A Few Good Men

“It’s not your fault.” “It’s not your fault.” “It’s not your fault.”

I have been thinking a lot about men lately.

About the ones I knew when I was young. The fathers, the uncles, the grandfathers. The coaches with their whistles. The teachers with their tired patience. The mechanics with their grease-stained hands.

I have been thinking about the men who were once the pillars of homes and towns and institutions. The ones who walked with quiet steadiness, who knew what was expected of them and bore it without complaint.

And I have been thinking about how, somewhere along the way, we made them small.

The numbers tell the story.

A 2021 survey found that 15% of men reported having no close friends, up from just 3% in 1990—a fivefold increase in loneliness. Another study revealed that over 50% of men aged 18-25 have never asked a woman, or man, out in person.

The symptoms are everywhere, and the pattern is clear. We continue to raise generations of men who are uncertain of their place in the world, unsure of what is expected of them, and increasingly disconnected from relationships, purpose, and meaning.

There is a crisis among men. And it is not just their crisis—it’s ours.

Because when men are diminished, when boys grow up with no clear models of strength and steadiness, the effects ripple outward. Families suffer. Relationships fray. Society grows weaker.

And half our future is left unmoored.

From Pillars to Punchlines

Once, men carried a certain weight. They were expected to be responsible, to provide, to protect. The best among them did this not out of ego or dominance, but out of duty. They knew that to be a man was to bear burdens, to be counted on when things grew difficult.

They were not perfect, but they were present.

And then, slowly, they became a joke.

When I was a kid, TV and film reshaped the image of men right before our eyes. Fathers, once seen as guides and protectors, were recast as bumbling idiots. Al Bundy. Homer Simpson. Peter Griffin. Men who were once the head of the household were now obstacles to be managed, fools to be mocked, incapable of even the most basic competence.

This was more than comedy. It was a reprogramming.

The message was clear: Men are not to be trusted with authority. Masculinity is not to be admired. The father is not the leader—he is the punchline.

And over time, society itself changed.

Young men grew up without the same expectations of strength or responsibility. Boys, once encouraged to explore, take risks, and build, were now taught to be careful, compliant, small. To shrink and dim their light. The institutions that once shaped them—Boy Scouts, fraternities, mentorship programs—faded or were hollowed out.

We told boys they were no longer needed. And now we wonder why so many of them are lost.

The Friendship Recession and the Lonely Man

Men have fewer friends today than ever before. In 1990, over 55% of men reported having six or more close friends. By 2021, that number had plummeted to just 27%.

Even more alarming, 1 in 5 single men today has no close friends at all.

This matters because friendships shape us. They challenge us. They teach us how to navigate the world, how to resolve conflict, how to be strong without being cruel. Without them, men retreat into isolation. And isolation breeds resentment, anger, and despair.

We see this in the rising male suicide rates—a silent epidemic unfolding in plain sight. Men account for nearly 80% of suicides worldwide. Eighty percent. Let that sink in. When I first read that number, I gasped. Not 60, not 70—8 out of 10.

And yet, where is the national conversation? Where are the urgent calls from politicians, the public outcry, the dedicated campaigns? You’d be hard-pressed to find a single leader making this a priority, a single movement rallying to turn the tide. Instead, it is met with silence—a brutal confirmation of what so many men already feel: that they are unseen, unheard, and ultimately, expendable.

We see it in declining college enrollment, where women now earn 60% of all degrees, while men quietly drift away from higher education and, in turn, economic stability.

Men are disengaging from relationships, from work, from ambition itself.

The Decline of Dating, Marriage, and Purpose

Once, most men could expect to build a life: find a partner, start a family, create something larger than themselves. Today, that pathway has eroded.

Dating has become a brutal, winner-takes-all marketplace. On apps like Tinder, the top 20% of men receive 80% of the attention, leaving the majority of men feeling invisible. 63% of men under 30 are now single, compared to just 34% of women.

Many young men are simply opting out. More than half of men aged 18-29 are not actively pursuing a romantic relationship, a stark contrast to past generations where partnership and marriage were seen as life milestones.

Marriage rates have plummeted, and with them, the stability that comes from building a life with another person. Studies show that married men are healthier, wealthier, and live longer. But fewer men are getting married, and fewer still are preparing to be the kind of men who could be great husbands or fathers.

And a man without purpose, without connection, without something greater than himself to serve—what does he become?

Nothing good.

Rebuilding What Has Been Lost

This is not about nostalgia. It is not about returning to the past wholesale. The old models had their flaws. Some men wielded power recklessly, mistook authority for control, turned responsibility into oppression.

But the solution to bad men was never to get rid of men entirely. And yet, that is what the culture has done.

Instead of replacing toxic masculinity with healthy masculinity, we have sought to erase it altogether. We have stripped men of their ability to be strong in the right way. We have taken away the expectations that gave their lives structure and meaning. We have diminished them, and in doing so, we have made all of society weaker.

And now we wonder why so many are lost.

We need good men. Not just for their own sake, but for all of ours.

Because when a man is strong—not brutal, but steady—his family is stronger. When a father is present, his children thrive. When a husband is unwavering, his partner flourishes. When a leader is honorable, his people are secure.

A confident man is not a threat to the world. He is its foundation.

And yet, there are too many men who do not know this. Too many men who have been taught to shrink, to retreat, to believe they are broken, unworthy, unwanted.

This is where we, as a society, must step in.

We must be Sean Maguire to the countless Wills of the world—the men who have been hardened by loneliness, by failure, by quiet self-hatred they don’t dare speak aloud. We must look them in the eye, as Robin Williams’ character did, and tell them:

“It’s not your fault.”

Again and again, until the words break through.

Because too many men have been told, in a thousand quiet ways, that they are a problem to be fixed. That their instincts are dangerous, their ambition suspect, their very presence a burden.

But the truth is, they are needed. They are loved. They have weight and meaning, and their strength—when guided by wisdom and purpose—does not diminish the world. It holds it up.

Because when men carry their weight, when they build instead of destroy, when they stand instead of retreat, everyone around them rises.

The answer is not to make men feel small. It is to call upon them to be great. To remind them of their weight, their worth, their responsibility. To expect more of them, not less.

We do not need fewer men. We need stronger ones, steadier ones, and greater ones.

And it’s ‘bout time we make ‘em like that again.