Date posted:
For most of my adult life, I believed that my interests defined my masculinity. The whiskey collection, the sports knowledge, the way I carried myself in rooms full of other men. These things felt essential to who I was as a man. It never occurred to me that I might be performing rather than simply being.
The thing about cultural conditioning is how invisible it becomes. You don't realise you're following a script because the script feels like your authentic self. You've learned what gets approval from other men, what earns respect and what signals that you belong. And then you simply embody those things, convinced they represent something true about who you are.
What shifted this for me wasn't a dramatic revelation. It was noticing men who seemed to inhabit masculinity differently, who carried themselves with a settledness I couldn't quite identify at first. These men weren't performing anything. They simply were. And their presence made me aware, perhaps for the first time, of just how much performing I'd been doing.
qualities I've come to value
When I think about what feels authentically masculine to me now, it has almost nothing to do with external markers and everything to do with internal capacity.
Emotional regulation tops the list. Not the suppression of emotion that I once mistook for strength, but the ability to remain present and grounded even when situations become uncomfortable or uncertain. This comes from having done enough internal work that you don't immediately go into threat response when difficulty arises. You can sit with discomfort without needing to fix it, control it or flee from it.
Boundaries matter enormously, but not the aggressive, defensive kind that come from insecurity. I mean clear, calm boundaries that arise from knowing yourself well enough to understand what serves you and what doesn't. Being able to say no without elaborate justification or guilt. Being able to hold your ground without needing to dominate anyone. This requires tremendous internal security that has nothing to do with traditional masculine bravado.
Communication has become central to how I understand healthy masculinity. Being able to articulate what you're feeling, what you need and what you observe without making it confrontational. Being willing to be direct rather than expecting others to intuit your needs. This requires vulnerability, which brings me to what might be the most important quality of all.
Vulnerability, genuine vulnerability, might be the most masculine quality there is, though our culture rarely frames it that way. I'm not talking about weaponised vulnerability where you overshare to avoid accountability. I mean the willingness to be seen in your uncertainty, to admit when you're struggling, to ask for support, to acknowledge mistakes. The strength required for this kind of openness far exceeds the effort needed to maintain a facade of having everything sorted.
How this shows up in real life
These aren't just theoretical concepts. They have real implications for how I move through the world and show up in my relationship.
With Evie, this evolution has meant learning to be present without needing to fix or solve. When she's processing difficult emotions, my instinct used to be to immediately offer solutions, partly because I wanted to help but also because her distress was uncomfortable for me. Learning to simply hold space, to listen without agenda and to trust that she's capable of working through her own experience has transformed our dynamic entirely.
In our work together, it's meant developing comfort with not knowing. There are situations where I genuinely don't have the answer or the perfect response. Rather than pretending I do or deflecting, I've learned to admit uncertainty while staying grounded. This models something important, that not knowing doesn't mean incompetence or weakness. It just means being human.
With other men, I'm more willing to have genuine conversations rather than staying on the surface of safe topics. I'm more able to acknowledge when someone is struggling rather than pretending not to notice. I'm more comfortable expressing appreciation without it feeling awkward or loaded with unspoken subtext.
And perhaps most importantly, it's changed my relationship with myself. There's less internal criticism, less monitoring of whether I'm measuring up to some standard. More acceptance of my actual feelings rather than what I think I should be feeling.
men who showed me a different way
I mentioned noticing men who inhabited masculinity differently. What struck me most about these men was their comfort with not being central. They seemed genuinely content to hold space for others to shine, particularly when their partners were receiving attention.
I remember watching one man at an event years ago whose partner was putting on a sensual dance performance. The room was captivated, mostly men watching this incredibly sensual display. I watched him watching her. He was simply present, clearly delighted by her performance, entirely comfortable with her receiving this kind of attention. Based on my experience growing up, he had every reason to expect judgement from other men, but he was completely unperturbed.
These men weren't less masculine because they weren't performing it. If anything, their lack of performance made them seem more authentically themselves, which felt more genuinely masculine than any amount of swagger I'd seen before.
The ongoing work
I'd love to tell you I've arrived at some enlightened place where I'm completely free from conditioning. I haven't. There are still moments when I catch myself slipping into old patterns, particularly in groups of men I don't know well. There's sometimes a subtle pull to perform masculinity in more traditional ways, to signal belonging through familiar markers.
But increasingly, I'm able to recognise these moments and choose differently. To show up as myself rather than as the version of masculinity I think will be most accepted. Sometimes this means being the quiet one. Sometimes it means asking questions that others might see as too vulnerable. Sometimes it means being content to support rather than lead.
What I'd offer to other men
If you're reading this and questioning your own relationship with masculinity, I want you to know that wherever you are is exactly where you need to be. There's no correct timeline for this exploration.
Give yourself permission to question everything you've been taught about what it means to be a man. Not to reject it wholesale, but to examine whether it actually feels true for you. Notice when you're performing versus when you're simply being. Pay attention to which men you respect and why.
Experiment with vulnerability, even in small ways. Notice what happens when you admit you don't know something or ask for help. You might be surprised by how rarely this costs you respect and how often it deepens connection.
Most importantly, be patient with yourself. This is lifelong work, not a weekend project. You'll slip back into old patterns, you'll catch yourself performing when you meant to be authentic. This is all part of the process.
The journey toward more authentic masculinity isn't about becoming someone else or achieving some ideal version of manhood. It's about becoming more fully yourself, discovering what remains when you're not performing for anyone, including yourself.
This is where real masculinity lives. Not in external markers or curated interests, but in the quiet confidence of showing up as exactly who you are. In being grounded enough to let others shine. In having nothing to prove and nowhere to get to except more fully into yourself.
Axel
