential oppressors, that their instincts are suspect, it quietly erodes any sense that their sex is something to take pride in or even trust. Under those conditions, isolation is not just social — it is existential.

What often goes unnamed is that this pattern does more than misdiagnose the problem. It functions as a form of relational aggression.

Men’s suffering is acknowledged, but only in a way that subtly relocates responsibility back onto the man himself. No one (well, nearly no one) says outright that his loneliness is his fault, yet the implication is unmistakable: if he were more emotionally literate, more open, less defensive, less “toxic,” he would not be alone. Compassion is offered alongside correction; empathy is made conditional on change.

From a clinical perspective, this is precisely how relational aggression operates — through implication rather than accusation, through moral positioning rather than open attack. Shame is induced without being named. Validation is withheld without explanation. Social standing and legitimacy are quietly eroded. The result is not connection, but deeper isolation — all while those perpetuating the narrative retain a posture of concern and moral superiority.

This Is Not a Clinical Mystery

For many men, isolation is not just about having fewer friends. It is about losing a sense of place, purpose, and belonging. When the environments that once affirmed male identity disappear, men don’t just feel lonely — they feel unnecessary.

Men do not primarily heal through talk.

They heal through:

• Shared purpose

• Physical presence

• Action

• Solitude

• Humor

• Loyalty

• Time spent together without scrutiny

Remove the environments that make this possible and replace them with verbal, emotionally performative models — then criticize men for not thriving — and you create an impossible bind.

Add to this a culture that repeatedly tells men their nature is dangerous or defective, and the bind tightens further. It is difficult to seek connection when one’s very maleness is framed as something that must be apologized for, corrected, or kept under supervision.

This is not men refusing connection. It is men being asked to connect in ways that violate how they naturally bond — after their native environments have been dismantled and their worth has been publicly questioned.

Anticipating the Pushback

“Men can still form friendships if they want to.”
Yes — just as plants can still grow in poor soil. The question is not whether it’s theoretically possible, but whether the conditions support it.

“Male-only spaces exclude women.”
So do female-only spaces — and no one pretends otherwise. The question is why exclusion is framed as protective when women do it and pathological when men do it.

“Some male spaces were unhealthy.”
Some families are unhealthy. We don’t abolish families. We improve them. Eliminating all male spaces because some were flawed is collective punishment disguised as progress.

“Men should just adapt.”
Adaptation is not a moral obligation when the environment itself has been intentionally stripped of what once made adaptation unnecessary.

The Real Question

If we are serious about addressing male loneliness, we have to stop blaming men for failing to thrive in conditions that were engineered to prevent male bonding.

Male loneliness is not a personal failure.
It is a cultural outcome.

Until we are willing to say that out loud — and rebuild spaces where men and boys can gather without apology — these articles will continue to sound compassionate while quietly reinforcing the very problem they claim to address.

As we close out 2025, I want to extend my heartfelt thanks to all the supporters at menaregood.locals.com. Your encouragement, engagement, and belief in this work have meant more than I can say. Whether you've joined discussions, supported financially, or simply taken the time to read and reflect, you've helped create a space where men’s issues can be explored with honesty and depth. I’m deeply grateful for your presence here, and I look forward to continuing this important work together in the year ahead.

Let's hope that 2026 is indeed the year of men!

Happy New Year!