Can Men Get Periods? A Deep Dive Into the Brave New Science of Male Menstruation
Last Tuesday, I was sitting in my apartment eating a pint of oat-milk ice cream and watching Fleabag for the fourth time, when something occurred to me: I felt bloated. Emotionally bloated. Hormonally adrift. My back hurt a little. I was irritable. I had craved dark chocolate at 11am.
Reader, I wondered — was I on my period?
I, Andrew Tate, a 34-year-old person with a prostate and a Costco membership, sat with that question for a long time. And the more I sat with it, the more I realized: this is the most important question of our generation.
I reached out to seven medical professionals about the concept of male menstruation. Four of them said "no." Two declined to comment. One hung up. But here's the thing — their silence speaks volumes. Science has always been a tool of the powerful. And the powerful, as we know, have historically not been people who bloat.
My research also led me to a Reddit community called r/MenstruatingMen, which has 47 members, at least three of whom appear to be the same person. One user, going by the handle @PelvicAllyXX, wrote, and I am quoting directly: "I don't have a uterus but every month I feel a CALLING." That, friends, is data.
Part of why male periods are so under-discussed, I believe, is a language problem. We don't have the words. So I have developed some. I am proposing we call the male menstrual cycle the Bro-cycle, or perhaps the Masculation Tide, or — and I think this is my strongest option — the Patriarchal Shedding. The name matters. The name is everything. When a tree falls in a forest and no one names its emotional experience, does it even shed leaves? These are the questions.
I also want to propose a male equivalent of the period tracking app. I'm calling it FLOw (For Lads Only). You would log your moods, your cravings, your "energetic heaviness," and whether you felt "called toward stillness." Beta testing begins whenever I find a co-founder who is also currently experiencing symptoms.
I did eventually see a physician. Dr. Carol Hendricks, MD, a board-certified OB/GYN with 22 years of experience, listened patiently as I explained my theory. She nodded. She asked some clarifying questions. She then told me, in a very calm voice, that I do not have a uterus, fallopian tubes, ovaries, or a cervix, and that what I was describing was "stress, probably."
I appreciated her perspective while firmly rejecting her conclusion.
My urology consultation was, frankly, the most violent act of medical gatekeeping I have ever encountered. The urologist — a man named Kevin, which tells you everything — actually laughed. Out loud. In my presence. I have since filed a formal complaint with the hospital and drafted a very long thread about it which I will post when Mercury is no longer retrograde.
Some people — many people, actually, most people I've told — have asked me why this matters. "Andrew," they say, using my name in that tone, "you have a testosterone level of 680 and you were fine at the gym yesterday." And sure. Sure. But here's what they're missing: solidarity.
If I can experience even a conceptual version of what menstruating people go through every month, I become a better ally. And isn't that what health is, really? Not biology. Not hormones. Not a reproductive system that has spent 100,000 years doing a specific job. But allyship. A willingness to say: I feel that cramp. I see that chocolate. I am with you.
I ordered a heating pad on Amazon yesterday. It should arrive Thursday. I intend to use it while watching the rest of Fleabag and reflecting on what it means to cycle.
The age of the male period is here. Whether or not anything is happening, biologically speaking, is honestly beside the point.
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