During a recent video, I described feminist buzzwords as being something like attack drones. The more I think about it, the more I like the comparison.
An attack drone does not arrive to look around and figure out what happened. It has already been programmed. It knows what the target looks like. It knows who the enemy is before it ever gets there.
A lot of feminist buzzwords work the same way. They don’t just describe something that happened. They arrive with a theory already attached to them. Who has the power? Who is the victim? Who should be believed? Who needs to change? Usually the answer is already built in.
The man has power. His power is suspect. The woman lacks power. She is harmed by what he has done. So the word is doing quite a bit more than simply describing behavior. The verdict is built into the word. Every feminist buzzword arrives preloaded with ideology—and armed with disdain for men and masculinity.
Take mansplaining. Certainly a few men may explain things in an arrogant or condescending way. Women do too. We already had perfectly good words for that sort of behavior: patronizing, condescending, arrogant, rude. But mansplaining adds something. Now the man’s sex is part of the offense.
The word suggests that he is acting this way because he considers himself superior and makes the assumption that being male makes him more knowledgeable or more important. But do we know that? Did she misunderstand what he was trying to say? Does he talk this way to everyone? Was he simply trying to help? Before we have looked at any of that, the drone has already found its target. The behavior has been gendered. The motive has been supplied. The verdict is in. The buzzword arrived preloaded with ideology—and armed with disdain for men and masculinity.
Now take toxic masculinity. Some men behave badly. A small minority may be violent or reckless. But once those behaviors are placed under the heading of toxic masculinity, something else happens. Masculinity itself gets blamed and dragged into the mud.
The term suggests that these behaviors are an integrated part of masculinity and that men need to learn a different relationship to their own nature. Such a global generalization ignores all the demands placed on men. Provide. Protect. Compete. Take risks. Endure pain. Stay useful under pressure. Those parts of masculinity are usually welcomed when other people benefit from them.
A man works sixty hours a week to support his family? Good. He walks into danger to protect someone? Good. He pushes through pain because other people depend on him? Good. But when some men buckle under those same demands, the whole of masculinity can suddenly become toxic. Why? That is what the term does: it not only describes harmful behavior but directs us to blame masculinity itself—while diverting attention from the pressures, circumstances, and unmet needs that may have helped produce the behavior.
Male privilege carries a similar load. It trains us to notice the man’s advantages and ignore his disadvantages. We see the male CEO. We don’t see the male roofer, the foot soldier, the prisoner, the homeless man, the suicide victim, or the father who has lost his children.
A man’s success can be explained partly by privilege. His suffering is much more likely to be explained by his choices. Notice the difference? His suffering is his fault, while his success is due to his privilege. When judging men as a group, the term directs our attention upward, toward the men with the most wealth, status, and power. When judging women, it directs our attention downward, toward those facing the greatest hardship. Struggling men and successful women quietly disappear from the picture. And this can happen even when the particular woman standing in front of us has more education, more money, more institutional support, and more social credibility than the particular man. The theory can still tell us he has the power and she does not. At that point, the theory has become more important than the people standing right in front of us. The buzzword male privilege arrived preloaded with ideology—and armed with disdain for men and masculinity.
Fragile masculinity is a clever drone. Why? Because disagreement itself can become proof. Suppose a man objects to being mocked or stereotyped. His objection can be taken as evidence that his masculinity is fragile. What if he stays silent? Then there is no challenge. What if he speaks up? Now he has proved the accusation. Heads she wins. Tails he loses. The term doesn’t invite a response. It shuts it down.
Then we have the manosphere. Taken literally, this could simply mean internet spaces where men talk about men’s lives. That could include fathers’ groups, divorce forums, men’s health advocates, suicide-prevention groups, dating discussions, and critics of feminism. Pretty broad group, right? But that is rarely how the word is presented. Instead it is usually surrounded by other words: Misogyny. Radicalization. Extremism. Violence. Suddenly a father trying to understand a custody battle and a violent man threatening women can be placed in the same ominous container. Once the label has been attached, even ordinary concern for men can begin to look suspicious. The underlying message is that men don’t deserve compassion.
But there is something odd here. Where is the equivalent word for the huge network of universities, feminist organizations, advocacy groups, foundations, government agencies, media outlets, legal organizations, and research centers that create and circulate feminist ideas? That network is far larger and far more influential. Yet it mostly goes unnamed. And because it goes unnamed, it stays largely invisible. I call it the femosphere. Once you name it, you start to see it.
Feminist ideas do not simply appear out of nowhere. They are researched. Funded. Taught. Repeated. Promoted. Written into policy. And sometimes written into law.
Other terms do the same thing even more clearly. Take coercive control. There is certainly such a thing as a terrible pattern of domination and control inside a relationship. But what happens when the idea is interpreted almost entirely through a feminist power model? Then we can end up with the familiar story. Powerful man. Powerless woman. His controlling behavior becomes part of a larger system of male domination. Her controlling behavior may be minimized, ignored, or explained as self-protection. Same behavior? Different moral story.
Something similar happens with vicarious violence. The term has been used for situations in which a man harms children or other people in order to hurt a woman. That is terrible behavior and certainly deserves attention. But in countries such as Spain, the concept has even been incorporated into the legal framework as a form of male violence against women—building the sex of the perpetrator and victim into the official meaning. The law only goes one way. There is nothing in the law about a mother victimizing her children to hurt the man. Nothing. This even though we know that mothers murder their children as much or more than fathers. The vicarious violence law arrives preloaded with ideology—and armed with disdain for men and masculinity.
Then there is gender-based violence. Violence against a woman is often described as gender-based even when we do not actually know that her sex was the reason she was attacked. But violence against a man is far less likely to receive the same label. This is interesting because men are the majority of homicide victims and men are often expected to absorb danger precisely because they are men. But somehow that doesn’t fit quite as easily. Once again, men get agency and women get victimhood. Men do things. Things happen to women.
From description to control
This is why I think these words eventually become a form of social control. Not that every person using them is consciously trying to control men. Most aren’t. Most are unaware of what motivates them and simply repeat the arguments they have been taught—arguments that reinforce the narrative they have already swallowed. People tend to repeat the language they hear from professors, journalists, therapists, advocates, friends, and social media. The assumptions just travel along inside the word. Quietly. But the effect is still there.
These words help define what a man is allowed to say. How he is allowed to behave. How much authority he should have. How he is permitted to understand his own experience. And what happens if he objects? He may be told he is fragile. Toxic. Privileged. Misogynistic. Part of the manosphere. Do you see the problem? Every defense can become an opportunity to launch the next drone.
The drones can turn: male confidence into dominance; male disagreement into misogyny; male boundaries into control; male suffering into fragility; male spaces into radicalization; male success into privilege; and female aggression into a response to male power. Notice anything? The direction rarely changes. Men need correction. Women need protection. Men should give up power. Women should be given more. Men’s motives are questioned. Women’s experiences are affirmed.
The great paradox
And here is the strange part. This language keeps telling us that women are powerless while giving enormous power to women and to the institutions claiming to act on their behalf. The person labeled the victim receives moral authority. She is more likely to be believed. Protected. Excused. The person labeled powerful receives moral suspicion. He is expected to listen. Confess. Step back. Change. So powerlessness itself can become a kind of power.
Once victimhood carries enough moral authority, it can end arguments, destroy reputations, influence law, redirect public money, and place an entire sex under suspicion. And because all of this is being done in the name of helping the powerless, it becomes very difficult to question. ”How dare you question giving help to the underdog!” That may be one of the most important things these buzzwords do. They hide power while using it.
Look inside the payload
Now, words are never completely neutral. And sometimes a new word really does help us see something we had missed. Nothing wrong with that. But shouldn’t we get a little suspicious when dozens of new terms all seem to tell us the same moral story? Men have power. Women do not. Men abuse. Women are harmed. Men need limits. Women need authority.
At some point, we have to ask whether we are describing reality or simply applying the same theory over and over again. When the conclusion comes before the evidence, we are no longer dealing with simple description. We are dealing with buzzwords arriving preloaded with ideology—and armed with disdain for men and masculinity.
So the next time one of these words appears, maybe stop for a minute. Ask if the word is being used as a weapon. Ask if it carries an underlying disdain for men. Ask if they have any compassion for men and boys. That one will stop them in their tracks and you will see them fumble for words that show how much compassion they have for men and boys. You have just neutralized an attack drone.
Well done.
Men are good.
