By Carys Evans

Last week, Louis Theroux’s Inside the Manosphere launched on Netflix and, as ever, I felt compelled to add my own noise to the inevitable online discourse. The reviews are mixed. Some are disappointed Louis didn’t challenge the ideas he encountered more openly. Others were frustrated by the perceived lack of women’s voices. I’ve seen interesting responses that suggest Louis was unprepared for this particular branch of perversion, as though his time with the Westboro Baptist Church was child’s play compared to a week in Marbella with HSTikkyTokky (Harrison Sullivan).

Of course, I’m being facetious because in many senses this is right. The Manosphere poses complex problems for our society and, because of its digital nature, is endemic. I sometimes think of it as a virus – spreading slowly, quietly, and then presenting itself all at once to naïve and unassuming audiences. Adolescence seemed to prompt a cultural moment of collective anxiety. Theroux’s documentary has got us all talking again. In the real world, we see it manifest in acts of horrific violence, both on and offline. Consider the case of Nicholas Prosper – a chilling, devastating act hugely influenced by time spent in online spaces many would consider manosphere-adjacent. (For those interested, there’s an excellent couple of episodes of 24 Hours in Police Custody on his case. Harrowing and humbling – worth a watch.)

I quite enjoyed the documentary – though I’m not sure enjoyed is the right word. It exposed popular Manosphere influencers for what they are. Some have used the word ‘grifters’, and I understand why. Almost every man Louis spoke with openly admitted their priority was income generation via rage-bait – saying or doing whatever is most extreme or shocking to drive mass attention. Algorithms financially reward this, and these men understand and exploit that. This seemed to be the loudest message the show wanted to land, and though critical, for me it wasn’t the most interesting or affecting. There is plenty to say about the fact that these influencers reach for some of the oldest, most entrenched forms of hatred to generate their income – antisemitism, homophobia, misogyny, racism. Something is deeply troubling in both the familiarity and the success of those tactics, but I’ll leave that for another time. What struck me most were the moments these men reckoned with the emotional consequences of the lives they have chosen.

Early on, Louis asks one of the men whether there’s any benefit in “being a good person.” The young man calls it a “good question” before pivoting back to income generation, sidestepping entirely what living a life full of contradictions does to one’s sense of self. There are moments where this kind of confrontation lands more effectively. Speaking with Myron Gaines (Amrou Fudl), host of an alarmingly popular ‘bro-style’ podcast, about his relationship, you watch the light leave his eyes when Louis suggests his behaviour might cost him his girlfriend (with whom he maintains a one-sided open relationship; he can sleep with others, she cannot). Gaines seemed genuinely distressed at the idea. By the end of the show, we learn this had come to pass. What strikes me is that Gaines, briefly and unintentionally revealing his fear of being alone, chose to remain committed to his bit, in this case to his detriment.

Louis also spends time with two fans of one of the influencers, and this section is some of the bleakest television I’ve seen in a long time. We watch them work out, run along a beach in slow motion, and recount how these creators “saved their lives” by helping them reject the concept of poor mental health and embrace their true masculinity, which seems primarily to mean having muscles. With barely a scratch from Louis, we learn one of them had, only months before, been living in his car after losing his brother to suicide.

The ‘epidemic of male loneliness’ is a controversial phrase, and I understand the resistance to it. But loneliness pervaded every conversation Louis had with these ‘fans’, and that matters. If you think back to a time you felt truly, inescapably alone you will likely find yourself confronted by what you were willing to consider to escape it. Loneliness changes how we make decisions. It makes us vulnerable to exactly the kind of narrative these influencers peddle. Being recognised in your isolation and told it is not your fault, can be (as some of these men said directly) lifesaving. The problem is we, as a society, are not very good at offering that ourselves.

I know how uncomfortable what I’m saying is. When faced with the tangible harm caused by these creators, our instinct is to condemn. But I think this creates a cyclical problem. The responses I’ve heard to the documentary – and I won’t pretend I haven’t thought of some of them myself – have included: “these men are trash”, “most women don’t want you anyway”, “these are not real men.” And I get it, completely. These ideas are damaging – to the men who hold them as much as anyone else. But women, especially, have long lived at the sharp end of men’s dangerous behaviour, and that resilience has limits. I understand the reaction, totally.

Loneliness changes how we make decisions. It makes us vulnerable to exactly the kind of narrative these influencers peddle. Being recognised in your isolation and told it is not your fault, can be (as some of these men said directly) lifesaving. The problem is we, as a society, are not very good at offering that ourselves.

Yet here’s the thing – it’s exactly the reaction these men have been primed to expect. The appeal of Manosphere influencers is partly that they don’t tell their audience they’re pathetic. When everyone else says they’re useless, or that we should ignore them, these creators say the world is stacked against them. When everyone else says they’re embarrassing, these creators say they just haven’t yet unlocked their potential. Every “I’d never sleep with you anyway” doesn’t challenge the narrative but confirms it. It becomes further proof, in their eyes, that a broken society rejects them. It deepens their attachment, hardens their worldview, and keeps the money flowing to creators like Gaines and HS.

I’m not suggesting it’s our fault – and certainly not the fault of women watching – but those of us working in these spaces must think carefully about how society’s reactions can feed the very problem we’re trying to address. How do we build that awareness into our work? How do we account for the fact that our social response to the men of the Manosphere can contribute to embedding their attitudes further?

The appeal of Manosphere influencers is partly that they don’t tell their audience they’re pathetic. When everyone else says they’re useless, or that we should ignore them, these creators say the world is stacked against them.

At ConnectFutures, that’s exactly what we try to do. We ask practitioners to sit with difficult emotions – notably loneliness, and the resistance we all feel to admitting we experience it. We facilitate genuine critical thinking (harder than we like to admit) with adults and young people on controversial topics like misogyny and the manosphere. We encourage men and women to model healthy relationships, and we create space for honest conversations about difficult emotions. We make it clear this is hard, complicated work. 

With that in mind, we also advocate for well-funded, long-term interventions for young people. Think skilled mentoring from youth workers, safe offline spaces to spend time away from devices, and open discussions where disagreement is not only permitted but welcomed (on topics like democracy, mental health, and social media). We welcome the government’s Violence Against Women and Girls Strategy, as well as DCMS’ Loneliness Strategy, and hope to contribute to that work through our programmes. These issues are grizzly, for sure. It is important to acknowledge that understanding why these spaces appeal isn’t the same as excusing them, but the first step to making them less necessary.

Here are 3 practical takeaways to consider: 

1. Consider your counter-narrative approach: Check whether your programmes challenge manosphere content by dismissing it, or by genuinely engaging with its appeal. Materials that only say “this is wrong” may accidentally confirm what these young men have been primed to expect. Emphasise the scamming nature of much of this content – you could even reference the documentary when doing this! 

2. Create low-stakes spaces built around students’ interests: Rather than designing spaces explicitly for ‘difficult conversations’, build informal environments around what young people already enjoy and care about – this might be sport, gaming, content creating, etc. The right setting, chosen with them, not for them, is often where honest conversation happens naturally.

3. For funders, prioritise relationship-centered work: Some of the most effective interventions in this space pivot around trusted, ongoing relationships between young people and the adults around them. Fund programmes that develop these relationships over time and ensure the practitioners are well-versed in the issues. 

How do we build that awareness into our work? How do we account for the fact that our social response to the men of the manosphere can contribute to embedding their attitudes further?

If you want to learn more, reach out to us. 

More information on our work with students (Yr 5-13) and professionals can be found here: https://connectfutures.org/training-workshops/

Coming Soon 2026 | FREE | ConnectFutures has been commissioned by the Department for Education to create supportive educational resources on extreme misogyny for schools and colleges. These resources will help schools and colleges to teach and/or discuss misogyny and extreme misogyny with their pupils, build resilience, and learn how to reject hatred. Email us for further information.

Workshop | 90-120 minutes – Incels, Misogyny and the Manosphere | 

Updated to reflect contemporary trends – including Com Networks and gore content – this practical workshop gives practitioners the knowledge and confidence to recognise and respond to manosphere-related concerns in their setting. Participants will understand key concepts like incel ideology and extreme misogyny, recognise relevant language and symbols, and explore how online and gaming spaces shape this thinking. Risk indicators including neurodiversity and SEMH are covered, alongside policy guidance and practical response options. Includes slides, activities, and free post-delivery portal access.