Jordan Peterson: The Professor of Doomscrolling
Peterson peddles evolutionary psychology like it’s gospel, but his greatest trick is repackaging 1950s gender roles in a Canadian accent and a poorly ironed suit. His message? You’re not failing, society is. And women are probably to blame.
He called for "enforced monogamy" as a solution to incel terrorism. He said women usurping male roles would lead to rebellion, failure, and eventual enslavement of men. Charming.
He once dismissed catcalling, consent, and rape culture in a series of tweets so regressive they could be chiseled into a stone tablet and mistaken for Hammurabi's drunken cousin. Oh, and don’t worry—if a woman is your boss, she's probably just power-tripping. But if she challenges you? She's flirting. Obviously.
Peterson is the velvet glove over the iron fist of patriarchy. His fanboys think they’re reading Nietzsche; they’re really just getting Dad Advice from someone who thinks makeup is witchcraft and the wage gap is a myth.
Andrew Tate: Fast Cars, Slow Thinking
Tate is what happens when you let a toxic dump site gain sentience. A former kickboxer turned MLM guru, his philosophy boils down to: "Money, muscles, misogyny."
He tells boys women are property, that rape victims are partially to blame, and that it’s totally cool to date teenagers so you can "mold" them. He’s not a role model. He’s the instructional video for a future restraining order.
His influence is staggering. Billions of TikTok views. Millions in earnings from his "Hustler's University" cult. And every middle school in the English-speaking world now has at least one eighth-grade Andrew who calls women "females" and thinks empathy is for the weak.
He was arrested for human trafficking and still has boys calling him a martyr. That tells you everything.
Stefan Molyneux: Neckbeard Nietzsche With a Fetish for Eggs
Molyneux may sound like a low-rent philosopher, but he’s basically a eugenics fanboy who wants women barefoot, pregnant, and three IQ points above livestock. He harassed Taylor Swift about her eggs like a fertility cultist who got locked out of the Temple of Doom.
This guy believes female liberation is civilizational suicide. Women are too emotional for democracy, too irrational for leadership, and probably responsible for the Holocaust of Unborn Children. You know, real "family values" stuff.
He was banned from YouTube, Twitter, and PayPal. That’s the internet equivalent of being exiled to Pluto.
Roosh V: From Date Rapist to Jesus Cosplayer
Roosh V made his name teaching men how to coerce women into sex. He literally wrote books about it, branded them as international conquest guides, and recommended “legalizing rape on private property” to teach women a lesson. He swore it was satire. That’s what they always say.
Then he found God. Which, in manosphere terms, means he stopped banging women and started blaming them for societal collapse instead. He still wants them submissive. Just celibate first.
It’s not a redemption arc. It’s a rebranding.
Nick Fuentes: The Incel Ethnostate Mascot
Fuentes is what you get when incel forums cross-pollinate with white nationalism. He thinks sex with women is gay, women shouldn’t vote, and that he should be in charge. Of what? Who knows. Hopefully not anything involving electricity.
He sells misogyny to alienated teens with a smirk and a fascist salute. He doesn’t want men to heal. He wants them to hate. And he’s not even subtle about it.
The Pattern: Grift, Blame, Repeat
None of these men actually care about helping young men. They just sell pain relief in the form of scapegoats. Women, feminists, LGBTQ folks, immigrants, single moms. Anyone but themselves.
They speak the language of suffering, but what they’re really offering is an alibi. “You’re not failing. The world is cheating. And we can show you how to win it back.”
Spoiler: It’s a scam. The only thing these grifters ever liberated was your wallet.
Next Time: Building Something Better
In Part 3, we tear up the old rulebook and build a new one—without misogyny, martyrdom, or motivational pyramid schemes.
Spoiler: real masculinity doesn’t involve livestreams from your Bugatti.