Hustle, muscle and grift: how the manosphere has grown into a money-making machine

Our new review of the growing body of research on the manosphere reveals how it’s evolved.

It used to be largely special interest men’s rights groups, such as pick-up artists and incels (involuntary celibates). It’s now a widely mainstreamed and commercialised ecosystem, led by high-profile influencers or “manfluencers”.

Here’s how the manosphere has found ways to cash in on the insecurities of men and boys, expand its reach, and how doing so has ensured the movement’s longevity online.

Grifting their way to glory

Manosphere grift often takes the form of financial, health and relationship advice.

Platforms, driven by recommending similar content to consumers to keep them online longer, then push this content further.

Charged by anti-feminism, social media algorithms push apparent solutions for younger male internet users’ insecurities. This monetises them without providing true support.

The “thought leaders” of the manosphere maintain and grow their audiences by tapping into boys’ concerns about looks, economic futures and ability to attract women.

The solution they present is two-fold: urge viewers to direct their anger and resentment toward women and feminism, and buy the manfluencer’s products.

For example, many manfluencers have their own subscription-based “academies”, which they promote as an alternative to school or college. These can cost thousands of dollars.

Followers can buy one-on-one dating advice or access to networking groups of like-minded men.

There’s also manosphere podcast merchandise, including books.

Some sell supplements, like turmeric capsules, or swear by testosterone injections. Others peddle wellness-adjacent tech, such as water filters.

Many men and boys buying into this content have been raised on neoliberal ideas of winners and losers, hustle culture and individual choice.

In the manosphere, there’s no space for the collective, or discussions of systems and structures that negatively affect most of us. In this worldview, your perceived failings are all your own fault.

And so, manfluencers promise solutions to the isolation, alienation and precarity of existence under capitalism by offering up more of the same.

The rise of the manfluencer

In addition to its overtly anti-women messaging, today’s manosphere often operates through subtler forms of sexism.

Many creators promote gender essentialism: the idea that men and women are born with significant cognitive and personality differences, determined biologically rather than culturally.

This shift towards “alpha” masculinity marks a significant shift in men’s rights politics. It’s helped the movement have more mainstream appeal beyond the smaller corners of the web it used to occupy.

Male supremacists can now use influencer culture to gain substantial personal wealth, while promoting right-wing reactionary politics.

For example, Black manfluencers Myron Gaines and Walter Weekes regularly feature white supremacist guests and debates on their podcast, Fresh and Fit. At the same time, mainstream platforms such as TikTok and YouTube Shorts have been instrumental for increasing commercialisation.

Experimental studies using sockpuppet accounts have looked at how quickly and how often young male users are being served manosphere content.

In the study conducted by Dublin City University, all of the accounts, whether they sought out the manosphere or not, were fed toxic content within the first 23 minutes of the experiment. Manosphere content appeared within the first 26 minutes.

New ways to monetise grievance

As the manosphere has expanded and shifted, it has also diversified. More users can find self-help advice from people who look like them.

There’s greater visibility of ethnic diversity and non-white actors in the male supremacist ecosystem.

Gaines and Weekes use language to appeal to Black men. They selectively invoke the discourse of social justice while maintaining a misogynist, frequently homophobic and transphobic outlook.

Other manfluencers, such as Andrew Tate and Sneako, say they’ve converted to Islam. This has also broadened the manosphere’s appeal.

It’s clear the movement can shape-shift to reach ever-changing moods and markets. By being agile and adaptable, the manosphere is entrenching itself in the online landscape.

The female equivalent

There’s also a growing presence of anti-feminist “trad” women accounts.

While previously associated exclusively with white women, Black women creators have become big tradwives and “pick-me” girls (a derogatory term for anti-feminist women). They tailor their content strategically for Black manosphere men.

These successful women digital entrepreneurs encourage their followers to reject hustle culture and instead embrace traditional marriage through service to their husbands.

As with most manosphere trends we observed in our review, the phenomenon of pick-mes and tradwives is heavily influenced by socioeconomic conditions. Women in these situations reject the “strong Black woman” stereotype of economic struggle in favour of finding dignity in marriage and homemaking.

In a patriarchal bargain, husbands become “bosses” for these women, to whom they willingly submit.

Ideology meets industry

To fully confront the socioeconomic forces shaping digital gender politics, it’s essential to consider the manosphere as both ideology and industry.

Manfluencers, self-styled gurus and ideological entrepreneurs operate within a digital attention economy that converts human insecurity into capital.

As the manosphere becomes more diverse and ideologically unstable (driven predominantly by the whims of algorithmic capitalism), there is an increasingly urgent need to educate boys and men. They need to know more about gendered disinformation, mental health, gender-based abuse and the mechanics of social media and influencer culture.

By better understanding this monetisation of grievance and equipping boys to respond critically to it, we can build healthier and more gender-equitable online cultures.

Vivian Gerrand, Associate Lecturer, Australian National University; Deakin University; Debbie Ging, Professor of Digital Media and Gender, Dublin City University; Josh Roose, Associate Professor of Politics, Deakin University, and Michael Flood, Professor of Sociology, Queensland University of Technology

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.