Is anybody really "Man Enough"?

A year ago, I posted a blog about navigating my desire to get an earring and its interaction with what I was raised to think of as masculinity. Around this time, I casually scrolled instagram and a featured post popped up. It was Justin Baldoni, the hot guy from Jane the Virgin, advertising a book he wrote titled “Man Enough.” For those who don’t know, Jane the Virgin was a comedy on CW where Jane (Gina Rodriguez) gets accidentally artificially inseminated while at a routine visit to the gynecologist. Classic scenario. The sperm? It’s Baldoni’s character, Rafael. He’s hot. He’s rich. And he owns the hotel she works at. Cue Justin Baldoni taking his shirt off in slow motion. Throughout the series, there is a lot of Justin without a shirt, a lot of Justin having sex, and really just a lot of objectifying of Justin.

When I saw the post, I was pretty familiar with Justin’s TV persona. I watched Jane the Virgin as it was airing, and both consciously and subconsciously compared myself to Rafael the character. The way everyone obsessed over his physique. The way he had instant sexual chemistry with basically anything that walked. And the way his character had a large and strong fanbase rooting for him to ‘get the girl’ even though, at least at first, I didn’t find him all that likeable. He was arrogant, entitled, and insensitive. He also embodied many aspects of stereotypical masculinity that I have struggled with not being, and yet here he was on Instagram telling me that if I pre-ordered his book on redefining masculinity, he’d send me a signed copy… So obviously I pre-ordered the book.

I wouldn’t say I ordered the book because I had some deep desire for his signature, though I guess I wouldn’t not say it either. I bought the book because I was interested in seeing what this man, the one whose body and tv persona I had compared myself to, had to say about masculinity. And if I’m being honest, once I bought the book, I noticed myself feeling a sense of hope that somehow this book would dismantle “the system” (the system being the patriarchy) and free me from my constant struggle of figuring out how I fit into it. I’ve spent my life trying to figure out where I fit as a man when I don’t necessarily exhibit all of the qualities of a stereotypically masculine person. Even if consciously and logically I know it doesn’t matter, there have been many moments, such as when I wanted to get a piercing, where I couldn’t rid myself of the feelings that there are rules to being a guy, and I have to make sure not to break them. So any time I find myself in a situation where I think someone can alter the rules, or get rid of them all together, I feel hopeful.

And I gotta say, feeling hopeful hurt my pride, because not only did it mean that I couldn’t get over my struggles alone (well, not fully alone since I also have a therapist. And I have my partner who happens to be a therapist), but it meant I was hoping that a guy whose existence had exacerbated my struggles could also be the one to fix them. But I decided to give him a chance.

Before I continue, I want to note that some people may be feeling uncomfortable because I mentioned the patriarchy and talked about dismantling the system. And your discomfort is ok. It’s normal. Many times while reading this book I also felt myself getting defensive and less receptive to what I was reading. And so I stopped and reflected on where it was coming from, and often it was because of this thing in the back of my head telling me that something is coming to harm me. I want to assure you that my talking about dismantling of the patriarchy does not mean that I want men to lose all rights and be walked down the street with a ball and chain as women and non-binary people strut on horses looking down upon us (Cersei Lannister style). Though clearly articulating what it means is hard, here is one source that provides a good baseline. I encourage you to look up more, and not to stop reading simply because it may feel difficult.

I say all this to get to the point:

Simply put, reading Justin's book was a worthwhile, albeit not perfect, start to what I hope will lead to many conversations in my life about how we each play a role in perpetuating a system that puts too much emphasis and (constructed) value on a stereotypical view of masculinity. Above all else, this book shows the extent to which there are thoughts and feelings that men don’t share, due to socialization, that lead to feelings of isolation that could sometimes be solved by simply talking about it.

Now, to be clear, this book is not a self-help book, and this post is not me trying to sell you on a self-help book like one of those book-exchange pyramid schemes (just FYI, those chains where you send one book to someone and get like 30 in return are, by definition, a pyramid scheme). The book is a reflection of Justin’s experience with masculinity, and a reflection of his development in understanding how a system that assigns worth to a very specific form of masculinity hurts everyone, including him. It is Justin saying out loud (or, on paper) the things that he wished someone else had vocalized when he was younger. And this post is my reflection on his reflection - a processing of how I processed what he said. Super meta, I know.

At a surface level, the book affirmed so many things I have felt. For example, it showed me that I’m not the only person who adopts body movements and mannerisms simply because they saw someone else do them (like in middle school when I saw a 'cool' kid put their tongue between their teeth every time they laughed so I subconsciously started doing it as well). And on a deeper level, it provided context and language for the social struggle of having female friendships growing up, and the feeling that by having friendships with women, it somehow felt like I was betraying men. That I was giving up my right to call myself a man. That I wasn’t playing by the rules.

Justin words it really well:

“Even at a young age, long before I could articulate any of it, to feel disowned by my own gender felt like a death… girls’ acceptance [of me] only fueled boys’ case for my rejection.” (32)

“But those [male] friends couldn’t be there for me every day and didn’t have the emotional vocabulary or patience to hold all that I was feeling without giving me advice or telling me what I needed to do. So I ended up spending most of my time with the most emotionally available and accepting people in my life: girls” (34)

Same. Growing up, I had a lot of feelings. I cared little about sports - preferring to chat (read: gossip). I was sensitive to what people said to/around me, oftentimes vocalizing my hurt, oftentimes crying (although, by high school, I had already been socialized out of crying). Indifference and being “chill” were not in my vocabulary. I had been told many times in my life that I had too many feelings. So I chose to seek out those people who were most receptive to that - women. As Justin articulates, in his experience with guys, “It all starts with one simple rule: don’t show your emotions” (31), and since I couldn’t do that, I had to adjust. Thus, by a large margin, a majority of my friends have been women, and it has often complicated my male friendships.

In this book, Justin navigates many different components of what it means to grow up a man. He discusses friendship, power, and expectations. He talks about privilege as a man, and especially privilege as a white man. He talks about the male ego. Most of the time, he isn’t preaching outward, he’s reflecting inward. He’s talking about times he fucked up, and times that he fell victim to the expectations of masculinity. The reason I connected to this book is not because Justin and I had parallel experiences. If anything, we had very different experiences. In a challenging moment for me, Justin discusses wanting to fit in so badly as a teenager that he bullied others to protect himself from bullying. Which is hard because often I was the person bullied. Even though I strongly believe in the concept of growth and change, I’ve struggled to accept growth and change in those who intentionally hurt me, but here is Justin trying to convey that the system that perpetuated my bullying also caused him to bully. So how do I make sense of it? How do we make sure not to just forgive unacceptable behavior simply because we recognize it is the result of a problematic system? In my opinion, we don't. We recognize that people need to be held accountable for their actions, AND we need to change the system. But that's definitely an oversimplification of the issue.

And reading this book was frustrating because it elucidated the complexity of a solution that I was hoping could be simple. All I wanted was for this hot person to break down the system and instead he showed me that the system hurts him too. There are not clear lines between who is upholding the system and who is the victim of the system. I constantly inadvertently support the system that I disdain. Even now, as I’m writing about this, I see myself objectifying Justin by constantly reducing him to “hot guy” and by adding subtle comments about his abs and his looks. And it is so hard not to. Because I can’t help but see him as commentary on myself, and my lack of abs, because that is what society has drilled into my head is a representation of my worth as a man.

Reading this book helped me realize it is far more nuanced than me being able to hate the guy I see on tv for being what I’m not. In this book, he shows us that the system isn’t as simple as men imposing pain on others. It is a system that was created to maintain societal norms, and is so deeply rooted in everything we do, that society perpetuates these norms in a way that simultaneously hurts everyone and yet somehow gets inadvertently reinforced by many. But if everyone is a victim of the system, who actually has to take responsibility for the damage it causes?

One final note is that part of the beauty of the book is that it isn’t perfect, it isn’t polished, it isn’t written by a professional (no offense, Justin). It’s just written by a guy. He sometimes explains the same things multiple times, and certain stories get repetitive. Some things come across a little preachy, or a little corny, and at times, maybe for the sake of time, he does oversimplify complicated topics. While the unpolished nature of the book felt frustrating at first, upon further reflection, it became something I appreciated - because it felt less calculated. We’re getting a more raw, genuine Justin trying to be open and vulnerable, who sometimes lands it perfectly and other times misses the mark. At one point, Justin makes a joke and adds into parentheses “(God I hope the sarcasm translates here)” and I laughed out loud because it absolutely did not translate for me, and that is okay.

Reading this book was similar to my experience approaching therapy the first time in that, whenever I left a therapy session thinking it wasn't adding anything, I would give myself one more session and then I could quit. Inevitably in that session, something would come up and I’d be reminded why therapy was important in the first place. At times, I wanted to put the book down, but I’m glad I didn’t, because every time I powered through I got to something else I didn’t know I needed to hear. There was always one more moment that resonated, one more struggle that was real. What I have shared here is only a fraction of the many facets of masculinity that Justin explores in this book. Regardless of how you identify, I recommend reading it. And if anyone wants to hear more about it, or if anyone has read it and wants to discuss, I would love to.

Overall, my goal for writing this blog is that I want to try to encourage people to share their experiences. Though this book provides language to name experiences people don't often discuss, even if you don't read it, make an effort to have those harder conversations. Share. Talk about your experiences and feelings with others. As Justin says, “We are not alone in our thoughts, experiences, conditioning, or shame.”(227). Which is important because sometimes I feel that way. And as Savyon has reminded me, isolation is a mechanism of the system that helps keep the system in place. So let’s normalize talking. Normalize male connection. Normalize male feelings. Normalize different forms of masculine expression.

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Below, I have included some quotes that stood out to me:

(19) “And yes, my use of the word “problems” is intentional, because to myself, and to many young boys and even men, feelings of fear, anxiety, and shame are all seen as problems to overcome instead of emotions to feel”

(24) “I don’t believe women need another man jumping on the “woke” bandwagon, wearing a feminist T-shirt, and tweeting and speaking out about social issues who isn’t willing to start by doing the hard work of introspection and self reflection.”

(105) “For young boys and teenagers, it’s a constant practice of pushing our emotions deeper and deeper below the surface until we mastered the act of playing it cool and keeping our shit together. Even better is to push your feelings so far down that you “forgot” that you even have them in the first place."

(107) “A movement to engage and support men that is only championed by women is like a tree falling in the forest and all of us arguing about whether or not it made a sound”

(109) “But even if I was feeling bad about [putting someone down], the reward I got from the group was more validating than if I had listened to my gut”

(113) "We are socialized as boys to believe that our value, our worth, is determined by our solidarity and loyalty to other boys."

(146) “As a white person, I was taught to say that we don’t see color, that we don’t see our differences, that we treat everyone equally. While this concept of color blindness initially sounds very nice and idealistic to white people, it only ignores the socialization and foundation on which the United States was built, it also ignores the very rich, beautiful cultures and humanity of people of color.”

(150) “Like most white kids who grew up in America, I was taught that racism was overt, horrific actions of people who believed that Black people shouldn’t drink from the same water fountains as white people and needed to sit in the back of the bus, or that Black men deserved to be lynched for being suspected of laying eyes on or speaking to white women… this framework allows good, well-intentioned, nice guys like me not to be racist because I’m not committing these extremely hateful acts of prejudice.”

(247) “Little did I know that the guy I wanted to be like was suffering just as much as I was; we just didn’t know it because we were both too manly enough to share.”