From Meta to the military: The hidden costs of ‘masculinity’ at work

Early this year, Mark Zuckerberg made headlines by saying corporate culture needs more “masculine energy.” This sentiment was echoed by Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth’s call for the military—an employer of 2.1 million Americans—to return to a “warrior ethos”, promoting traditional masculine standards like aggression and athleticism.

And yet, according to recent news reports, recruits at ICE (another workplace) are struggling to pass basic fitness tests, and Hegseth allegedly installed a makeup room at the Pentagon. Such contradictions remind me of a former manager who once criticized a potential hire for being “kind of girly,” yet spent most of his free time online researching spa treatments and shopping for floral polos.

Masculinity standards can be nebulous and conflicting. GQ’s 2025 State of Masculinity Survey asked 1,929 American men their thoughts and beliefs on masculinity, and men surveyed defined “masculine” as “strong,” “protective,” and “tough”—but when asked how they’d like to be described by a friend, they said “respectful,” “honest,” and “responsible.”

It seems even men themselves are confused about what masculinity is. Meanwhile, the GQ survey also found that 68% of men think about how to be masculine every single day.

“Men are navigating mixed messages,” says gender equality and masculinity researcher Dr. Sarah DiMuccio, Head of Research and Development at Above & Beyond, a DEI consultancy and leadership academy based in Copenhagen. 

“‘Be more open and empathetic.’ But also: ‘man up’ and ‘be decisive.’”

In today’s world, workplace leaders are doubling down on a narrow, quasi-toxic version of masculinity, determining who gets heard, who gets promoted, what behaviors are rewarded and what the tone of the organization is. This impacts the way men behave, define success, and shapes business, as well as larger culture. The consequences are real: Economically, harmful behaviors associated with masculine stereotypes cost the United States over $15.7 billion each year.

Masculine performance—and anxiety

As a gay man, I’ve never been naive about how masculinity is used as currency. But because I was raised in what I now realize was a very progressive household, it wasn’t something I worried much about. I started rethinking how I performed it after being passed over for a work promotion.

My then manager (the floral-polo-bedecked one) encouraged me to apply for this interview, telling me I was a natural fit. While I’d never mentioned being gay to him before, it somehow came up during an interview he’d sat in on. The unofficial, non-HR-sanctioned feedback I got from him when I didn’t advance? “I think they were just looking for, like, a sports-and-beer guy.”

Can I absolutely prove it was being gay? No, but I’d bet money on it. 

A 2022 study published in Sex Roles: a Journal of Research found that both gay and straight men tend to prefer gay colleagues who are in leadership roles to present as masculine. And while I subjectively feel I present pretty masculine, masculinity and sexuality are routinely conflated. Even at more progressive companies, I now strategically choose when to acknowledge my sexuality. It’s hard to blame me, when work culture (and the wider culture) rewards a very narrow idea of “masculinity,” putting it on a pedestal for others to conform to.

Dr. Travis Speice, a sociologist specializing in gender and sexuality studies, says, “Sometimes, it doesn’t actually matter how we perform our gender or our sexuality in the workplace—it’s other people who decide whether it’s acceptable or not.” This can lead to some absurd-seeming contradictions. One might think Pete Hegseth’s installation of a makeup studio in the Pentagon flies in the face of “warrior ethos,” but if others have already deemed him (or any man) the “right” kind of masculine, it might not matter.

And yet: “I don’t know that any performance is absurd if the performer feels like there is a social advantage by following through with that performance,” Speice says.

On top of the muddied definitions and public displays of masculinity, the pressure for men to perform as masculine at work worryingly has an adverse effect on everyone involved. 

A 2018 study published in the Journal of Social Issues, entitled “Work as a Masculinity Contest,” found that workplaces prevalent with men attempting masculine performance tend to be ones also filled with toxic leadership and bullying, as well as fewer opportunities, more burnout, and worse wellbeing for the women in the office. 

“Success comes to focus not on meeting performance goals,” the study says, “but on proving you are more of a man than the next guy. Thus, being a top performer is tantamount to being a man—or for the winners, ‘the man.’” 

The need to prove masculinity at work can cause men to behave aggressively, embrace risky behaviors, and sexually harass others. Half of men have taken time off from work to cope with mental health struggles, but less than one in ten would disclose said struggles.

DiMuccio was a researcher on a 2021 study entitled Masculine Anxiety and Interrupting Sexism at Work, which found that 94% of men at work experience “masculine anxiety”: the stress men feel living up to masculine expectations. 

She points out how the way this anxiety manifests doesn’t always look like nervousness: “Sometimes it looks like bravado, competition, or withdrawal.” Speice adds that “In some work environments, straight men may feel even more pressure to perform traditional masculinity,” desperate to prove their ‘real man’ status. 

The tech bro: Our loudest archetype

At the moment, few industries capture the celebrated absurdity of masculinity’s narrowest view more than Big Tech.

“Silicon Valley is embracing a new era of masculinity,” Zoe Bernard wrote in her 2023 piece for Vox entitled “Silicon Valley’s very masculine year”. (An award that Silicon Valley is about to win for the third year in a row, and maybe then we can retire the trophy.) Tech’s “leaders are powerful, virile, and swole,” Bernard writes. Today’s tech bros—Mark Zuckerberg, Jeff Bezos, Elon Musk—have become the unofficial poster boys for performative masculinity, trading in hoodies and office foosball tables for MMA and bow hunting. 

Nick Clegg, former Meta Vice President of Global Affairs, recently critiqued the tech bros (though it should be noted he spoke highly of Zuckerberg as a colleague), in an interview with The Guardian, hinting at the fragility of performative manliness. He called the trend “cloyingly conformist,” adding: “I couldn’t, and still can’t, understand this deeply unattractive combination of machismo and self-pity.” 

Dr. Peter Glick, a Professor of Psychology at Lawrence University (and co-author of the Work as a Masculinity Contest study) told me that traditional masculine roles provided men with a set of privileges that some feel are slipping away due to gender equality and DEI advances. 

“My own sense is that if anything, we have moved into a phase of highly reactive, defensive, aggrieved masculinity,” he says, especially “among many men who resent loss of status, power, purpose, and clarity with respect to how to fulfill masculine identity.” DiMuccio agrees, citing the influence of the manosphere: a loose, online network of blogs, forums, and social media promoting traditional masculinity and highly critical of anything it deems “feminist.” 

“Men are promised belonging and purpose, but in a way that is deeply problematic, misogynistic, and reinforces narrow versions of masculinity even more,” she says, noting that these spaces thrive on masculine anxiety. They turn the fear of losing status or identity in a changing world into resentment—and performance. 

“If you’re accustomed to privilege, equality feels like oppression,” says Clegg.

Rethinking masculinity

Growing up, being perceived as masculine wasn’t something I worried about. I attribute that to my father, who, on paper, embodies traditional masculinity: He’s tall, not super emotive, and possesses the authoritative air befitting a retired Marine Colonel. But his is actually a more nuanced version of masculinity: While he certainly has protective and imposing traits, he’s neither aggressive nor bombastic, embodying a quiet confidence that seeks neither attention nor approval. He modeled being a decent guy, not arbitrarily proving he was “the man.” 

Perhaps those qualities—a steadying, grounded presence that doesn’t default to performing toxic traits or demanding others to comply with them—is what “masculinity” in the workplace could look like instead.

DiMuccio thinks that deep down, “Most men do know, at some level, that these [toxic] behaviors —silencing others, overcompensating, refusing to ask for help—undermine teamwork and performance.” But she points out that, in many workplaces, the social rewards of being perceived as masculine still justify the performance. 

“It’s not that men don’t care about the greater goal. They do. But the cultural script of masculinity is so strong that it can override logic. Changing that requires shifting what we reward and recognize as leadership and success at work,” DiMuccio says. 

For better or worse, the concept of masculinity will continue to shape the ways we live and work. We can point out its hypocrisies and absurdities all we want, but the reality is that the ways men choose to telegraph masculinity shape who gets ahead, who gets heard, and how teams function—reflecting a broader cultural tendency to reward appearances, conformity, and social signaling over substance. 

Recognizing this dynamic might empower individuals to identify and call out the smoke and mirrors—and allow more men to stop playing pretend. 

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