Intoxicating Masculinity.

Are we drunk on gender performance?

Drunk Man in The Thunderstorm - Aleksei Burdusov

It’s not just toxic. It’s got to have more nuance than that. And it’s not specific to masculinity. I feel as though this theory can be applied both ways. But only when referring to masculinity and femininity in its most binary, performative, hegemonic, regressive senses. The boxes we’ve devised for ourselves. Or rather, been devised for us - in view of control.

I want to discuss what we call “masculinity” and the aspects of it that have intoxicated me. The more I view the experience in that way, the more it makes sense to me.

If we’re to recall the moments where the idea of being “toxic” has been commonly applied. The over assertion of dominance. Controlling through the application of fear. The romanticising of isolation. Of destructive behaviour. Be that self destructive or otherwise. Lone wolf. Being “untouchable”. Ingrained misogyny. Emotional dissonance. All of these to varying degrees but ultimately all in search of total control at the expense of disconnection. Before these moments occur - there’s always a feeling. A core emotion. Often an uncomfortable one. And we are part of a world where boys and men can take a hit of mutated masculinity to temporarily subside the pain.

The culture of ‘othering’ is common place among young people attempting to find allegiance and not stand out. And that in itself is an explanation. Not an excuse. A revealing. Words are used violently to help people cope with a momentary and sometimes sustained feeling of disempowerment. A lot of boys will struggle to reckon with the amount of power that lust or attraction can have over their bodies and minds. In place of confronting the actual feelings beneath, or perhaps surrendering to them would be a more precise term // we lean into the ego shaped footprints already formed ahead of us. We opt for the comforting, predetermined path regardless as to whether or not it damages ourselves or other people. Because it’s easy. Easier than the infinite unknown of the emotional world and its constant cycles.

Sexual excitement is a core emotion. It comes and goes. It’s wave like. So is fear and so is sadness and so is anger etc. We can, if given guidance, experience these feelings and not let them govern us. I find it funny that some male circles seem convinced that they are “in control” of how they feel, whilst acting in ways that are quite obviously attempting to suppress emotion leading to an unconscious outward expression of them. Often fear.

It’s common for over dominating behaviour to present itself in the wake of a fearful experience. It’s easier to bully, shame and torment another human than it is to admit that we are struggling with our own circumstances or the effect that someone’s actions are having on us. Boundaries don’t have to involve punishment. And are often more powerful when they don’t.

Absent fathers is something that has been way too common and way too often “accepted” in the male community. Of course there are cases where situations are complex. But there are many cases when there has been such a disconnect in feeling, such a disconnect from duty, that desiring escape has been deemed ‘acceptable’. That’s probably the most tangible parallel to leveraging an identity as a means of escape. There’s already a script for the absent father. There’s already a dosage for intoxication. In the same way you would any other drug.

If we ask ourselves why it is we take drugs. Honestly. It’s to escape fear or momentarily relieve us of pressure. We can utilise drugs with ritual and intent in order to service connection - but I’d say on balance that approach is less common. Most of the time we get drunk because it helps ease insecurity. We get high to give us confidence. We seek refuge in altered states because we have deduced that reality is too painful.

Having been sober for 8 years ((((California sober))) - I often get mates of mine hitting me up for advice. Sometimes when we get onto the shift in social plans, my friends will express a resistance to going to certain places without some kind of inebriation. To which I usually zone in on. I ask them if they have become used to going into situations that they don’t enjoy? Or hanging out with people that don’t energetically fulfil them? Perhaps they’ve just built up the idea of sober interaction in their head. Made it into a monster. And that monster can be slain through confrontation and repetition. But also sometimes it’s not a monster. Sometimes we’ve normalised engaging with people or places that don’t bring us joy. And we numb our bodies whenever it’s attempting to tell us that.

There’s a clip I’ve often shared online where a street interviewer asks this woman what the hardest drug she’s ever taken is. Her response is “sobriety”. And it’s true. Often, nothing is more confronting than the reality of the life we live. But facing it brings a sense of freedom and harmony that’s hard to replicate. That feeling needs to be tended to but even the windows of sensation will last for a lot longer than our “drugs of choice”.

In my own personal situations, I’ve seen the mood and conversation around men change dramatically. But I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t noticed that pressure in groups of men to “play along” with old tropes or take a hit of that intoxicating mentality simply to avoid discomfort. I’ve been the person who’s challenged an idea before in a group setting and it can be incredibly awkward. And honestly, it usually results in those men closing me off to the group, or closing themselves off when I’m present. I’m still a plonka by the way and say shadowy and questionable shit all of the time. No doubt. I wonder if recently my barometer of male energy has been skewed somewhat because my stances on gender are so public. I’m beginning to notice men editing themselves around me. Surreal. Mostly I see people take their hits online. Terrified about sticking their neck out. Men getting high to avoid facing other men. Sometimes we get high without realising.

I’ve got two much younger little brothers. When the first one was maybe 3 years old, I remember him coming over to my house for us to play. I was a few years into therapy at the time and was very much sober. In all contexts. I had stopped doing drugs and I was unpacking and deconstructing many of the myths and false fables I’d been programmed into believing. Despite this, there was a moment where he bumbled towards my coffee table, grabbed a handful of the papers he’d been scribbling on, and began to throw them all over the living room. Care free and care less.

Almost instantly and without thought ! I found my body was overcome with the warm, fleeting sting I understand to be rage. I thought ‘who the fuck does this little kid think he is? Fucking throwing shit round my living room like a dickhead’. Fortunately those words made it out as “what do you think you’re doing?!” —— still angry though. My partner at the time threw me a look and said “Jordan - he’s three.” And that was enough to snap me out of it. But the memory and overwhelm stayed with me.

I contemplated on it. Did some reading. And realised that I was perhaps acting out of anger towards my own experience. Or I was jealous that I was observing the actions of an unguided soul who hadn’t yet been limited by the confines of punishment and domestication. I immediately channelled the same downward force that had rid me of that innocence in the first place. A cycle in full swing. All I needed to provide in that moment was a boundary. No rage. Just clear directions and a compassion. Handling that sober = hard. Shouting over my own confusion = easy.

That’s only a small example but the overarching point I’m making is that coming off of intoxicating masculinity isn’t an easy task. There will be withdrawal symptoms but the space afterwards is levitating. The current world we live in just makes it far too easy to neglect our deeper feelings and replace them with tiny acts of terror. Either to our selves or others.

Sometimes I fantasise about being sat alone at a cafe before a mysterious man glides past me and leaves a card just below my line of vision. Before I can clock anything the man’s gone. I look down at the card and it says “meeting at the manhole in the middle of the street. Three knocks’ll do it”. I follow the instructions and then the manhole slides to the side and there’s a ladder leading down into what I would assume is a sewer. But instead of sewage, once I hit the bottom rung of the ladder I turn around to see a large, calmly lit underground space with a circle of chairs, each one occupied by a different man. I’m at a kind of Man Anonymous. Underlying theme being that we would all love to in some way be the opposite. Not widely known but truly known. Seen. Not invisible or hidden. And in this space we would all take off our armour. Once we’ve realised that we’re wearing it. And we’d all sigh in relief. And revel in the reality that we don’t have to uphold all of this bullshit. All of these expectations. Walk around with the world on our shoulders. We can be sober. Face our fears. Cut the ties. Tell ourselves different stories. Let our hearts open. Get rid of that stiffness. Worst part will be realising that some men can’t be reached. And once our armours off we can see it weigh on other men’s shoulders.

“Hi my name’s ________ and I no longer fear isolation or freedom. I do what I want without worry and let that energy fuel me. I don’t need to be intoxicated to feel like a man. I am a man. That’s all I need to feel. All the joy I need is in me and I can share it once I feel it”.

I’ve got an overactive imagination.

The easy route doesn’t achieve much. A frictionless existence is fragile. Hardest thing we can do right now is not fall into vague group-think to alleviate swiftly passing pleasure.

Ticked boxes become fixed cages.

Go sober. Get real.