我们分析了142名男性的TikTok历史记录。这告诉了我们关于男性圈子的什么。

Interest in the manosphere has recently surged yet again, with the recent Louis Theroux documentary catapulting the term “manosphere” back to the forefront of our cultural psyche.

The term has become a catchall for the most inflammatory content and communities in young men’s digital worlds. Alarm bells are ringing, but our understanding of what the manosphere actually is – where it begins and ends – has more questions than answers.

As concern grows, so does the ambiguity around how to define the manosphere and how young men actually experience it. Our policy responses, interventions and public discourse assume it’s one thing, one ideology, populated by one type of young man: a singular algorithmic journey from loneliness to radicalisation. It isn’t, and overlooking the complexity and nuance misses large parts of the problem.

So what is it instead? Our new research answers this question.

Simulations vs reality

Addressing ambiguity matters, whether you’re a researcher trying to measure the full spectrum of harm being experienced, or part of a community trying to talk about it with sons, brothers and friends. You cannot diagnose a problem without truly understanding it, and that means going into these online ecosystems to explore their bounds.

Previous research has included the use of dummy accounts to simulate internet use. These have been criticised by social media companies, who say the simulations don’t reflect the real experiences of users on their apps.

In response, our new research looked at the real TikTok viewing histories of 142 young men across Australia, the United States and the United Kingdom. We watched what they watched, 2,000 videos over the past month, and built a framework to map the full spectrum of masculinity content that young men encounter online.

It’s the first time academic research has used real user data in this space. It means we can respond to what young men and boys are actually seeing, rather than simulations of user experiences and what we think they’re seeing.

Almost half of the videos we analysed (44%) contained masculinity-related themes. Masculinity content fell into three distinct categories. Understanding these categories, how they escalate and who’s watching it makes tailored intervention possible, from policymakers to support services, and even the platforms themselves.

Beginning the journey

The journey can start somewhere ordinary. Three videos. Same young man. Same day. Same algorithm.

In the first video, a young, buff man located in a gym, demonstrating to his audience the correct technique when completing the “perfect lying tricep extension”.

We called this tier “cultural touchpoints”. It includes gym, sport, fashion and dating tips content. It made up 38% of what young men in our study watched, making it the most common type of content.

On the surface, none of it raises alarm. But it quietly sets a norm. One type of male body, one set of male interests, one way of moving through the world.

Travelling deeper

In the second video, a shirtless young man delivers a motivational-style speech about gym and discipline. He argues that physical commitment produces results in other areas of life, such as earning admiration from his girlfriend and becoming a “superhero” to his future children.

We called this tier “masculine status” content. It constituted 6% of the videos we analysed.

Outwardly, it looks like self-improvement, motivational and informative content with messages of discipline, ambition, levelling up as a man.

Underneath, the rigid moulds become clear: muscularity, emotional suppression, financial abundance, the “high-value” male archetype.

Women are framed as rewards to be earned. The content is ideologically hardened, but also easy to miss.

The destination

In the third video, a male creator sarcastically warns his audience against peptides. He then proceeds to list the side-effects of “getting leaner, shredded and getting more bitches”, while showing the vials to the audience.

We called this tier “degrading health” content. It made up less than 1% of content.

Most of it violates TikTok’s own community guidelines prohibiting the promotion of peptide hormones, testosterone boosters, and content that demeans, endangers or advocates for self-harm.

This category includes overt misogyny and graphic depictions of violence against women.

It’s infrequent, but not isolated. This content sits at the end of a journey that began with a tricep extension tutorial.

Three videos. Three very different messages about masculinity and health. This is how the manosphere finds young men: through platforms they’re already on, creators they already follow and in a cultural language they appreciate.

Cultural touchpoints lay the foundation that make messages of misogyny, risk-taking, violence and hate not just palatable, but reasonable. Ideological shifts happen because it feels like much of the same.

Exploiting insecurities

The manosphere doesn’t create these pressures – it finds genuine unmet needs and exploits them for profit and views. Often girls, women and other minority groups are at the receiving end of that harm, as well as the boys and men themselves.

Our broader framework, in which these classifications are a part, gives researchers, regulators, and platforms a tool to identify and intervene across the full spectrum of young men’s digital lives, not just at the extremes.

Current moderation and regulation approaches are reactive. Content is removed once platform guidelines are violated, but often that comes too late, after thousands if not millions of users have already seen it.

This research makes early and tailored intervention possible, disrupting the masculinity content pipeline at different points along the spectrum, before young men reach the most extreme end.

For example, tech companies could embed this classification framework into the design of recommender systems to ensure an age appropriate user experience. Cultural touchpoint content may be appropriate for a 16-year-old, but masculine status and degrading health videos may not be, and thus should not be recommended to them. Our work provides a defensible evidenced standard for appropriate moderation and digital platform design.

Lastly, it helps create a shared language and collective understanding of the manosphere. We can talk about masculinity content in a way that aligns with young men’s actual digital experiences, and to build solutions that fit the problem.

The manosphere has spent years speaking directly to young men’s fears and insecurities, building narratives that are fluent, persuasive and hard to counter. We need to be just as fluent, delivering effective responses and alternative narratives grounded in what young men actually see, watch and feel.

This research is the first attempt to do that. Now we need to use these insights to expand our evidence on the manosphere’s harm, develop tailored solutions, call for platform reform and develop community resources to help protect the men and boys exposed to this content online.

Krista Fisher is affiliated with the Movember Institute of Men’s Health. Krista Fisher had support from the Polarization & Extremism Research & Innovation Lab (PERIL) and Diverting Hate when conducting this research.

Emily Lewis is affiliated with the Movember Institute of Men’s Health.

Zac Seidler has been awarded an National Health and Medical Research Council Investigator Grant. He is also the Global Director of Research with the Movember Institute of Men’s Health. He advises government on men’s suicide, masculinities, violence prevention and social media policy.

Cynthia Miller-Idriss and Ruben Benakovic do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.