“I hate all men.”
It’s a phrase that is so commonly thrown around in modern conversations, much to the ridicule and scoffing of young men. How could a woman, surely one with a father, or a brother, or even a boyfriend, claim that all men are inherently bad?
To preface, this phrase is not a personal attack on literally every man to exist, but more so a criticism on how men have harmed many women around the world as a whole. Granted, I’ve experienced the phrase being thrown around irresponsibly with little to no explanation on its implications. When it’s framed as a joke or a throwaway statement at the end of a rant about your best friend’s ex–boyfriend, it becomes even more difficult to take it seriously. I understand how this could be annoying, but I believe despite that, there is a necessary conversation to be had about this sentiment, joke or no joke.
I believe the message at the core of this phrase is a criticism of masculinity, or rather, toxic masculinity. Unfortunately, toxic masculinity has become a buzzword that often deters individuals from having serious and nuanced conversations about the patriarchy without being laughed at by men. “Toxic” is a subjective term in this context, and “masculinity” is arguably even more complicated. In the context of this piece, the masculinity I reference is what I am most familiar with, which is limited to a Western cultural context and a cis-heteronormative perspective. While it would be ideal to discuss these issues in broader, more inclusive contexts, so many of us operate under these restrictive frameworks, so a conversation limited by this is still necessary.
If you ask women what toxic masculinity is to them, many of their experiences overlap. When masculinity starts to hurt people, whether through harming women directly or by perpetuating harmful ideals that influence men to hurt themselves or those around them, it becomes toxic masculinity. Toxic masculinity looks like men tying their self-worth into how many women sleep with them, in turn ruining genuine connections with women because of this idea that fails to see women as people. I see it in day-to-day life, in the workplace and friend groups alike, when women are talked over, ignored, mansplained to and called unfunny because the roles that build up men also bring women down.
The problem is that it’s hard to define where the “toxic” ends and the “masculinity” begins. A classic example is when the check comes at the end of a date between a man and woman. A man paying for the meal is a traditionally masculine chivalrous act, but it comes with implications. Should financial dynamics in relationships stay conservative to preserve masculinity? Traditionally, the man provides while the woman takes on the role of the caretaker, but if the woman starts to work and provide for herself, does this alleviate the man’s role as a “provider?” Or, if the woman is making her own money, should the bill now be split since both parties are taking on the “providing,” or should the man pay even more since the woman is shouldering some of his weight as a provider? Obviously these issues should be discussed in whatever relationship you choose to be in, but it illustrates my point that the line at which chivalry crosses over to harmful patriarchal ideals is hard to find.
When looking for a “healthy” example of masculinity, one that most quickly comes to mind is sports, though it should be noted sports are not inherently masculine. Men bond with other male friends over sports, rooting for the same team, watching games together. But from the perspectives of my female friends and I, it’s hard to separate this “respectable” hobby from “locker room talk” horror stories, when women are objectified and treated as conquests. The disrespect is often less extreme than that, though—almost all of my female friends who have even half an interest in Michigan football have an experience of a man brushing off their knowledge of the teams or how the game works. Just like that, a traditionally masculine and wholesome hobby could easily be used to put down women and rob them of their dimensionality and thus, become toxic.
The same blurriness between toxic masculinity and masculinity is the gray area between “some men” and “all men.” I think this is what underlies the sentiment that causes “some men are bad” to become “all men are bad.” The uncertainty makes it hard to decipher when masculinity is good and when it is bad, and misogyny is unrelenting. Women cannot simply ignore or take a break from men or their masculinity, toxic or not, when it is present in our loved ones, our family, friends, significant others. It is tiring, exhausting. It is easier to believe that it is all men, to prevent the hurt that might come if we put ourselves in a vulnerable position in an attempt to believe otherwise.
Over the summer, I read the book “The Will to Change: Men, Masculinity, and Love” by bell hooks. Reading the experiences written in the book made me feel understood in my anger, but hooks’ analysis was also surprisingly kind toward not only men as a whole but also toward the men who had personally hurt her. This made a small part of me upset because I have always hated the idea that it is the woman’s responsibility to educate the man. I have memories of trying to explain to former guy friends why something they said was rude or misogynistic, only to be misunderstood or called sensitive. How cruel is it to ask the victims of the societal imbalance of misogyny to explain to their perpetrator what they did wrong? It seems inhumane and unrealistic that a woman is made responsible for teaching a man all these things, like a mother raising a son. Even a mother who intends to raise her son properly must face opposition from the rest of the world.
And yet, reading hooks’ personal stories quickly showed me that she was not blind to the harmful effects of the patriarchy on women. Despite the hurt she has clearly faced from the men in her life, she emphasizes a need for change. Specifically, she states a need for men to learn to love. The overarching message is that women cannot dismantle the effects of the patriarchy alone. However, as hooks explains, “Within the early writings of radical feminism, anger, rage, and even hatred of men was voiced, yet there was no meaningful attempt to offer ways to resolve these feelings, to imagine a culture of reconciliation…Militant feminism…did not allow us to talk about what it meant to love men in patriarchal culture, to know how we could express that love without fear of exploitation and oppression.”
It is important to remember that misogyny is what prevents healthy relationships between men and women, not something that means men and women cannot share a community. It creates mistrust and anxiety within these relationships, whether it be romantic, platonic, or parental. It’s what makes women feel unheard and ignored even if the man feels he is listening. It’s what makes sex an act of power for the man and an act of submission for the woman. It’s what creates power imbalances that fester resentment, secrecy, and misunderstandings. Ultimately, it’s not men versus women, but men and women versus misogyny.
Hooks writes, “Men do oppress women. People are hurt by rigid sexist role patterns. These two realities coexist. Male oppression of women cannot be excused by the recognition that there are ways men are hurt by rigid sexist roles. Feminist activists should acknowledge that hurt, and work to change it — it exists. It does not erase or lessen male responsibility for supporting and perpetuating their power under patriarchy to exploit and oppress women in a manner far more grievous than the serious psychological stress and emotional pain caused by male conformity to rigid sexist role patterns.” I quote this because I do not want my expression of my empathy to counter my original point. Misogyny forces women to become small, and men to become so big they’ll break anything in their path. hooks begs the reader to consider that perhaps the men are not taught to be anything but big.
Women say that they hate all men because the effects of misogyny are so deeply rooted they have made it difficult to differentiate the kinds of masculinity they should respect versus the kind they should hate. I empathize deeply with the sentiment, from lived and observed experiences alike. I believe it is not only kind but extremely necessary for men to understand the feelings that lie underneath the phrase, to start from a place of empathy. In turn, however, I believe any conversation that will result in change must consider how the patriarchy has failed not only women but also men.
So no, I don’t actually hate all men, but the anger generated by the phrasing of it is a symptom of the real problem at hand.
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