The Manosphere Would Never Survive a Session in the Lineup — On Surfing, Masculinity, and What Actually Matters

Apologies in advance for a bit of a rant, but I recently watched the Netflix documentary Inside the Manosphere by Louis Theroux and was in shock at just how insecure and pathetic the bros are that are influencing young men today. On one hand, I guess I wasn't all that surprised. On the other, I couldn't believe how bad it was.

For those who don't know, the 'manosphere' is the loose online network of wannabe alpha-male influencers, success coaches, and podcasters who've built massive platforms telling young men that being a "real man" means making bank, dominating women, and never showing weakness. If you really want an up close look, check out the film or watch the railer below, for a more surf-specific breakdown, read on.

To me, the one thing all of these guys have in common is that they are incredibly insecure and trying to compensate with all of the telltale signs of a man going through an identity crisis: flashy cars, tight clothes, fancy sunglasses and bling, all in pursuit of chasing younger women.

Clearly, none of these self-entitled clowns have been anywhere near a lineup, because that shit simply wouldn't fly. None of those things actually advance you on the path to fulfillment, they are distractions and attempts to fill a void. Surfing — all faults and flaws considered — is a great reflection of how life actually works.

Surfing is more than a sport, a lifestyle, or a hobby. It's a practice. There is no end goal other than to do it, as much as possible. And nothing about it rewards the manosphere pitch. Sure, you may get fit, strong, and tan while surfing your brains out, but that is a side-effect of the real pursuit, not the end goal itself. You may also go broke in the process.

The manosphere brats all claim to be real men because they (claim to) make lots of money, therefore get lots of women, and are therefore authorities on being men. To me, that's much more of a fallacy than a self-fulfilling prophecy.

In surfing, brashly talking about how tough or strong or awesome you are is a guaranteed way to be ridiculed. No matter how great you think you are because of your social media six-pack, there's a skinny and uber-talented surfer like a Craig Anderson or Mikey February or Tosh Tudor out there who can put you to absolute shame without saying a single word. That's just to mention the soft-spoken charger-stylists out there. The heavies are a whole other story.

Does Al Cleland need to chirp, holler, or beat his chest to get waves? No. Al Cleland simply gets waves. He doesn't need to tough-talk. Fun fact — Al will probably even give you a wave, because he's a nice guy. But when the bomb set comes through, he's swinging. No hesitation.

Do Nate, Ivan, and John Florence paddle out at Pipe and brag about their earnings, followings, and success? Hell no. We love them all the better for it.

This is class. This is masculine. And it's worth being explicit about why.

The manosphere version of masculinity is loud, insecure, and transactional. All emphasis is on the money coming in, the women coming out, and external validation on endless repeat through social media. The version that surfing actually rewards is quiet, patient, and earned. It's Al Cleland earning his spot on tour after years of grinding on the QS and feasting on Mexico's heaviest waves. It's the Florences letting their turns, drops, and barrels do the talking. It's showing up every day to a thing that will humble you no matter how good you get at it. It's the commitment to a practice that yields mastery and earned confidence. That's sexy to all who can see it.

There's an assuredness that comes from humility. There's a mystery, too. The guy who runs his mouth nonstop has laid all his cards on the table, because he only has one hand and he's bluffing.

The wise ones know that to succeed in the ocean, you have to be patient and dedicated. It's not a get-rich-quick thing. It's often not a get-rich thing at all.

In Tahiti alone there are dozens of phenomenal barrel riders who will never see a paycheck from their tube time. Yet not a single day will go by that they can't feed themselves from the reef. They may not be "pro surfers," but they are true watermen. Look at John John, does he care about trophies anymore? Not really, he's good on that front. But he's just as obsessed with life on the water as he ever was.

That's the version of masculine I'd like to see more of. Humility. Competence. Letting what you do attract others, men and women, not just what you say.

And this doesn't just apply to the men. The industry that made the manosphere bros possible has its own version of the trap for women in surfing, the you gotta be sexy to be marketable angle. Instead of being told you can't be a real man without loud money, women are raised to think they can never break through in the industry if they don't happen to also be visible and photogenic. It's the same reduction, aimed differently.

The good news is that the ocean doesn't care. It has never cared about your follower count, your bank account, your six-pack, or the size of your platform. It only asks whether you know how to read a set and, just as importantly, when to not paddle out. Whether you can be patient enough to wait and smart enough to know your limits. Whether you can be humble enough to learn and keep coming back. Whether you can be brave enough to swing when it matters, and generous enough to share the wave when it doesn't.

That's the real beauty of being a good surfer. It's not your appearance, your wave-height record, nor your monetary success. It's your love for the game and your respect for the ocean. It always been.

Related: Five Lessons From a Retired 1970s Pot Smuggler I Lived With on the North Shore