In ‘micro expressions’ of masculinity, the role or the perception of ‘effort’ is important. The paragon, the most masculine, is the man who can enact himself upon the world without even trying. As such, to even admit to thinking about masculinity in this way feels on some level like weakness, as though if I was a real man I wouldn’t have to.
For the progressives who have been rocked by the Trump election, who thought that this version of white privilege and proto-masculinity was buried, the past is present. It is ugly and furious, and for the first time in a long time, it feels like it’s in control.
Intellectually, I understand that it’s healthy to express emotion. I’ve read Brené Brown. I’ve watched Inside Out. I get it. But it’s hard to express emotion when I’m barely conscious of feeling it.
Phoebe’s Fall, and the emerging genre it is part of, raises questions about the public who feast on the undeniably gripping stories, and the voices we cannot hear in these podcasts—those of the victims, mostly women, most likely killed by men.
Jimmy is, of course, fictional, but as a character he reflects (albeit sometimes exaggeratedly) a broader cultural problem. That we don’t know what to do with male vulnerability.
Although perhaps not always overt, the idea that men are responsible for carrying on surnames still seems to be pervasive.
Forster was knowingly out of kilter with our expectations of what a rock singer was meant to be, to look like, how one was meant to speak and act. He was his own man, and a different kind of man at that.