It is a rare experience to witness a stranger break down in tears right before you.
That moment occurred in 2018 when I was invited to speak at Grove City College, a small Christian institution near Pittsburgh. A young man who picked me up from the airport for the 90-minute drive to campus shared a deeply personal story.
During our conversation, he asked, “Are you familiar with Jordan Peterson?” I acknowledged I was. Peterson’s self-help bestseller, "12 Rules for Life: An Antidote to Chaos," had been published earlier that year and quickly sold over 10 million copies worldwide.
Having read the book myself, I recognized it was not a political manifesto but a guide aimed at helping young men find meaning and direction in uncertain times.
Peterson’s “rules” — including advice like “choose friends who want the best for you” and “compare yourself to who you were yesterday, not to others today” — offer practical wisdom to foster a purposeful life. In essence, it resembles classic self-help works such as Stephen Covey’s “The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People,” but with stronger biblical influences.
The young man confided that Peterson had “saved his life.” After completing his Marine Corps service, he found himself adrift — unemployed, isolated, and struggling with depression. Peterson’s teachings helped him focus on small daily victories and rebuilding his life. Now, he was working, pursuing a degree, and moving forward.
Stories like his are common among Peterson’s early followers, especially before the pandemic altered his public image and political stance.
For many lost young men, Peterson’s message provided hope and purpose, largely divorced from political ideology.
This reflection came to mind when reviewing a recent report about Democratic Party efforts to regroup after last November’s election losses. Party donors and strategists have been convening in upscale venues to devise strategies to regain working-class voters, commissioning studies that resemble anthropological research into distant communities.
Among these initiatives is a $20 million project focused on reversing the decline of Democratic support among young men, particularly in online spaces. The aim is to analyze the language and content styles that gain traction and viral attention.
This announcement drew widespread ridicule online, with critics mocking the idea that Democrats need to spend millions just to learn how to communicate with men.
Yet the party’s attempt to engage young men is understandable, considering the significant shift toward Donald Trump in that demographic during the last election — a trend that complicates future electoral prospects.
However, many misunderstand the core of the challenge. The so-called manosphere is less about politics and more about cultural and personal identity. While it has political implications, its origins are rooted in a cultural response to a widespread sense of loss and disconnection among young men.
Recall the young man’s story: his journey to Peterson was driven by a search for purpose, not political allegiance.
When someone credits a mentor with saving their life, they often become more receptive to that person's political views, no matter how unconventional. For many, Peterson’s political commentary builds on a foundation of trust established through his positive influence.
The rise of the manosphere cannot be fully understood without acknowledging the real crisis it responded to.
While men continue to dominate elite leadership positions, such as corporate boardrooms, the majority lag behind women in educational and social outcomes.
Recent research highlights troubling trends: more girls enroll in college and achieve higher GPAs; boys face higher suspension rates; and males exhibit significantly higher suicide rates and mental health challenges. Boys are also diagnosed with conditions like ADHD and autism at roughly twice the rate of girls.
Compounding these issues is the detrimental effect of fatherlessness, underscoring young men’s urgent need for positive male role models.
The manosphere — a network of writers, podcasters, and influencers — emerged not from a calculated political agenda, but as a response to this emotional and cultural void.
Figures like Jordan Peterson instilled hope; Joe Rogan captivated and inspired through engaging conversations; and even controversial personalities like Andrew Tate, despite facing serious criminal charges, offered a distorted form of self-help to their followers.
What unites these influencers is their appeal from a place of perceived care and encouragement: “I see you, I want you to thrive, and I will guide you.”
This sentiment starkly contrasted with perceptions of the cultural left, which many young men viewed as more focused on advocating for women than supporting men. Phrases like “the future is female” fostered a sense of gender competition, suggesting men’s loss was women’s gain.
When the American Psychological Association’s 2019 report labeled traditional masculinity — defined by stoicism, competitiveness, dominance, and aggression — as largely harmful, it sent a discouraging message to many men: you are the problem.
Yet stoicism holds many virtues, and while dominance can be destructive, competitiveness and aggression are neutral traits that can become virtues when guided by good mentorship.
Just as society condemns criminal aggression but honors military bravery, similarly channeled competitiveness can drive personal and professional achievement.
In this way, the manosphere’s critique has merit.
However, the movement’s embrace of aggression and competitiveness as inherent virtues, and its alignment with Donald Trump, has encouraged some men to indulge destructive behaviors.
This celebration of defiance and hostility as strength is problematic. Being anti-left or anti-feminist does not equate to being pro-male. True masculinity should reject misogyny.
Consider the 2020 Republican National Convention’s final night, showcasing figures like Kid Rock, Hulk Hogan, Dana White, and Donald Trump — icons of a particular “MAGA masculinity.”
Yet many fathers would hesitate to encourage their sons to emulate such role models, given their histories of controversy and misconduct.
This pattern repeats: a genuine cultural problem goes unaddressed or worsened by the current establishment, only to be replaced by a more harmful alternative.
In this case, it is a brand of masculinity that damages women and corrodes men’s well-being.
I began with the young man’s story to illustrate that the connection between young men and influencers like Peterson goes beyond politics.
The Democratic Party’s $20 million plan to engage men includes advice to “shift from a moralizing tone.”
While that shift is important, an even more vital approach is needed. The manosphere’s initial success came from choosing to support men with genuine care rather than condemnation.
Addressing the manosphere’s darker turn requires embracing men with sincere affection, rejecting adversarial gender politics, and promoting a vision of masculinity that inspires compassion over aggression.
The excesses of the MAGA movement present an opportunity — but more for society as a whole than for any political faction.
The solution isn’t a left-wing Joe Rogan, but rather parents, pastors, teachers, and coaches stepping up to fill the emotional void many young men face. Our sons should not have to turn to books, podcasts, or social media to hear the simple message: I see you. I want you to live well. Let me help you find the way.
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