Last week I shared the opening chapter of Seeing Men Clearly. This chapter introduces the central concept on which the rest of the book is built. My hope is not to assign blame, but to better understand the hidden forces that shape how we think about boys and men. As always, I welcome your thoughts.

 

What Is Gynocentrism?

The pattern described in the previous chapter has a name: gynocentrism.

The term is unfamiliar to many readers. It is sometimes misunderstood and often assumed to be accusatory.

Properly understood, however, it is neither an accusation nor a criticism.

As used in this book, gynocentrism refers to a cultural tendency to treat female vulnerability as morally primary. It does not mean hatred of men. It does not mean women are favored in all domains. It does not mean women never suffer injustice.

Rather, it describes a reflex—a hierarchy of concern that operates quietly beneath policy debates, media narratives, and social assumptions. When harm occurs, we instinctively ask: “How does this affect women and children?” We are often slower to ask: “How does this affect men?”

That asymmetry is not always conscious. In fact, it rarely is.

Not a Conspiracy—A Reflex

Gynocentrism is not a coordinated plot. It is not an organized agenda. It is not a secret doctrine taught in classrooms. It is a moral reflex that predates modern politics.

Its origins are open to debate. Some argue it reflects evolutionary pressures in which societies that protected reproductive capacity were more likely to survive. Others point to historical realities in which women were more physically vulnerable in violent environments. Still others emphasize psychological empathy biases that lead human beings to respond more strongly to those perceived as vulnerable.

These debates are worth having. But they are not central to this book. The central question is not origin. It is operation. What happens when a reflex becomes institutional default?

From Instinct to Structure

When a bias is widely shared, it begins shaping decisions without requiring coordination. It influences headlines, research questions, funding priorities, policy language, and perceptions of moral urgency. Over time, the reflex becomes structure. And structure often feels neutral. It rarely is.

If female vulnerability is treated as axiomatic, institutions will naturally become skilled at detecting and remedying harms affecting women. Male vulnerability, by contrast, will often require additional explanation before receiving equivalent attention. This does not require malice. It requires only default settings.

The Hierarchy of Urgency

Consider public reactions to harm. When women are victims of violence, the response is often swift and collective. Advocacy groups mobilize. Media attention intensifies. Funding initiatives follow.

When men are victims—even in substantial numbers—the reaction is often more muted. The suffering may be acknowledged, but it is less likely to be framed as a systemic moral emergency. The difference lies not in the worth of individual lives. It lies in the hierarchy of urgency.

Gynocentrism is the cultural gravity that helps create that hierarchy.

Why It Is Difficult to See

The hardest biases to recognize are often those that align with our moral self-image. Most people see themselves as compassionate. We celebrate protection. We admire sacrifice. We view concern for the vulnerable as a virtue.

When a bias appears in the form of kindness, it does not feel like bias. This is one reason gynocentrism often goes unnamed. To question it can feel like questioning compassion itself. But examining a reflex is not the same thing as rejecting it. It is simply asking whether the reflex should remain invisible.

The Question This Book Asks

The purpose of this book is not to argue that women should be protected less. It is to ask what happens when the protection of one group becomes the default moral frame through which all gender issues are viewed.

When that frame becomes embedded within institutions, predictable patterns begin to emerge. Educational practices may assume a single developmental model. Policies may allocate resources asymmetrically. Research may frame male suffering as secondary. Cultural narratives may normalize male disposability. These patterns are not random. They follow from the reflex.

Gynocentrism is not the enemy. Unexamined bias is the problem.

If we are serious about fairness, equality, and moral consistency, we must be willing to examine the hierarchies we have inherited—especially those that feel virtuous. The chapters that follow explore how this reflex operates in modern institutions. Not to inflame. But to illuminate.

 

We've seen how a hidden moral hierarchy can shape the way we respond to suffering. But how does that hierarchy become embedded in schools, research, laws, and public policy? In the next chapter, we'll explore how a cultural reflex gradually becomes an institutional reality.

I recently read an article in the journal Men and Masculinities about a Kenyan health care worker and masculinity writer who goes by the name Amerix on X. The paper described him as an influencer with more than two million followers and expressed deep concern about what it saw as his misogyny and harmful influence on men.

I had never heard of Amerix. So before reading any further, I decided to spend some time reading his posts on X for myself. Here are a few:

1. Amerix
It is easy to blame your:
• Childhood
• Parents
• Tribe
• Government
It is much harder to accept responsibility for your own decisions.

The day a man stops looking for someone else to blame is the day he begins taking control of his life.

2. Amerix
Men,
A man who can:
- Cook
- Wash his clothes
- Clean his environment
- Organize his closet
- Mend & sew his clothes
- Budget his money

Cannot be manipulated by women.

Be this man!

3. Amerix

Men,
How to be a loser in life:
- Download TikTok,
- Start scrolling mindlessly,
- Ogle at naked women, laugh at shit videos & dumb jokes.

If you consume shit, you will become shit.

After reading dozens of posts like these, I found myself wondering if I had somehow landed on the wrong account.

What I found surprised me. I expected to find someone whose main focus was attacking women. Instead, I found someone consumed with challenging men.

• Get healthy.

• Stop making excuses.

• Save your money.

• Read books.

• Learn a skill.

• Exercise.

• Build friendships with other men.

• Take responsibility.

• Become the kind of man others can depend upon.

What I found was a man who thought highly of masculinity and cared deeply about men who were struggling to find their place in a world that openly criticizes men as being toxic. He challenged them to stop making excuses, take responsibility, and work on themselves as men. I can’t remember hearing a comparable message from feminist writers directed toward women. Their emphasis has generally been on the obstacles women face, the ways society has failed them, and their claims of victimhood. Amerix’s message was very different. He held men accountable and urged them to become stronger, healthier, more disciplined, and more capable.

Why would millions of men and boys be drawn to someone like Amerix?

I don’t think it’s much of a mystery.

His message is remarkably simple: You matter as a man. Now get to work.

He challenges men to improve themselves while offering practical guidance on how to avoid the traps that derail so many lives. Beneath that challenge is another message—one many men have rarely heard—that they have value simply because they are men.

In a culture that casually speaks of toxic masculinity while rarely celebrating the positive possibilities of manhood, that message is powerful. Amerix tells men they have value, but he doesn’t stop there. He also tells them they have a responsibility to live up to that value.

Does Amerix talk about women? Absolutely. He has some strong opinions about women and repeatedly urges men to be cautious in their relationships. He encourages men to value themselves, maintain their own purpose, and not lose themselves in trying to satisfy every desire of a partner. I can understand why many feminists would object to some of his views. He is often blunt and sometimes makes sweeping statements about women. But after reading a number of his posts, I simply can’t say that women are the center of his work. They aren’t. Men are. His central project is encouraging men to become stronger, healthier, more disciplined, and more responsible.

Here’s one of his tweets about women:

Men, You are the driver of your bus. The bus is your life and the route is your purpose. A woman is a passenger in your bus. If you are a careless driver, she will alight. Don’t follow her. Improve your skill & keep going. Another passenger will board.

The paper concludes that Amerix’s message is ultimately dangerous. Here’s how the authors summarize their concern:

Amerix’s ideology thereby not only reproduces the experience of pressure, failure, depression and stress caused by the expectation to fulfil the role of the breadwinner (cf Schmidt 2024), but also fosters a sense of masculine entitlement among Kenyan men (cf Kimmel 2019) that, in case of ongoing lack of success, might produce feelings of rage and aggression. What presents itself as a form of self-scaling (Schmidt and Kibuye ) masculine repair might thus rather be a vicious cycle of destroying oneself, other men, society, and women.

I paused when I read that.

This is not merely a criticism of some of Amerix’s ideas about women or relationships. It is a much broader claim. The authors argue that his overall message of masculine self-improvement ultimately becomes “a vicious cycle” that destroys the man himself, other men, society, and women.

That is an extraordinary conclusion.

Extraordinary conclusions deserve equally strong evidence.

What surprised me was how little attention was given to the positive themes that dominate so much of his work—discipline, health, responsibility, purpose, and accountability. Those themes receive relatively little discussion, while the paper concludes that his overall message leads toward entitlement, aggression, and ultimately the destruction of oneself, other men, society, and women.

Then, a few pages later, the paper makes another striking claim: (emphasis mine)

Amerix’s suggested practices of masculine self-repair thus have three important
characteristics differentiating them from other forms of social repair. They are, firstly, not outward-oriented but practices of caring for one’s masculine self. They are, secondly, prone to paranoia because changing their masculine self will cause a change in how men see the world, namely as interlaced with feminist ideology and micro-practices that need to be uncovered and corrected. Lastly, masculine self-repair is considered self-scaling, that is small acts of (re)masculinizing are believed to cause changes in men’s relations to other people as well as cause the world to run according to its masculine nature again. According to Amerix, masculine self-repair therefore leads to a revelation of the fact that men live in a perverted world that can, however, be tilted back onto its masculine trajectory if enough men decide to repair their masculine selves.

Wait a minute.

The authors argue that Amerix’s message makes men “prone to paranoia” because they begin to see feminist ideology woven throughout modern society.

Really?

But that immediately raised another question in my mind.

If encouraging men to see feminist influence throughout society is said to foster paranoia, shouldn’t we also ask whether encouraging women to see patriarchy throughout society might produce a similar effect?

The point is not that either movement is necessarily paranoid.

The point is that the same psychological standard should be applied consistently.

If one worldview is examined for its tendency to heighten suspicion, then competing worldviews deserve the same scrutiny.

That seems reasonable to me.

This also brngs up a related issue. The authors seem upset that Amerix would make sweeping negative generalizations about women, Okay. But if they are going to take that route shouldn’t they also hold the same judgment against all of the sweeping generalizations about men that are made on a daily basis? Men are toxic, men are privileged, etc. I have never heard a feminist or feminist researcher hold themselves accountable in that manner. Have you?

I finished reading Amerix with a more positive impression than I expected.

I finished reading the paper with a more negative impression than I expected. Not because it criticized Amerix. But because I don’t think it gave an accurate representation of him.

Before we criticize anyone, we have an obligation to understand what they are actually trying to accomplish.

After reading both, I came away believing the paper understood Amerix’s most controversial statements. I’m not convinced it understood Amerix himself.

Men Are Good.

Amerix X account

A Note Before You Begin

This is the opening chapter of a book I have been writing called Seeing Men Clearly.

The book grew out of a simple question: Why are some forms of male suffering so difficult for us to recognize, even when the evidence is directly in front of us?

From the beginning, I made a conscious decision to avoid writing a book that assigns blame. Rather than searching for villains, I have tried to understand the deeper historical, psychological, and cultural forces that have shaped how we think about boys and men. My hope is that if we can better understand these underlying dynamics, many of today’s conflicts and misunderstandings will begin to make more sense.

In recent years, more people have begun to recognize that boys and men face challenges that have too often gone unnoticed. Yet conversations about these issues can quickly become polarized, causing people to stop listening before the discussion has truly begun. I wanted to write a book that invites readers to look carefully at the evidence, consider a different perspective, and decide for themselves.

I am sharing this chapter now because I believe its central idea is too important to remain confined to a book or a website. If it resonates with you, I hope you’ll consider sharing it with others who may benefit from seeing these patterns more clearly.

As always, I welcome your thoughts and feedback.



Chapter One

Women and Children First

When the Titanic struck the iceberg on April 14, 1912, and the magnitude of the disaster became clear, a command emerged that would echo through history:

“Women and children first.”

The phrase has since become shorthand for moral decency. It evokes images of courage, sacrifice, and order in chaos. It is taught in classrooms, praised in films, and woven into our understanding of what it means to be honorable. The men who stepped aside that night are remembered as noble. The expectation that they should do so is rarely questioned.

And yet, very few people pause to consider what that command reveals.

The Titanic was not an isolated moment. Maritime tradition had long held that in emergencies, women and children were to be prioritized for survival. The principle was considered civilized. It distinguished order from barbarism.

But beneath the nobility lies a moral asymmetry so familiar we rarely examine it. In moments of mortal danger, women’s lives are prioritized while men’s lives are expected to be risked. This expectation is not controversial. It is not debated. It is instinctively accepted.

The question is not whether the instinct is understandable. It clearly is.

The question is why it feels so natural.

Imagine that the command aboard the Titanic had been:

“Men and children first.”

Most people would recoil instinctively. The order would feel grotesque, unjust, and almost unthinkable. We would immediately ask why women’s lives had been placed below men’s and how any civilized society could accept such a rule.

Yet “women and children first” produces almost no comparable discomfort. It feels honorable. Natural. Even morally necessary.

The facts have changed. Our moral intuition has not. The same moral asymmetry appears in modern institutions.

More than a century later, only men in the United States are required to register for Selective Service. Failure to do so can carry legal consequences. Women are exempt. The justification often rests on combat roles, tradition, or biological difference. But beneath those explanations lies a deeper assumption: in times of national danger, the lives of men are treated as more expendable than the lives of women.

Imagine reversing the arrangement. Imagine requiring only women to register for potential military conscription while exempting men. The reaction would be immediate and fierce. It would be called discriminatory, unjust, and oppressive.

Yet the current arrangement provokes little sustained moral outrage.

Why?

The instinct to protect women and children is often described as chivalry. It is framed as virtue. And in many ways, it is. Throughout human history, men have risked and sacrificed their lives to defend families, communities, and nations. War memorials stand in nearly every town, bearing overwhelmingly male names. The expectation of male sacrifice in defense of others has been normalized for generations.

It is not cruel. It is not consciously malicious. It is simply assumed. And assumptions, when shared collectively, become invisible

The pattern extends far beyond disasters and military service. In public emergencies, evacuation protocols routinely prioritize women and children. In humanitarian crises, aid campaigns frequently emphasize the vulnerability of women and girls. In media coverage of tragedy, particular attention is often drawn to female victims, even when male casualties are numerically greater.

The emphasis feels compassionate. It feels humane. But it also reveals a hierarchy of concern. When women suffer, it feels urgent. When men suffer, it feels unfortunate. That difference is rarely articulated.

It is simply felt.

None of this requires resentment to observe. It does not require hostility toward women. It requires only the willingness to notice a pattern.

The pattern is this: our culture instinctively treats female vulnerability as morally primary. Male vulnerability, by contrast, is often conditional. It must be demonstrated, justified, or placed into context before it receives the same degree of concern.

The phrase “women and children first” is not a policy manual. It is a moral symbol. It tells us something about who we instinctively protect and who we expect to endure. The instinct itself may be rooted in evolutionary pressures, reproductive strategy, social stability, or simple empathy toward those perceived as physically smaller or less capable of defense. Explanations vary.

What matters for our purposes is not origin but operation.

Whatever its origins, this instinct became deeply embedded in our moral thinking. Over time it came to feel less like a preference and more like common sense. As we will see later, blind spots often begin as useful adaptations. The question for this book is not how the instinct originated, but how it continues to shape our perceptions today.

When a moral reflex becomes a cultural default, it begins shaping institutions. Education. Research. Public policy. Funding priorities. Media narratives. Legal frameworks. Over time, what began as an adaptive instinct gradually becomes social structure. And once a structure has existed long enough, it no longer appears to be a structure at all.

It simply feels normal.

If we are to examine modern debates about gender honestly, we must begin here—not with ideology, political movements, or competing grievances—but with the underlying moral gravity that quietly tilts our collective responses.

We admire the men who stepped aside on the Titanic.

We require men to register for war.

We instinctively organize compassion around women and children.

None of these reactions feel unusual. That is precisely the point.

The question is not whether the instinct to protect women is wrong. The question is what happens when an instinct becomes so familiar that we no longer recognize it as an instinct.

Before we can discuss policy, research, or political movements, we must first name the moral pattern that makes those policies and reactions feel so natural.

There is a word for that pattern. In the next chapter, we'll give it a name and begin exploring how it quietly shapes our understanding of boys and men.