Why Is Masculine Maturity So Hard to Talk About Today?

In the early 1990s, you could walk into a bookstore and find entire tables devoted to the male journey. Robert Bly’s Iron John was a bestseller. Sam Keen, James Hillman, Michael Meade,​ Robert Moore, Richard Rohr — all were offering soulful, intelligent takes on what it meant to be a man. It wasn’t about domination. It wasn’t about “reclaiming power.” It was about emotional honesty, growth, and purpose. In other words: maturity.

Fast forward to today, and you’ll find… almost nothing. Talk about masculinity now and the conversation quickly turns to toxicity, privilege, or fragile male egos. Where once there was myth, poetry, and psychology, we now get slogans and shame.

Why did this happen? Why is masculine maturity such a neglected subject?

Here are a few answers — and a couple of stories that may help explain why the silence around men runs so deep.

1. The Cultural Suspicion Toward Masculinity

Over the last fifty years, masculinity has been treated less as a stage of growth and more as a problem to be managed. Many institutions — academic, psychological, media-driven — have become allergic to the idea that men might have unique struggles, let alone a need for support. Masculinity is often reduced to a stereotype: aggressive, emotionally stunted, dangerous. So it’s not surprising that serious explorations of mature masculinity are viewed with skepticism — or simply ignored.

I experienced this firsthand when I joined the American Psychological Association’s Division 51, the group supposedly devoted to studying men and masculinities. Initially, I was welcomed. A few of the men there had read Swallowed by a Snake, my first book, and treated me with respect.

But over time, it became clear this wasn’t a group focused on men. It was a feminist-aligned group focused on monitoring men. That would have been fine if it had also been balanced — but it wasn’t.

One moment still sticks with me. I asked the group — these were top psychologists, many regularly quoted in national media — if they had ever heard of Robert Moore, the Jungian analyst who literally co-wrote King, Warrior, Magician, Lover, one of the most influential models of the mature masculine ever created.

Not one of them had heard of him.

These were the gatekeepers of psychological discourse around men, and they had never encountered one of the most insightful thinkers on the subject. That’s when I realized: this wasn’t a field seeking to understand men — it was a field managing a narrative about men.

They later kicked me out of the group.

2. The Disappearance of Mentorship and Male Space

The maturation of men has always required something very simple but essential: older men guiding younger men. That doesn’t mean domination or militaristic hierarchy — it means real mentorship. Time together. Shared wisdom. A hand on the shoulder.

But today, male-only spaces are either disappearing or treated with suspicion. Most institutions that once created these bonds — churches, trades, father-son traditions — are either crumbling or feminized. Men don’t know where to go, and the culture doesn’t really care that they’re drifting.

3. The Mythopoetic Movement Was Shamed Out of Existence

In the 1990s, the Mythopoetic Men’s Movement made a serious attempt to give men a space to grow, reflect, and feel. Men gathered, sometimes in the woods. They drummed. They told stories. They cried. They got honest.

They did exactly what the culture — and women — had been begging men to do for decades: engage emotionally, get their priorities straight, and connect with other men in a non-competitive, supportive environment.

So what happened?

The media mocked them. Relentlessly. Headlines rolled out: “Men Go Into Woods to Beat Drums and Take Off Their Clothes.” Late-night shows made jokes. These men weren’t harming anyone. They were healing. But that seemed to frighten people — especially the idea that men were coming together in a community that wasn’t controlled or mediated by women.

Instead of being praised, they were ridiculed and dismissed. The movement, shamed out of existence, faded.

4. No Urgency for Male Development

When girls or women face emotional hardship, society responds — with programs, policies, and public empathy. But when boys or men face disconnection, despair, or aimlessness, the response is often: “Toughen up.” Or worse: silence.

There’s a deep-rooted empathy gap when it comes to men. The assumption seems to be that men don’t need emotional depth, spiritual development, or mentorship. They just need to behave. This assumption is not only wrong — it’s dangerous. Because without maturity, all you get is drift, anger, or collapse.

5. Fear of Being Labeled

Today, if you talk too much about men’s needs, you risk being labeled “anti-feminist” or “reactionary.” Even well-meaning men tiptoe around the topic for fear of being misunderstood. As a result, the public conversation is cautious, shallow, or entirely missing.

And yet, quietly, the hunger remains.

Men are looking for guidance — not from social media influencers or political ideologues, but from grounded voices who actually understand what male development looks like from the inside.

So Where Does This Leave Us?

We’re in a strange place. The world criticizes men constantly, but offers no real path to growth. It tells men to “do better,” but doesn’t explain how — or even what “better” means, other than being more like women.

Masculine maturity isn't about dominance, nor is it about submission. It's about becoming whole — integrating strength with compassion, solitude with connection, responsibility with joy.

That journey still matters. In fact, it may matter now more than ever.

And those of us who have walked part of that road — and seen its value — need to keep the conversation alive.

Even when it's inconvenient.

Even when it's mocked.

Even when it's lonely.

Because the silence around men has never been a sign of health. It’s a sign that something sacred has been neglected.

And it’s time we returned to it.

This is a response to a recent New York Times article by Jean Garnett titled “The Trouble With Wanting Men.” The subtitle says it all: “Women are so fed up with dating men that the phenomenon even has a name — heterofatalism. So what do we do with our desire?”

Sometimes, the best response is a little humor while flipping the script. See what you think.

"Heterofatalism: Or How to Blame Men for Everything, Even Our Socks"

Ah, “heterofatalism” — the brand-new term coined for the collective exasperation of women who, after navigating the complex world of dating, come to the conclusion that men are the root of all relationship woes. You see, the issue isn't just that men are occasionally anxious, emotionally distant, or a little too obsessed with their sports teams; no, the real problem is that these poor souls — with all their confusing desires, communication issues, and tendency to occasionally ghost you after a couple of drinks — are making it impossible for women to live happily ever after.

Who needs "old-fashioned man-woman stuff," right? We should really just get rid of men altogether, except... well, hold on. It seems like the author might still enjoy the idea of men, as long as they’re perfectly self-deprecating, emotionally available, not so needy, and able to decode all of her mood swings without missing a beat. Apparently, we’re supposed to be sweet, gentle, and constantly checking in with how she feels — but also not too available, because that would make us “needy.” Are you keeping up, men? No? It’s okay, because we aren’t expected to.

What If We Flipped the Script?

Now, imagine if the shoe was on the other foot. What if a man had these same expectations of you Jean Garnett? What if you had to live up to these impossible standards every time a relationship or date rolled around?

For example, let’s say you’re trying to date someone, and he expects you to be emotionally available all the time, always knowing exactly what he’s feeling, always ready to discuss his feelings — at his convenience. Now imagine if you were the one constantly apologizing for not responding to text messages in 90 seconds flat because you were busy with life, work, or, you know, anything else. Or imagine being told you were "too anxious" to handle a simple conversation because you were stressed over your busy schedule. Does it seem fair that men are expected to always be the ones to “man up” emotionally, while women are allowed to retreat into their own anxiety and demand validation from men?

Also, here’s a fun thought experiment: What if, as a man, you had to hear all the time about how you were the problem in every dating situation? Imagine your date explaining how she loves the “good guy” archetype but constantly finds him lacking because he doesn’t meet every single emotional need immediately. The “good guy” who’s gentle, sweet, and not too self-deprecating — just enough to make you feel like a glorified emotional ATM. It’d be pretty exhausting, wouldn’t it?

Emotional Labor: A Two-Way Street

Let’s get real for a moment. The whole concept of emotional labor often gets pinned solely on men — the idea that women are somehow left to pick up the emotional slack in relationships. But if we take a closer look, we see a different picture. If the standard is that men should always be emotionally available, always interpret every word and gesture in the right way, shouldn’t women also take on the responsibility of understanding the emotional needs of their partners? Isn’t it unfair to expect men to constantly decode the mystery of “how you’re feeling” without giving them the same space to feel confused, anxious, or uncertain about what’s going on in the relationship?

What if men were to complain about the “hermeneutic labor” they had to perform just to keep a relationship afloat? Imagine if men spent every conversation analyzing why you were saying one thing and meaning something else. If men constantly had to decode your emotional signals — every pause, every silence, every hint — would we be quick to dismiss it as just part of being a man? Or would we call it what it is: exhausting?

Isn’t It Time for a Little Empathy?

Now, let’s circle back to that romantic ideal — the “good guy” who wants to be loved, but can’t seem to get it right because he's “too anxious,” “too confused,” or “too emotionally unavailable” when it matters. But what if, just maybe, the problem isn’t his inability to meet her needs, but the sheer weight of the unrealistic expectations placed upon him? Imagine being a man, constantly told that you are too much or not enough at the same time — one minute, you need to be emotionally open, the next you’re told you’re too emotional.

Let’s flip the script.
Imagine you’re the one who needs a little breathing room — just some space to think.
But your partner won’t let it go:
“Why can’t you just communicate like a grown-up? What are you, emotionally stunted?”
And when you finally admit you’re anxious or overwhelmed, you’re slapped with labels like “needy,” “hysterical,” or “too sensitive.”
Then he runs off to his buddies, and they all have a good laugh at your expense:
“Aww, poor little fraidy-cat princess. Guess she ​just can't woman up.”
Sound familiar?
Because that’s exactly what you and your friends did to him.
Doesn’t feel so good when the joke’s on you, does it?

Rewriting the Narrative

Maybe it's time to see men as humans rather than stereotypes. Men don’t exist just to fulfill emotional needs, and relationships should be about mutual respect, not endless demands. If we really want to evolve into better relationships, we need to recognize the emotional labor on both sides and give each other the space to be imperfect — without judgment.

Here’s a radical idea: instead of blaming men for the failures of the modern dating scene, let’s take a step back and realize that maybe we’re all a little messed up. And that’s okay. You don’t need us to “man up” — you just need us to be real, and we need the same from you.

And if we’re not perfect? Well, at least we’re not trying to make every relationship a philosophical debate about what does it mean to love and how can we both be completely vulnerable and emotionally invulnerable at the same time.

Pro tip: next time your man shows up with a little emotional confusion, give him a break. Men are not puzzles to be solved; we’re just humans trying to navigate a world that often doesn’t make sense to any of us.

And for the record: ​Men Are Good.

It’s no secret that men and women are different—but one of the lesser-known differences, and one of the most socially consequential, is found in how each sex relates to their own group.

Women consistently show strong in-group bias. They support each other socially, emotionally, and politically. They instinctively identify with the struggles of other women. This solidarity forms the backbone of movements, activism, academic departments, and public policy. When a woman sees another woman being mistreated, her response is often immediate: “That could’ve been me.”

Men, by contrast, tend to show weaker and more conditional in-group bias. Their loyalty to other men is context-dependent, usually tied to shared purpose or external threat. A man will stand with another man on the battlefield, on the job site, or on the basketball court—but outside of those types of goal-oriented bonds, that sense of male unity often fades.

Why is that?

Part of it is biological and evolutionary. For men, life has always been a mix of coalition and competition. Throughout history, men had to work together in tribes or hunting parties—but within those groups, they also competed for rank, dominance, and access to mates. That means male bonding has always existed alongside male rivalry. The result? Male loyalty is real, but fragile.

Even today, many men see other men as rivals first, allies second. If another man struggles—loses his job, breaks down emotionally, or gets mistreated in a custody battle—he may not get support. He may get silence. Or worse, blame. Because in the male psyche, weakness often reads as threat. It disrupts the unspoken expectation that men must be strong, self-reliant, and in control. In male hierarchies, weakness can be seen as a liability—something that drags down the group or exposes it to risk. And for many men, seeing another man suffer can stir up buried shame or fear about their own vulnerabilities, leading them to distance themselves rather than lean in. It’s not cruelty—it’s biology and conditioning.

This fragile in-group bias creates a massive hurdle for any effort to advocate for men. Men’s rights movements, fatherhood initiatives, male mental health campaigns—they all struggle not just because society ignores them, but because men themselves often fail to show up for one another. And this problem isn’t just internal. It’s magnified by something even larger: gynocentrism.

Gynocentrism: The Cultural Blind Spot

Gynocentrism is the cultural tendency to prioritize women’s needs, feelings, and safety—often at the expense of men. It’s not just a personal bias; it’s institutional, ideological, and deeply embedded in our narratives about right and wrong. From early childhood, boys are taught to protect girls, to defer to their emotions, and to take responsibility for female wellbeing. “Never hit a girl.” “Be a gentleman.” “Sacrifice for your wife.” These messages, ​no matter how well-meaning, train boys to associate virtue with serving women. They are rarely taught to protect or serve each other. This conditioning only deepens with age. In politics, education, and media, men gain status by defending women—not by defending men. A man who speaks up for women is seen as noble and progressive. A man who speaks up for men is seen as angry, bitter, or fragile—even by other men.

In a gynocentric culture—where women’s needs are prioritized and viewed through a moral lens—advocating for women is seen as virtuous, while advocating for men is viewed with suspicion or hostility.

 

“Women’s advocacy is empathy”

When women advocate for women (or when men advocate for women), the culture responds with compassion, validation, and support. It’s framed as morally good, emotionally sincere, and socially necessary. Example: “We need to hear women’s voices.” “Support women’s mental health.” “Believe women.”

“Men’s advocacy is grievance”

When men advocate for men, it’s often framed as whining, resentment, or a push to reclaim lost power. Instead of evoking empathy, it triggers defensiveness, mockery, or accusations of misogyny. Example: “Why are you complaining?” “This sounds like toxic masculinity in disguise.” “You just want to take us back to the 1950s.”

Say the phrases out loud “We need to hear men’s voices“ or maybe “Believe men.“ Can you feel the difference?

 

So the double bind is:

• Women can talk about their pain and gain moral authority.

• Men talk about their pain and risk losing moral credibility.
  
  
  In other words:
  
  If you advocate for women, you’re seen as compassionate.
  If you advocate for men, you’re seen as angry.
  
  That’s the trap—the double bind—created by gynocentrism. So male in-group bias—already fragile—is further fractured by gynocentric incentives.

The Costs of Division

This has enormous consequences.

When a man is falsely accused, other men don’t rally to his defense—they distance themselves.

When a father loses access to his children, he’s often blamed rather than supported.

When men talk about depression or suicide, they’re often met with discomfort, not compassion.

Meanwhile, female solidarity flourishes. Women have entire university departments, legal protections, and billion-dollar initiatives devoted to their advancement. And they have what men lack: a deep, culturally accepted instinct to care for each other.

The result is a lopsided world: female pain is collectivized and acted upon; male pain is individualized and ignored. It should now be obvious that working as a men’s advocate, a fatherhood proponent, or in any male-focused cause is an uphill battle—while those promoting women’s causes are coasting downhill with cultural tailwinds, institutional funding, and moral permission at their backs.

 

Rebuilding Male Solidarity

If men are to thrive—not just as individuals, but as a group—they must begin to reclaim something long buried: a sense of mutual loyalty. A belief that other men are not your enemy. That another man’s pain is not a sign of his failure, but of a culture that has failed us all.

This doesn’t mean abandoning competition or suppressing masculine traits. It means building solidarity around them. Men’s greatest strength has always been in what they can do together—on the battlefield, in a brotherhood, on a team. The challenge now is to transfer that loyalty into emotional and cultural arenas, where men are bleeding quietly in the shadows.

Men don’t need to become women to support each other. They just need to recognize that being on the same team means protecting the players who are getting crushed—by courts, by culture, by silence.

Male pain is real. Male sacrifice is real. Male disposability is real.

But male brotherhood can be real too—if we decide to make it so.

Men Are Good