Gyms and Toxic Masculinity. Here's how to make it less shit*y.

Before I start diving deep into this, I'd like to clarify a couple of points about myself. You're right to be thinking "What does this young guy know about toxic masculinity from a feminist perspective?"
You surely don’t have to be a woman to be feminist, and as David Chappelle powerfully stated in one of his specials, "Men gotta get involved. We gotta be a part of this conversation."

Feminism isn't about putting women on a pedestal; it's about creating a level playing field where everyone thrives.

Let's just say my upbringing was a crash course in loving and respecting women's strength and experiences.  I was born in Italy, a country with a strong patriarchal culture, where gender inequalities are still big – just think that we finally managed to have a female Prime Minister and the first thing she said once in charge was "Call me Mr President" (FFS girl!).

Luckily for me, I had the privilege to be raised in a bicultural house, where male and female roles didn't exist. By the age of 14, I had constantly lived my life surrounded by women – only male in school, Uni, and in several restaurants where I've worked as a waiter. The loss of my mother when I was 18 shaped me in who I am today, making me love women even more, and possibly putting me more in touch with my feminine side.

This said, this article ain’t about feminism, it’s about twats being twats in the gym, and as a coach, I use the space to inspire people and grow a business, I’m f*cking tired of it.

Gyms can be a scary place for newcomers.  Picture this, you finally found the motivation to drag yourself to your local club, you’re walking in for the first time, unsure of the equipment, everybody seems to know their shit- everybody except you- and immediately being confronted by the apex predator of this jungle: the Gym Bro.

This highly territorial specimen, easily identified by its meticulously styled mane of hair and generously applied pre-workout sheen, patrols the weightlifting domain with a primal intensity.  Every clang of the weights is punctuated by a guttural roar, a sonic display meant to establish dominance over the surrounding territory.  Between sets, the Gym Bro performs a mesmerizing courtship ritual, flexing his well-developed muscles in the mirror, a silent challenge to any who dare encroach on his domain.  His movements are meticulously documented by a smartphone camera (in the worst case held on a tripod), capturing fleeting moments of perceived glory.

In my opinion, it's important to acknowledge the underlying truth: gyms are, at their core, spaces dedicated to building strength. The weights, the exertion, the pursuit of pushing your limits – these are all part of the journey. There's a primal satisfaction in feeling your body getting stronger, exceeding your previous limitations.

Here's where the issue arises. The Gym Bro's theatrics are a far cry from this core purpose.  This behaviour isn't a harmless meme; it's a symptom of a larger phenomenon – toxic masculinity.

Toxic masculinity can be understood as the amplification of certain traditional masculine traits that become harmful. It manifests in behaviours that prioritize dominance and suppress emotions like vulnerability or compassion.  This focus on a narrow definition of strength, often centred around a specific physique, is fuelled by unrealistic social media portrayals. The pressure to conform to this image leads to the Gym Bro's obsession with flexing and documenting his progress, a performance that reinforces this distorted perception of masculinity.

Look, it's great that these young guys are choosing fitness over unhealthy habits. But social media is twisting what it really means to be strong.

The influence of figures like Andrew Tate and Jordan Peterson further amplifies this distortion, though their approaches differ. Andrew Tate, known for his online persona as a kickboxer and self-proclaimed "alpha male," (how f*cking terrible is that) exemplifies a more aggressive form of toxic masculinity. His messages often centre around dominance over women, the accumulation of wealth as a measure of success, and a hyper-masculine image that prioritizes physical intimidation.

Jordan Peterson, a clinical psychologist, presents a more subtle form of toxic masculinity. While not explicitly advocating aggression, his views often emphasize stoicism, a rigid adherence to traditional gender roles, and a focus on competition and hierarchy. These messages can contribute to the pressure young men feel to suppress emotions and prioritize outward displays of strength, ultimately reinforcing the very behaviours we see in the gym.

In fairness, back in Italy, my vision wasn’t that different: I was a teenager, training heavy, chasing personal bests, I was on the verge of powerlifting school when – bam! – back injury.  My gym view relied on squatting hundreds of kilos, grunting like an idiot, pushing limits, sometimes at the expense of my body.

Fast forward two years.  Weights became a no-go, forcing me to completely revamp my training style.  Health became the priority.  Living in Cinque Terre for six months, I swam for kilometres daily.  It was a revelation – feeling strong and healthy didn't necessarily require barbells.

So, when I started working in fitness and stepped back into a gym after almost two years of stop, it was like seeing the place with fresh eyes.  The mirrored walls, the weights, the grunting – it was all a familiar scene.  But this time, a different feeling washed over me: a jolt of recognition, tinged with a touch of... shame?  "Holy shit! I used to be just like that!"  Suddenly, the Gym Bro behaviour I once saw as normal appeared loud, self-centred, and frankly, a little ridiculous.  My years away from the weights, my injury, and the shift towards body-positive training in Cinque Terre – it all clicked.

This realization became the spark for change. That’s when I started experimenting with group sessions.

Here's the magic I witnessed: the power of social cohesion.  As a bunch of strangers started working out together, a sense of community blossomed.  High fives and genuine connections replaced the isolating atmosphere.  My clients weren't just pushing weights; they were pushing each other forward, celebrating personal victories big and small.  It wasn't about "who could lift the most" but a shared journey of growth.

As a psychology-focused trainer, I saw this first-hand.  The group setting fostered a sense of accountability, keeping everyone motivated. Witnessing others' dedication was a powerful motivator, a silent reminder that "they can do it, so can I."  This healthy competition, fuelled by support rather than dominance, sparked a joy in the process of getting stronger.

The question that lingers: can we replicate this community spirit beyond group sessions?  Can we create a gym culture where everyone feels like they belong, regardless of experience or body type?  The answer, I believe, lies in fostering a sense of shared purpose and celebrating individual victories.  Let's turn the gym floor into a supportive space where everyone feels empowered to build their own definition of strength.

So, the next time you're at the gym, look around.  Smile at someone new.  Maybe you can be the reason they feel a little more welcome today.