All Men Are Toxic - A Male Feminist Perspective.

Let me start by saying: I am so, so sorry. For everything. For existing. For taking up space. For the audacity of my Y chromosome.

As a cis-het white male — and yes, I know, I'm already cringing typing those words — I have spent the last seven years on a journey of radical self-deconstruction. And what I've discovered has shaken me to my core: I am the problem. You are the problem. Your dad, your brother, your male barista who said "have a nice day" without first acknowledging the historical trauma of the patriarchal service industry — all problems.

Every. Single. Man.

Now, I know what you're thinking: "Andrew, surely not ALL men?"

Stop. Right. There.

That phrase — "not all men" — is itself a form of violence. When you say "not all men," what you're really saying is, "I refuse to sit with the discomfort of collective male guilt." And honestly? That's exactly what a toxic man would say.

I learned this in my Decolonizing Masculinity support circle, which meets every Tuesday in a yurt.

The Male Gaze Is Everywhere (Including Mirrors)

Yesterday, I caught myself looking at my own reflection. Just… looking. At myself. A man. Do you understand how violent that is? I was literally subjecting my own image to the male gaze. I had to take a thirty-minute cold shower — not for discipline or whatever those toxic "cold plunge bros" do — but as penance.

My therapist (she/they) says I'm making progress, but I still have "internalized audacity." Apparently, I sat with my legs slightly apart on the subway last week. I didn't even realize it. That's the insidious nature of toxic masculinity — it lives in your bones. In your hip flexors. In the very angle of your pelvis.

I've since started sitting with my knees touching, ankles crossed, hands folded in my lap like I'm awaiting sentencing. Because, let's be honest, I am.