Author’s Note: I write this with love to the good, kind-hearted men who are afraid of the future. This is for the men who, in bold defiance of the people telling them that they need superiority over “the other” to get ahead, want to be better but haven’t found the words for that yet.

Content warning: This article contains references to sexual assault.

My dad, like other men on his side of the family, served in the military. He taught me that men should be stoic and honorable. 

Most of my friends are men. They taught me that men should be there for each other. 

I am bi, and being assaulted years ago by a guy, to this day, is the only time I have ever been that close with another guy. This taught me that masculinity can come with truly horrifying intentions. 

My political awakening in middle school took the form of becoming a manosphere-minded troll that praised Trump’s “Crippled America” like it was gospel. It taught me that male strength is best represented through superiority over others.

To say that different visions for masculinity have done a lot to shape me into who I am today would be the understatement of the century. 

I’ve since started viewing these understandings of masculinity in a new light because of my deeper reflections on all of the women in my life and what they’ve meant to me. My K-12 teachers and Stanford professors, the overwhelming majority of whom have been women, put in so much work to help me grow in my knowledge and ways of thinking. My girl friends have helped me learn to be kinder to myself. As for the women in my family (Filipina icons), to them I owe finding my sense of self and values of joy, empathy and sacrifice. 

This is a journey of learning and unlearning that will continue for the rest of my life. With that being said, one recent event has uniquely upended how I perceive masculinity, particularly for young men like myself: the 2024 presidential election.

More young men, exit polls show, voted for now president-elect Donald Trump than Vice President Kamala Harris. On multiple fronts, from Democratic oversight of the male “identity crisis” to the hypermasculine podcast spaces that have lauded Trump as “a sigma, a guy with clout, and the apex of a model of masculinity that prioritizes fame as a virtue unto itself,” people are finding different explanations for this shift. Don’t get me wrong, I think these are important conversations. 

As a young man myself, I want to pose one question in particular: Where does masculinity go from here?

When I think about the good that masculinity has to offer, I think of the protector instincts that come from the responsibility to care for others. I think of the drive to use one’s physical and emotional strength for the good of one’s family and community. I think of the “leading by example” brand of leadership that, as scary as one’s own life can sometimes be, never fails to face bigger challenges head-on. That is what I try to base my masculinity around.

In a way, I do see my own masculinity being reflected in the broader state of masculinity that has played a role in giving us our president-elect.

The patriarchal expectation that men be secure in their role as society’s be-all and end-all providers has become increasingly unrealistic, which heightens the economic anxieties of the young men worried about what their futures look like. Young men increasingly finding themselves unable to “make it” as strong and successful men in this world gives rise to feelings of deep inadequacy. This deep inadequacy — a foundation for profound insecurities — instills a desire for superiority. To be superior to “the other,” whether it be women, migrants or another marginalized group, gives young men a fundamentally exclusionary idea of what “success” as men and security in their masculinity look like.  

The vulnerable, manipulable state that these men slip into — to be taken advantage of over their fears — viscerally reminds me of when I was taken advantage of for my body all those years ago. 

To acknowledge, let alone start to heal from, the fact that I was manipulated came with vulnerability. That vulnerability was scary not just because it reminded me even more of what happened but also because it ran afoul of the very stoicism that conventional masculinity long instilled in me. To be in a better place, my masculinity had to change for the better. Admittedly, I still am not all there. But, to the extent that I have agency here, it’s baby steps. And I am proud of the progress that I’ve managed to make. 

I am proud of how I, from a position of strength that Little Sebastian didn’t have, carried my vulnerability into the very convictions with which I’ve written about students demanding justice for survivors and my personal survivor story. With my writing being informed by my lived experiences — experiences of fear and vulnerability — I could then start viewing my masculinity in a better light. After all, in very real ways, the journalistic desire to give a voice to the voiceless and the creative desire to give people the words to find that better path for themselves are reflected in the good masculine desires to care for others, use one’s strength for others and face bigger challenges head-on. 

Where might this take the masculinity of Stanford’s young men in particular? It is my hope that departing from an exclusionary, insecurity-laced masculinity can wholeheartedly restore the protector instincts that I know these young men have. It might look like publicly and unequivocally calling out their so-called “brothers” (particularly looking at you, frats) that — whether through “jokes” or outright assault — harm women. It might take the form of long, heartfelt conversations with one another to unlearn the propaganda excuse for masculinity telling them that male “success” depends on finding yet another scapegoat in society.

As a young man that is taking a post-election look to the broader state of masculinity, I hope that the journey my masculinity and I have taken over the years can resonate with my fellow young men. While the confusion and fear over their futures is different from what I’ve experienced myself, it puts them in a vulnerable, manipulable position nonetheless. To some, masculinity might be a tool to exacerbate insecurities and foster a rabid thirst for superiority over others. But to me, masculinity can be better. 

Thinking about the state of masculinity impacting my fellow young men, I look forward to when those protector instincts can take center stage once again.