The crisis of masculinity is often described as a behavioral or social problem, but beneath the surface lies a psychological one. As Alfred Adler suggested, superiority often hides feelings of inferiority. The exaggerated swagger of hyper-masculinity, whether on the field, in politics, or in online spaces, frequently masks insecurity. For many white men, that insecurity has been intensified by cultural and economic change. Once secure in the privileges of unquestioned dominance, they now face a world where Black men, women, and immigrants increasingly occupy spaces of power and visibility. Much of what passes for confidence in male culture, particularly in white male politics, conceals fear: fear of irrelevance, of vulnerability, of losing ground. The MAGA movement exploits this anxiety, promising a return to “traditional” male authority.

The question is whether these behaviors are too deeply embedded to change. History shows how entrenched they are. From the playground to the locker room, boys are taught that masculinity means toughness, dominance, and conquest. Sports glorify these ideals. Religion, peer groups, and media reinforce them. And because American masculinity has always been racialized, white male identity has consistently been built in opposition to Black masculinity—whether in Reconstruction politics, early 20th-century boxing, or the integration of professional sports. These codes are not simply personal habits; they are social structures reproduced across generations.

Yet history also demonstrates that change is possible. Behaviors once thought immutable have shifted under pressure. The integration of professional sports, once unimaginable, is now celebrated. The military, once a bastion of exclusion, has adapted codes around race and gender. Although these norms are now under attack. Even within sports, where aggression is central, values of teamwork, mutual reliance, and discipline coexist alongside competition. Younger generations of men, though not immune to radicalization, are experimenting with new models of masculinity that prize vulnerability, empathy, and collaboration. These examples show that masculinity is not destiny; it is habit—and habits can be broken.

If the arenas of sport, politics, and culture have long been stages for male rivalry, they might also serve as laboratories for change. Coaches and educators can emphasize cooperation and respect as much as toughness and victory. Schools and universities, often sites of masculine conflict, can be reshaped into spaces where boys and men learn that dignity does not require domination. At the cultural level, public figures and institutions must counteract narratives that define masculinity through opposition to women or Black men.

The political challenge is even greater. Movements like MAGA thrive on the cycle Adler identified: they stoke inferiority and then offer false superiority as the cure. Breaking this cycle requires a counter-narrative—one that validates male struggles without scapegoating, and one that reframes strength as responsibility rather than control.

The drama of masculinity has always been staged in visible arenas—stadiums, schools, workplaces, media. But its resolution lies in less visible psychological and cultural transformations. If superiority is only a mask for fear, then exposing the insecurity beneath it is the first step toward change. Masculinity does not need to be abandoned, but it must be reimagined—as wholeness rather than dominance, as solidarity rather than rivalry, as empathy rather than fear. Whether such a transformation is possible remains uncertain. But history shows that even entrenched codes can shift, and that possibility is the ground on which a more just and sustainable future must be built.