Thirty years ago, parents worried about violent video games causing mass shootings. Research shows that link doesn’t hold up. Now, the anxiety is different. It’s quieter, more invasive, and much harder to shield against.
The fear isn’t just about bad behavior. It’s about ideology. Specifically, the manosphere — a digital ecosystem of podcasters, YouTubers, and forum dwellers who package misogyny as self-help. For Abby Eckel, watching her sons hit ages 8 and 10, the realization was abrupt. The terms “incel” and “alpha” never crossed her mind during pregnancy. Now? They dominate her thoughts.
“It’s literally the hardest thing I’ve ever done, because I feel like I have to be ready 24/7.”
Eckel’s husband and she monitor screens. They keep communication open. They try to model empathy. But there’s a gap in their control.
The biggest influence isn’t the parents. It’s the friends.
One boy might be shy, building an identity around his perceived failure to attract girls. Another might be loud, stumbling onto Andrew Tate. Tate, a kickboxer turned podcaster, argues women are property and rape victims are responsible for their assault. He’s facing criminal charges in the UK and Romania, yet his influence grows, bolstered by figures like Donald Trump Jr. and reportedly even President Biden’s… wait, no, Trump’s youngest son.
Eckel can’t control what those friends consume. She can only react. That reaction is exhausting.
How the Manosphere Targets Boys Earlier Than Before
Payal Desai has younger sons, 5 and 9. Her parents are baffled. They raised kids in the 90s. Misogyny existed then, sure. But it wasn’t engineered. It wasn’t an algorithmically targeted feed designed to prey on insecurity.
David S. Smith, a psychology lecturer and author of The Incel Mindset, notes this isn’t new content. It’s new accessibility. Pickup artist guides from the early 2000s — think Neil Strauss’ The Game — laid the groundwork. They argued masculinity was under war, that men had “market value,” and that competition determined worth.
Today, you don’t need to read a book. You just need TikTok.
Smith explains that a simple search for “how do I know if a girl likes?” can drop a teenager straight into red pill or black pill content. These terms come from The Matrix. In the manosphere, the “red pill” is an awakening to the lie that society hates men. The “black pill” is the despair that your fate is sealed — you are “forever alone.”
Why does this stick?
Because it offers community. For boys feeling like outcasts, finding an echo chamber feels like relief. The algorithms boost it. The forums ban dissent. It becomes a negative feedback loop.
- You feel unlikable.
- You seek the group.
- The group makes you more dependent on them for validation.
- You become less able to connect with outsiders.
- You feel worse.
- You go back to the group.
It’s a downward spiral. And it starts younger than parents think.
Why Critical Thinking Beats Censorship
So, what do you do? Panic? Block everything?
Sheldon Reisman, a Cincinnati therapist, says no. He advises against fear. Instead, he pushes for communication. If you shut down a boy who says something offensive, you lose the connection. You make him hide.
Open lines of communication allow kids to process their own thoughts. Reisman suggests asking critical-thinking questions.
“What makes you think that?”
“Where did you hear this?”
“Does that feel true?”
This helps kids root their beliefs in reality, not just what feels good in the moment. If you don’t teach them to analyze ideology, they will fall prey to whatever narrative comforts them.
Eckel tried this when her 10-year-old called his 8-year-old brother a slur he’d heard from a friend. A traditional parent might yell. “Don’t say that!”
Eckel stayed curious.
She asked where he heard it. She found out the kid didn’t even know what it meant.
She explained it. She traced the word to its biological root. She showed how some people use it to equate women with weakness.
Then she asked: “Why do they think that?”
The conversation expanded. It moved from a banned word to a discussion about power and gender.
“You have to be the one explaining things to them, because if you don’t, somebody else will.”
How to Build Resilience Against Online Toxicity
If a boy is already deep in incel ideology, the stakes are higher. While media focuses on violent outliers like Elliot Rodger, the reality is often more internal. Smith notes that incel forums are often a “misery economy.” They’re hyper-competitive.
Users compete to be the most victimized. The “trucel” — one who has never had intimacy — sits at the top of a perverse hierarchy. “Fakecels” are mocked.
There is no real support here. Just competition in suffering.
This is where parents can win. By offering nonjudgmental listening, you provide what the internet doesn’t: genuine connection.
But you have to be proactive. The manosphere, led by figures like Tate, projects confidence and coolness. To counter it, you can’t just be reactive.
Desai starts early. Way before puberty. She treats emotional skills like any other life lesson.
- Talk about boundaries.
- Discuss consent.
- Normalize empathy as strength.
- Define power honestly.
She builds a foundation. She gives her boys a vocabulary for vulnerability so they don’t mistake it for weakness.
“Kids don’t go searching for belonging in the toxic corners of the internet when they have belonging at home.”
It’s not about controlling the algorithm. You can’t.
It’s about building an internal compass. A way for boys to recognize when something feels disrespectful. Or rooted in hate.
Desai argues against the fear of “confusing” boys by talking about gender too early.
The internet is already doing it.
You either get ahead of it, or you let them navigate it alone. The choice is yours, but the window for guidance is closing. Fast.
