Tag: Masculinities Pull-Out

• Man Up, Son

  May 23, 2017 9:11 am Comments Off on Man Up, Son

  Picture the cover of Men’s Health – there is an image of a muscular, incredibly lean man surrounded by garish slogans like ‘GET RIPPED NOW’ or ‘SUPERMAN WORKOUT PLAN’. The image of ‘the man’ is, and has always been, intrinsically linked to his physical appearance. Ideally, men would want to have a toned body, a strong jaw, broad shoulders and most likely have full facial hair. Biology obviously determines these characteristics but the reason for which they’ve become the epitome of what a man should be is based on tradition, societal values and marketing.
  We’re socialised to link masculinity with strength, which translates to several behavioural attributes that males are expected to conform to if they are to be considered the ideal bloke. This notion varies depending culture, of course, but a Western context assumes that men engage in sports like football or rugby, that they aren’t ‘emotional’ and they probably drink beer. This Australian stereotype is typically handed down to a son by his father, and reinforced by his schoolmates. Unfortunately, this tends to exclude those who don’t have this family dynamic or the desire to conform to this stereotype. These young males can be left to hang out with, to the dismay of his burly dad … girls. And in comes a host of issues for the young lad – being called too girly, weird or, even worse, gay.
  All these negative connotations are, unsurprisingly, linked with being feminine. To a child, femininity is being interested in things like art, not sport, or crying. Femininity as an adolescent develops to include new attributes like how you dress, or how much you drink or your sexual orientation. If you have the audacity be interested in the arts and wear a scarf, you’ll risk being branded a fag or girl by the football players in your year. Interestingly, being attracted to the same gender changes how society sees you regarding how ‘manly’ you are. No matter how much you might fit the mould visually, as long as you have the dreaded ‘gay lisp’ or are actually gay/bisexual, society will instantly associate you with some level of femininity. Because that’s what women do: they’re attracted to men.
  Of course, all this information isn’t revolutionary. But the reality is that the public is still inclined to view queer* or non-stereotypically masculine men as feminine. Media, too, shows a sense of discomfort toward those that seem to display traits of both a feminine and masculine character. Personally, I’ve always associated myself with both. I was that typical ‘girly’ boy you had in your year that you thought was annoying but otherwise OK (at least, I hope that’s the worst people thought of me). I obviously copped a bit of abuse about the way I acted and dressed, but the transition into university has forced me, as well as others, to reconsider my self-image. University ­– where fashion, style and mannerisms are based less on the small group of people you see every weekday and more on your hobbies and enjoyment – seemed to shift my focus. I’ve grown more confident in myself and my choices and no longer avoid wearing something only because I think that someone might tease me for looking too gay.
  But this all asks the question – why does not fitting in with the stereotype make someone worthy of being branded as a social outsider? Even in the gay community itself, there’s enormous negativity towards not exhibiting typically masculine traits. I think that the phrase ‘masc4masc’ has traversed outside the Grindr-users’ circles and is probably heard by anyone whose friends use the app. It’s an incredibly toxic phrase that equates ‘femmes’ – the Barbra Streisand, Lady Gaga diva-phile that we know well – with being weak, or somehow degrading. Whether the gay men who propagate this phrase believe that their sexuality narrows their suitors to ‘actual men’ or that they are somehow embarrassed to be seen with a feminine partner, they are only part of the bigger problem. It’s both disappointing yet somehow typical that a harmful stereotype is reinforced even within the community it affects.
  In all honesty, the way you act – traditional or not – shouldn’t matter. People have so many internalised phobias that affect both how they act and how they see themselves. I once had a bit of a giggle when I overheard a North Shore private school boy say: ‘Yeah, I would wear scarves and gloves, but I don’t want for people to think I swing that way.’ Note, however, that it was objectively cold and approaching Canberra winter, and someone would rather be cold just to avoid an underlying connection between wearing scarves and sucking dick. Of course, your self-image and your view of your reputation are important to a degree. But, when outdated stereotypes get in the way of wearing a piece of fabric around your neck, something’s got to change.
  Illustration: author’s own. Instagram: ebenalekzander

  Eben Ejdne

• Making it More Than Toxic Aggression

  May 21, 2017 11:39 pm Comments Off on Making it More Than Toxic Aggression

  It wasn’t until I was at university that I came to appreciate toxic masculinity for what it was. I had experienced it throughout my life, but hadn’t thought too much of it – that had just seemed as if it was how boys were ‘meant to be.’ So, I didn’t really questioned the bullying and teasing I saw around me from when I was young, even though it could often be physically violent, gendered or homophobic. I also didn’t really question the standards being imposed on me – that I needed to be strong and powerful and tough, that violence was cool and exciting, that I shouldn’t cry, or express who I was. I internalised these things, and a lot of my mental state and interior behaviour reflected that; as a teenager, I often struggled to wrestle my desire to be strong with my own feelings of loneliness, pain and vulnerability.

  Since being at university, however, my attitudes have changed, thanks to patient friends and the different people I’ve met. I’ve become more comfortable in myself and who I am, and I’ve become much healthier emotionally and mentally. A key part of all of this has been my discovering and understanding what toxic masculinity is, challenging it, and creating a different kind of masculinity that I can be comfortable within. For me, this has meant creating new senses of masculinity and reshaping some existing ones, in a subversion of the old toxic ideas.

  Two things that have become increasingly important to my sense of masculinity are the ability to listen and possess gentleness. For me, masculinity needs to be as much about being quiet as much as it does loud and brash, and as much about being gentle as much as it does being strong. Ideally, I would hope that any kind of character trait can find a place in someone’s own sense of masculinity – since I’ve found that my upbringing has pushed me to strive for strength and brashness and unfeeling, I’ve needed to focus on these aspects to bring more balance to my sense of masculinity.

  I’ve also found that some forms of traditionally masculine behaviour can be quite subversive to toxic masculinity, and have found them rewarding in their own way, which was surprising to me. One example of this for me has been through punk and hardcore music – loud, aggressive and intense stuff.

  While this sort of music can easily be toxic and violent, and often is, I’ve found there are some bands who defy this norm, like Have Heart, Touche Amore, and La Dispute. This, for me, comes through the subversion of expectations. Rather than using aggression to intimidate, it is used to create safe spaces – the listeners (often men) are able to safely sing, shout-scream, and be emotional without judgement. Instead of cultivating a culture of being apathetic and destructive, the lyrics of songs promote healthy discussion and empathy. And rather than push men into being tough and emotionless, it encourages them to be open about how they feel, to hold hands, to be willing to cry, while not being so progressive that it alienates or scares them. In this way masculinity, even in traditional forms, can be stripped of much of its toxicity, and become a more welcoming and inclusive force.

  While my sense of masculinity has changed since I’ve come to university, I’m glad I’ve moved away from toxic masculinity and been able to embrace other parts of who I am. I’m still learning exactly what it means to me, but it’s a journey I’m enjoying and glad to be on.

  Tobias Nevile

• Beautiful Failures: Masculinity and Mental Health

  11:34 pm Comments Off on Beautiful Failures: Masculinity and Mental Health

  At the third ANU Mental Health Symposium in early May this year, ANU researcher Vivienne Brown made a presentation where she identified a range of groups within university communities who were susceptible to mental-ill health. Among these at-risk groups, an alarmingly large group was that of males. While a multitude of factors such as socio-economic and international student status certainly intersect to bring about mental-ill health for males, traditional constructs of masculinity are capable of adversely affecting all men. Traditional masculinity is intrinsically tied with our more colloquial understandings of ‘manliness’ – the out-dated notion that men should be stoic in the face of all difficulty, and that showing any vulnerability strips them of their masculinity.
  Traditionally, manliness is a construct predicated on conquest, risk-taking and success, all of which are indicators of a man’s sense of control and mastery over his environment. This, in turn, is a measure of a man’s self worth as perceived by himself. For a man to have a conversation about his own mental-ill health it means admitting that he does not have mastery over his own problems, and that he therefore concedes ‘defeat’. Seeking and accepting outside help could perhaps also be seen as not being ‘man enough’ to overcome one’s own problems, and this is viewed as a failure of one’s own masculinity.
  At university, this misguided sense of stoicism can be particularly concerning, especially where it meets with the prominent overachievement and over-commitment culture at the ANU. For some, the ANU is a non-stop proving ground in which many students straddle multiple responsibilities spanning from academia to residents’ committees, societies, student politics, theatre, student media and internships. The problem with seeing it as a proving ground is that in the event of failure, traditional masculinity and manliness hinder a person’s ability to bounce back. This can happen as a result of not seeking advice from university services already in place for students who are struggling in some way or another, which in turn can lead to a spiral of further failures and worsening mental health. Traditional masculinity can interfere at many points along the way, including not consulting course convenors or tutors out of a misplaced sense of pride; not seeking help from their residential college’s pastoral care network to avoid ceding a sense of control to their peers; and avoiding the ANU Counselling Centre because of the stigma and misinformation surrounding mental-ill health.
  On the more problematic side of things, toxic masculinity and sexist attitudes not only harm their victims, but also the mental health of the perpetrators. By viewing women as lesser people in need of masculine guidance, the perpetrator deprives himself of a wide support network. He might then find that being out of touch with his own mother, sister, wife, girlfriend, or friends can place an enormous strain on his personal relationships. This can not only give rise to mental-ill health, but also leave a perpetrator without much recourse, because they have marginalised all women in their life who may have been able to offer support.
  At an institutional level, there is only so much that can be done to address the intersection between masculinity and mental-ill health. No matter how professional the ANU counsellors are or how much funding the ANU Counselling Centre receives, masculinity will continue to burden those with mental-ill health. It is only through cultural change that these constructs of masculinity can be dismantled. This includes reconceptualising what it means to be masculine to one that is flexible and accepting of deviance to tradition constructs of masculinity. Through doing so, dialogue surrounding mental ill health can begin to flow freely for many more men.

  Bolwen Fu

• The Blooming of Soft Masculinity: Flower Boys and K-Pop

  May 19, 2017 2:17 pm Comments Off on The Blooming of Soft Masculinity: Flower Boys and K-Pop

  You’ve definitely seen that guy on campus. The one that might be an international student, who’s walking to his class in skinny jeans and a bright, over-sized jumper with a random English word on it. Clothes you wouldn’t be caught dead in. His look is finished off with salon-grade dyed hair and well-maintained skin. You can’t help but give him a second glance before going about your day.
  Unfortunately, Australia is dominated by, and still maintains the traditional standards of, hard masculinity. The ultimate Australian masculinity comes in the form of a white, muscular and rugged heroic figure, who looks like he’s rolled around in the bush for a week straight. Think: Chris Hemsworth or Hugh Jackman (drools).
  That guy that you saw with the slightly eccentric fashion is probably part of the ‘soft masculinity’ phenomenon – as coined by Sun Jung, of Melbourne University. This new portrayal of gender is a recent phenomenon, and involves masculinity adopting traits that are usually performed by women.
  For instance, many guys who have adopted soft masculinity are seen to be more appearance conscious: taking a liking to fashion, beauty cosmetics, make up and accessories. The favoured personality traits of these men are often more nurturing and sensitive, in contrast to the hyper-aggressive, muscle-flexing masculine personality in the West. This phenomenon has begun to blur the line of what is masculine and feminine, allowing gender to be expressed more fluidly.
  To you they might be known as ‘pretty boys’, but in South Korea they are known as ‘flower boys’ or ‘kkotminam’ (꽃미남, kkot = flower; minam = handsome man).
  This concept of masculinity can be traced back as far as 10th century Korea, where physically beautiful men were handpicked to be part of an elite group, known as ‘Hwarangs’ or ‘Flowering Knights’. This ancient boyband was known to wear makeup and accessories and were educated in arts, culture, history, religion and even combat.
  The modern origins of soft masculinity emerged in Japanese and Korean popular culture in the 90s, with male celebrities maintaining slim figures and softened features. The beauty of the internet then assisted in the momentum of the ‘Hallyu’ Wave, where Korean pop (K-Pop) spread throughout East Asia and Southeast Asia. A concoction of washboard abs on slender bodies, beautified with slick fashion and makeup, had become the look of the new male eye candy in Asia.
  So why are girls around the world frothing over these flower boys?
  The predominant audience for flower boys are women who are willing to spend a large amount of their time and money on popular entertainment. These new concepts of masculinity are embedded within the products coming from the ‘Hallyu’ Wave, including television dramas, music, beauty cosmetics and film. This has impacted on the lifestyles of its consumers in their expression of masculinity, as well as perception of what women find attractive in a man. Roald Maliangkay mentions that, over the last decade, this new form of expression has become increasingly popular, specifically in China, Hong Kong, Taiwan, Japan and Southeast Asia.
  Macho masculinity has become less appealing to women, as the ‘macho’ personality is less approachable and intimidating. They are too aggressive, and unable to verbally express feelings or emotions. Despite having traits that might make them look dependable, protective and financially supportive, they do not sympathise with women about the social pressures placed upon them. The patriarchal Asian society has pushed women to gravitate towards more sensitive men who are open with their feelings and don’t see or treat women as sexual objects.
  Some of the founding flower ‘fathers’ that drove the ‘Hallyu’ Wave include singer/actor Rain, actor Lee Byunghun, and actor Bae Yong-joon. They are typically hunky dudes who were the first to wear make up and present themselves in a softer manner, paving the way for other artists and models to follow suit. A good example of this is the lead singer of the kpop boy group BIGBANG, G-Dragon, who became the first male endorser for red lipstick in 2013. And goddamn, he makes red lipstick look good.
  The beautiful faces of these flower boys are plastered on every billboard, window shop, television and cinema screen. Elements of traditional masculinity are still present, within their sharp jawlines and solidly-built frame, but their appearance is then embellished with long wavy hair, light foundation, a good amount of guyliner and eyebrows that are on fleek. Many male celebrities are on beauty and skincare ads to tug the fans heartstrings, getting them to buy the products endorsed. This can also be seen frequently in K-Pop music, as the ‘flower boy’ concept has become an essential part of a boyband’s career. These are obvious signs of how the music, fashion and beauty industries are aware of their target market. In South Korea it is common that men in advertising are used to show what he would like his ideal girl to use. It’s a big jump from the West, where men only play the role of an admirer of the woman who uses the product.
  Nowadays, men that are well groomed and have good fashion sense look like they have their life together, which is all the more attractive for women. This increased expectation of physical appearance has allowed men to share the burden and social pressures of body image with women. It is no wonder South Korea has the largest capital in plastic surgery than any other country, according to Business Insider. Over the years, procedures for ‘double eyelids’ and rhinoplasty (nose jobs) have increased for women as well as for men, who desire the ‘kkotminam’ aesthetic.
  Whether or not it’s your thing, K-Pop is big and is consumed by a global audience. The music, beauty and fashion trends that the Hallyu Wave has presented to the world have redefined the male and female image ideals.

  Kilau Setanggi Timur

• Today, I Turned Man

  May 15, 2017 6:03 pm Comments Off on Today, I Turned Man

  Today, I turned man
  Author: Oliver Friedmann
  Eight and you caught the bus home from school. Ten and you went to watch footy with your dad. Thirteen and you watch your first porn film. Fifteen and you spent a night in jail. Sixteen and you lost your virginity. Eighteen and you drank your first legal beer. Twenty and you moved out of home. Twenty-one and you’re 21.
  Today I turned man.
  The question of when we become men is a rightfully complicated question that gets to the heart of masculinity and its meaning. It encompasses two very important ideas. Firstly, manhood is apparently temporal, and attaining manhood through time is important. To perhaps rephrase, it can be argued that men expect a period of transition or socialisation at some point during their adolescence where they move from a time and space distinctly understood as boyhood to a time and space distinctly understood as manhood. Secondly, manhood needs definitional parameters, or at least it needs some kind of concrete suggestion that there are specific circumstances or criteria that make masculinity, and therefore men, exist. This big question — when are we men? — may therefore need to be more broadly articulated to truly encompass its weight and implications. What do men think they are, who teaches them and what exactly are they being taught?
  We must first understand that discussions and studies that centre on masculinity mean different things to different people. In Geertz’s Balinese cockfight, masculinity and the expression of manhood is all about status. The Sri Lankan ‘horn game’, where two teams of men battle in honour of the goddess Pattini, attaches manhood to humiliation. Among the Sambia in Papua New Guinea, drinking semen is part of a process of separation from the mother designed to create warriors — men able to sustain themselves under the pain associated with tribal warfare.
  But manhood in the West is quite distinct, mainly because no one is told what it actually is.
  In Michael Kimmel’s Guyland, manhood is all about proving that you’re not gay. In schools, universities and entry-level boardrooms, to be a man is not premised on prestige, honour or integrity. Instead, the common understanding — although never voiced — has degenerated such that it can only be defined in opposition to males that have, for many historical reasons, become considered not masculine. Masculinity as an identity in and of itself has been left completely out of the conversation.
  Where do we find ‘Guyland’? According to Kimmel, it is the arena continually occupied by men aged 18 to 25 in the United States. It is a time and space where boys are left to become men, where parents are no longer a primary source of moral influence and where that source of influence is reallocated to new peers — peers that are structured in hierarchies according to criteria that is often not entirely clear. In the US, this takes place most often in the college environment, a new living space where men often navigate independence, and therefore themselves, for the first time.
  Kimmel suggests that during this period of their life, men reflexively and self referentially define their manhood according to a dogma that says anything homosexual is not manly. They learn what it means to be a man from men who have learnt how to be a man not by some kind of established process of dialogue or communication, but rather from an environment that for various social and cultural reasons has come to consider homosexuality as unmanly. Here we locate hazing, the rites of passage of our time. Recall stories of boys tying bricks to their penises and throwing them off rooftops, boys who are made to fight, boys drinking until they vomit all over each other. This is the manhood echo chamber.
  Perhaps around the edges there are suggestions that men should be honourable, proud, stoic, competitive, protectors — suggestions that themselves have very important implications. But there are rarely adequately engaged with.
  Why is this all a problem? We just need to take one look at a university campus to see how this issue plays out — the culture of alcohol abuse, sexual assault and violence all have some masculine roots that tentacle through young student communities. Masculinity itself sits at the very root of the patriarchy. It is where the gender imbalance comes to fester, to dance, to sneak and crawl silently, unaddressed.
  In cultures around the world, rites of passage are fundamental to major transitory periods of life. But what happens when these rituals are repressed, and then subsequently replaced? The ritual spaces for men to express themselves emotionally don’t exist. Some have argued that the sporting field is the only place where men are allowed to embrace other men, perhaps even cry. Masculinity provides a façade of surety; surety that boys have communal identity. With this instability, what results is a situation where young boys rarely have male role models or mentors. Men rarely talk about being men. Men rarely know what being a man means.
  Talk about masculinity is always missing from conversation where it most desperately needed. Conversation needs to explicitly address how it is that men are socialised to be men and what being this socialised man means.
  There seems to be a feeling that the word ‘masculinity’ is somehow against the feminist cause. But it is most importantly what needs to be attacked. What this piece is not is a call of support for the ‘privileged white male’. Instead, it must be understood as proof that in order to kill the shudder that most people feel when those three words are placed side by side, we must attack and interrogate what this category means, empathise with how it has empowered, disempowered and shaped our current political order and identify how we can reshape it to make gendered negotiations more equitable and meaningful for all of the parties involved.

  Oliver Friedmann

• Bodies on the Runway: Modelling Masculinities

  5:58 pm Comments Off on Bodies on the Runway: Modelling Masculinities

  Alistair Graham is a fourth-year ANU student majoring in linguistics and physics, and a strikingly long one at that. Reclining casually into a couch at the School of Music café as we chat, his legs reach out far into the distance and lurk beneath the coffee table. His plans for the future consist, in his words, of making a ‘retreat into a cocoon of academia.’
  In the second semester of 2016, Alistair went on exchange to Waseda University in Tokyo. ‘It was fantastic, I loved every second of it. It’s the big city – the biggest. There’s 37 million people in the greater Tokyo area, that’s more people in Tokyo that there is in Australia.’ While the city has much to offer everyone, in terms of dazzling skyscrapers and vibrant urban culture, it had a little more stashed away for him in particular.
  ‘This was about two weeks after I’d arrived in Japan. I had first travelled south to Osaka, to go to Universal Studios, so this was my first or second time properly walking around in Tokyo. We were in Shibuya Crossing, which is like the big intersection they always show in movies. Maybe 500,000 people cross it every day, probably more. And that’s where all of the modelling scouts go to look for new talent – so, literally someone just approached me and was like “Hey, do you wanna be a model?”’
  The same conversation would happen another two times that day, with two entirely different modelling scouts. The boy-off-the-street modelling career he fell into led to jobs from fashion school graduate shows, to skate magazines, to Tokyo Fashion Week. Speaking on his Fashion Week fame, he described the food as ‘less good than usual’.
  In any country, talk about the modelling industry raises the spectre of discussion around body image – at least secondarily to the selected best clips of Tyra Banks. For people of all genders alike, ‘idealised’ forms of the body loom over expectations both personal and professional. Alistair said he had done some research into modelling in Australia and been faced directly with these not-so-secret preferences – ‘I look at the websites and it’s like, don’t bother applying if you’re not at least 5’10”, or you’ve got to weigh this much. There’s a very specific type [they’re] looking for.’ In Japan he found this idealised masculinity also very much present, but in a huge industry with a comparably large turnover of faces throughout the season, this meant opportunities for different shapes and sizes to find their niche in the market.
  Alistair describes his own physicality as less than traditionally masculine, and usually intentionally so. Achieving that comfort in itself has been a process, which has encountered – though he says only occasionally – moments of resistance. ‘The peak of that for me was when I was living in the United States, in Kansas, that was very Midwestern and very conforming to gender binary and gender roles.
  ‘So, I’d be asked as a 10 or 11 year-old if I had anorexia because I was so thin. I was also mistaken pretty regularly for a girl, which at the time I was embarrassed by. But, it happened in Japan while I was out at a nightclub, and I was mistaken for a woman – I was like yes, I am about this. It is amazing what 10 years can do to your perspective.’
  In his own experiences, modelling proved itself a validating exercise in terms of physicality and masculinity, realising that as he had suspected as early as high school, a certain androgynous glamour was something that his body ‘would be good at’. On his favourite job, a friend’s graduate collection showcasing a look ‘combining steampunk and high fashion’, he felt at home in clothes designed for him – rather than a masculine abstraction. ‘It accentuated a lot of the things I enjoy about myself and my own body. The clothes were designed to make me look very long, quite angular and very gender neutral.’
  He found, however, in a city with a thirst for fresh faces and often a particular taste for whiteness, it was hard to pass by the differences in who was on either side of the camera. He notes the need to talk about masculinity alongside other social factors including race, as well as queerness and disability. ‘Everyone I was working with – as in all the people doing my hair and makeup, doing the camerawork – literally the entire everyone not on camera, was Japanese. But everyone on camera, was not.’
  The nuances of these discussions are greater than diversity that can be rectified in quotas, or even an extremely clever think piece. Nonetheless, he observed with some discomfort that his participation in the Japanese modelling industry continued to connect his white masculinity to images of desirability created for a Japanese audience. Acknowledgements of the connotations of race and masculinity are still few and far between in both Japan and the Western world.
  It’s a story that highlights a culture of conversation around masculine bodies that still has some ways to go. ‘It’s important for men or even more so boys to realise, be told, and have reinforced, they don’t have to be like that or look like that,’ he said of discussions about masculine body image. ‘Society places a lot of pressure on men and women to look a certain way, and that’s exploited under capitalism to sell products, and that’s also where the desire for male and female ideal models comes from.
  ‘I think that if there were more representation of bodies outside of that binary it would be quite reassuring to young boys and girls. That like, their bodies are OK.’
  Knowing your body is OK; that changes the game. It’s what takes someone who’s not aggressively hirsute, or stacked with muscles, or is for reasons that are numerous doubting that masculinity has space for them – and it puts them on the runway.

  Lauretta Flack

• My Get-Into-Whitehouse-Free Card

  12:02 pm Comments Off on My Get-Into-Whitehouse-Free Card

  I could write about Donald Trump until I’m orange in the face. Donald Trump is basically the poster boy for a china-shop-bull high on masculinity: he’s impulsive, irrational, aggressive, et cetera, et cetera. In spite of this, he claims his ‘strongest asset … is [his] temperament.’ Whatever you think of Hillary Clinton’s decision-making, you’ve got to concede that her temperament is steely. And yet somehow some ardent Trump supporters think that her menstrual cycle (yes, actually) could lead America to war.
  You can point out the irrationalities there forever. You can use Trump as the perfect example of a ‘boys will be boys’ culture. You could also, rather defensibly, argue that it’s disingenuous to use Trump and his supporters as representative of men generally and say that Hillary Clinton is probably more measured and level-headed than most women, by virtue of being one hundred per cent steel. But masculinity in politics is not specifically or exclusively about men, and nor is the corollary telling the whole story.
  Political careers and movements can skyrocket or plummet on the basis of perceptions. Prominent leaders in modern politics don’t fall sharply along absolute lines of masculinity and femininity. But the ‘masculine’ bundle of traits often sit more comfortably on the shoulders of a man and can contribute to boosting male careers more easily.
  Masculine supremacy – either explicit or implicit – is far from new. One of the oldest works of fiction, the Iliad, told a story about the unusually strong woman Andromache, whose name derives from the words for ‘man’ and ‘battle’. The origins of masculinity are pretty clear: men were the warriors, the hunters, and typically have a biological advantage for physical strength (notwithstanding the social stigmatisation of muscular women). As the former absolute rulers of most societies, the ideals of decisiveness and boldness fit within that framework.
  But, as even Emma Watson realises, masculinity is restrictive and destructive for people of all genders. In Trump’s case, it acted permissively to excuse his litany of alleged criminal behaviours and bullying tendencies – enough for him to be palatable to enough of the country to be elected. Clinton’s biggest strengths were also her weaknesses, as she struggled to legitimately lay claim to the stern and measured temperament usually the domain of man.
  But I said I wouldn’t talk about Trump too much, so let’s pop across the pond to Europe. Marine Le Pen, everyone’s favourite new (and now vanquished) existential threat to the political ruling class, sat at an interesting crossroads. She had to repair the Front’s national public image, reining in the more extreme elements which exist as unhelpful hate channels. That kind of conciliatory move can in part be traced to her portrayal as the bearer of her father’s torch. She continued his tradition of strength and boldness, but with refinement over time and gender.
  Le Pen painted herself as a figure like Jeanne d’Arc, the historic French heroine famed for her military achievements and unshakeable fortitude. Despite being symbolic for the Front National more broadly, Le Pen referenced d’Arc in defending her own dark-toned wardrobe. In a phenomenon similarly witnessed with Julia Gillard, we saw Le Pen subject to questioning on her hair colour, reputation as a party girl, and being a woman who had lost weight to increase her appeal. While people may pose the question of whether these same things would be asked of a man, there is little doubt they wouldn’t be, and no doubt that if they were, the weight given to them would be far reduced. Le Pen’s interaction with political masculinity is a bit of a mixed bag. She enjoys a limited amount of the implicit strength of character that comes with the image of being the successor to both her strong father and a steely national heroine, while also being freed from some of the more onerous elements of maintaining the visage.
  Julia Gillard was also affected by political masculinity, and clearly suffered hugely from misogyny – if you’re going to question that I don’t think there’s much I can do to win you over. The continual implicit and explicit sexist attacks she received damaged her electability in spite of her prodigious parliamentary efficiency. It degraded her perceived ability to wrangle her party and her government, as well as the free trustworthiness bona fides you get for being a male prime minister.
  That is not to say that men are only held to account for parts of their character that aren’t referable to masculinity.
  Trump had question marks raised about his figure, but never had to seriously grapple with them, despite his medical obesity. Bill Shorten, on the other hand, seems like he has a harder time shaking questions about his weight. The media often seems to deride him while he tries to get in shape by devoting full segments to his ‘man boobs’. Putting aside any political opinions, there’s just something that seems more stable about Turnbull, isn’t there? Malcolm has the money, he always stands up straight, and he emphasises his points with a clenched fist. Bill Shorten goes in for snarky ‘zingers’, was subjected to mocking on pretty classist terms when he copped the ‘sycophant’ roast, and consistently struggles to portray himself in the same cool, calm and collected way.
  It’s comparing two men, but there are gendered undertones. The strength and success of one make him seem far more likeable and trustworthy than the social climbing guy with man-boobs. Clearly, there are many biases playing into this, but Malcolm Turnbull sits far more easily into the idealised conception of masculinity.
  It’s a hugely complex concept to unravel and speaks to why confrontation of it is so hard and rare. It’s not often that any particular observation about human behaviour can ever be absolutely true. Masculinity is no exception, as is clear from examining many of our leaders. It seems like, as a general rule, traits typically associated with masculinity tend to be traits that will lead to success in politics. The perception and assumption of these traits vest themselves more immediately in our male leaders, and have to be acquired by sacrifice and hard work by women, who enjoy them to a lesser extent.
  Masculinity manifests in varied ways: it is more a collection of characteristics than any single or monolithic trait. So often in politics, masculinity is a collection of a series of assumed positives, and freely excused character flaws for men. Meanwhile, everyone else has to fight to prove anything of themselves, and those flaws seem to be assumed at the drop of a hat, or perhaps even an email.

  Lewis Pope