For many men, the gym isn’t just training; it’s identity management. It’s one of the few places where they can reliably feel agency, strength, and self-respect.

The manosphere, a nebulous grouping of male influencers, podcasts, and content creators, has tapped into those desires, turning physical self-improvement into an entry point for creating male followers. The popularity of manosphere influencers has proven that boys and men want to be strong. That can be a good thing. But, what often happens next is more troubling.

The Slippery Slope of Manosphere Self-Improvement

In my experience, most men don’t need convincing to pay attention to their bodies. They want bodies they’re proud of. They want to feel capable, disciplined, and desirable.

The issue is how some influencers shape men’s relationship with their bodies into a competition of muscle, performance, and status. Men searching for content to improve their health and fitness can easily become inundated by messages that promote obsession, perfectionism, and body dysmorphia.

Andrew Tate, the manosphere’s most notorious influencer, has said that missing one gym session won’t hurt you, but “the attitude that allows you to miss one session without guilt” will. In other words, you should feel guilty for not working out. It makes you weak—less of a man.

Two Responses That Backfire

There are two common responses to this messaging.

The first is to dismiss it as toxic nonsense. Why would you listen to someone like that?

But dismissing the manosphere misses the point. There’s something men are looking for online, and shaming them for what they admire can deepen their attachment to it. We need to acknowledge the real positive changes in men who have started lifting or eating better because of manosphere influencers.

The second response is to offer a supposedly better reason to exercise: do it for others. Two years ago, I argued that men should take care of themselves not just for their own sake, but for their partners and families.

When men neglect their health, the consequences don’t stop with them. Their partners often end up carrying more of the emotional, physical, and financial burden. Self-care is, in that sense, a form of responsibility. I still believe that.

But putting all the emphasis on what a man’s fitness does for others can reinforce the expectation that a man’s body doesn’t really matter. It’s a machine whose value lies in what it can produce. When fitness is for others, it loses its intrinsic value and becomes another performance.

The Third Path: Don’t Replace the Motive—Evolve It

What if we stopped trying to replace men’s desire to be strong and fit, and instead helped them build a healthier relationship with that motivation?

Wanting to be strong is different from believing you’re worthless when you’re weak. Wanting to be attractive is different from needing to outrank other men. Choosing discipline is different from being unable to tolerate a day of rest. The manosphere often misses all of these.

And here’s what I see most clearly in my coaching work: men may feel more comfortable treating their bodies like machines that need maintenance than companions that deserve care. It’s not that men don’t want to care for their bodies. It’s that they’ve never been taught how. They’ve never been allowed to be more yielding, gentle, or nurturing to themselves. All they know is push, force, and domination.

What This Looks Like in Practice

If we want to help men keep fitness in their lives without dominating their bodies, measuring themselves against every man in the gym, or objectifying themselves (and others), we need to change the culture that says your worth depends on your rank, rest is weakness, and other men are competition.

If you’re a man who wants to work out, ask yourself:

• Am I training because I should, or because I want to?
• Am I proving something, or caring for something?
• How much of my self-worth am I attaching to my performance in the gym?

These questions help men be honest about the pressure they feel to look or perform a rigid notion of masculinity. But the work doesn’t stop there. Men need other men who can model mature forms of strength and help change the narrative that strength and vulnerability are opposites.

These interactions can happen on sports teams, in running clubs, or in a well-facilitated men’s group. Or they can come from a coach, a therapist, or a friend who can say “enough” without being seen as weak. These experiences help men get comfortable with displaying strength without domination. Over time, the exercise persists and something subtle shifts:

• Duty → Choice. “I have to train or else” makes room for “I get to do this with my body.”
• Proving → Belonging. Training to beat other men makes room for training alongside them.
• Self-management → Self-intimacy. Overriding pain and fatigue makes room for listening to what your body is telling you.
• Optimization → Stewardship. Chasing better numbers makes room for caring for a body you’ll live in for decades.

None of this requires a man to stop wanting to be strong, attractive, or respected. Those desires simply no longer have to decide his worth.

For Parents, Partners, and Clinicians

If a young man in your life is watching this content, try asking what about these influencers resonates with him. What do they seem to understand about his life that other adults miss? Is it discipline? A sense of purpose? Men to look up to?

Honor that motive. Then help him find a healthier place to pursue it.

He already wants to work out. What gets built next is the whole story.