Laboratory Schools students might be inclined to disregard the manosphere. In our hallways, it almost wholly manifests as a source for endless memes, overheard snippets of conversations. Little is done in earnest. But even within U-High, the manosphere is a tempting resource for young men.
The United Nations organization, UN Women, defines the manosphere as an online community that promotes physical appearance and dominance, particularly over women, as markers of male worth.
Journalist Louis Theroux’s latest Netflix documentary, “Inside the Manosphere,” closes with this claim: “We are all increasingly inside the manosphere.”
For sophomore Nikolas Gulyayev, the manosphere is characterized by half-serious looksmaxxing content that simply appears on his feed with ever-increasing frequency. For sophomore Miles Westneat, it’s a community, a place where hidden knowledge has been gathered and preserved, an antidote to the “deceptive reasoning” of society.
They both watch reels and TikToks and YouTube videos where male creators “bonesmash” — tapping their jawlines with hammers to supposedly improve the contours of their face — while they lament the downfall of the modern man.
What ultimately seems to characterize the manosphere is this very absurdity. Rather than undermining the content’s legitimacy, farce uplifts its status. Simply put, it’s entertaining.
Mr. Theroux’s documentary, aside from its ability to deftly illuminate the community on a larger scale, is also just a fantastic watch. Partially because it expertly crafts a narrative. Partially because Mr. Theroux himself is a pleasurable protagonist — both sweetly self-deprecating and unfailingly gutsy. But mostly because the subjects themselves — Sneako, HSTikkyTokky (Harrison Sullivan), Myron Gaines — are impossible to look away from.
Particularly for those who disagree with these influencers, their claims are both disturbing and fascinating.
Nikolas likes to keep an open mind. For him, an aspect of the manosphere’s appeal is that it exposes him to content articulating alternate viewpoints. He believes part of these creators’ wider appeal rests on their contrarian status.
“If you have a different view, that’s almost just as, if not more, interesting for a person to see than something they agree with,” he said.
Miles sees the entertainment value as a compelling vehicle for supposedly scientific observations about gender dynamics and relationships. Influenced by the content he’s consumed, Miles claimed that 50% of women on Tinder swipe right on the top 10% of men.
“Women put a lot more into birthing a child, obviously, than the male does,” he said, “and so they’re looking more for genetic quality in their partner.”
Miles seems to be echoing a modified version of the hallmark “80:20 principle,” which similarly contends that 80% of women want the top 20% of men.
This principle was challenged by U.K. educator Matt Pinkett in his 2025 book “Unmasking the Manosphere: Tackling the misogyny crisis in schools.” Mr. Pinkett traced the statistic back to an anonymous blog post from 2015 discussing a Tinder experiment that included just 27 women.
Most of these ideas, regardless of their validity, actually appear to be rooted in male anxiety about appealing to women. The looming threat is loneliness.
Miles said most young men are concerned that if they’re “ugly,” they’ll never be able to get a partner.
Manosphere content allows them to confront this fear by mitigating it with shocking statements and miracle hacks. That the potentially transformative advice is accompanied by derogatory rhetoric is, in their eyes, simply a tool to ensure views.
However, just as it is dangerous to underestimate the manosphere’s appeal simply because it is ludicrous, it is equally dangerous to underestimate its power.
To echo Louis Theroux’s final appeal: “We are all increasingly inside the manosphere. It’s up to us how we get out.”
