Strong Men, Silent Pain: The Cost of Chasing Ideals

In a recent appearance on The Joe Rogan Experience, Mark Zuckerberg claimed that corporations have become “neutered” and in need of more “masculine energy.” While he acknowledged the value of femininity, he argued that corporate culture has tilted too far in that direction. His comments echo a broader cultural resurgence of the “strong man” ideal—where sensitivity is not expressed but repressed, concealed instead of shared. 

Zuckerberg’s remarks equate feminine energy with being neutered—or more precisely, with castration, in psychoanalytic terms. This framing suggests feminine energy is insufficient on its own, and only with the presence of masculinity can corporate culture truly thrive. In this worldview, masculinity is signified as possessing something exclusive—distinguishing it above all else. 

By privileging masculinity as the ideal, Zuckerberg is not saying anything new. His comments are a reiteration of long-standing masculine tropes: self-reliance, stoicism and productivity. These traits become more than personal virtues—they become the measuring stick by which individuals assess their value, position themselves in hierarchies, and relate to others. These ideals do not just organise corporate life; they shape life as a whole.

Contemporary media explores these themes. In HBO’s The White Lotus, one character—a successful businessman—finds himself under investigation for financial misconduct while abroad. In response, he begins secretly taking his wife’s anxiety medication. He soon falls into a pattern of addiction, marked by prolonged sleep and inebriated appearances at social events.

What is most revealing about his addiction is not just the act of taking medication, but the fact of doing so in secret. His covert use reveals the rigidity of the masculine ideal. Even while suffering, he cannot be seen to suffer. He must maintain the appearance of strength and stoicism—the producer of value—even when that image does not correspond with his internal reality.

This split is something I often witness in the psychotherapeutic space. I recall a male patient who insisted on conducting our sessions via phone without video. When he expressed a desire to meet face-to-face, he explained that the time spent on the phone allowed him to distance himself from vulnerability. To be visibly suffering, he said, felt “intolerable” and “antithetical” to the image he wished to uphold.

His attachment to the masculine ideal limited his relationship to his own suffering. His life began to resemble a trance—one in which he tried to conform to an ideal while cutting off all parts of himself that did not align. He described feeling “empty” and “lifeless” in the presence of others, locked into an existence that emphasised external expectations without any room for his desire 

Another patient, a woman, shared how her professional advancement required her to adopt “masculine” traits while minimising her own status as a female. Her symptom was a persistent feeling of hopelessness—particularly when men approached her romantically. These interactions triggered a belief that she would never be recognised according to the masculine ideal—giving way to profound rage and alienation from her own gender. 

Zuckerberg’s comments are not just cultural commentary—they carry psychological consequences. The idealisation of “masculine energy” has the potential for psychological themes of isolation, burnout and lethargy. Moreover, by casting the ideal as exclusively masculine he reaffirms the rigidity of traditional gender roles. 

We cannot live without ideals, but we can reflect on the ideals we uphold and the language we use around them. When we question rather than simply reproduce ideals, we create space for more authentic ways of being. In doing so, we do not ask people to become more—we invite them to become themselves.