On Incel Culture: From the Manosphere to Gender Polarisation
Feb 23, 2026
By Robyn Vincent, guest writer.
I recently attended a CPD session focused on Incel culture and misogyny designed for teachers. Much of the discussion centred on the usual touchstones: Andrew Tate, the manosphere, online radicalisation, and the rise in overtly misogynistic language among boys and young men. All of that matters. But I left with a deeper unease that we are still only telling half the story.
One of the most uncomfortable assertions made during the session was that education itself has contributed to laying the foundations for rape culture. Uniform policies were cited as an example: systems that, however unintentionally, regulate girls’ bodies more heavily than boys’, teaching early lessons about responsibility, blame, and surveillance. This framing is confronting, particularly for those of us who believe deeply in education as a force for good. Yet it also reminds us that misogyny did not begin with social media influencers or TikTok algorithms.
It predates them by centuries.
What the modern manosphere has done is not invent misogyny, but legitimise it. It provides a sense of community, permission, and validation. One quote shared from the TikTok manosphere stuck with me:
“What are you ladies doing that you keep running into these situations? You like the bad guys… no sympathy when you keep putting yourselves in these situations, despite the fact that many of us (men) are telling you exactly how to avoid them.”
The power of such statements lies not only in their cruelty, but in their certainty. They absolve men of responsibility while reframing women’s suffering as self-inflicted. This narrative is seductive because it is simple, and because it offers moral clarity in a complex world.
But while we spend considerable time examining the rise of misogyny, we are far less willing to discuss something else that is quietly growing alongside it: perceived misandry.
The definition of Misandry is “the hatred, dislike, or prejudice against men or boys, similar to how misogyny is prejudice against women, but it absolutely lacks the systemic and institutional power and violence that misogyny holds in society."
Whether or not we agree with that perception is almost beside the point. What matters is that many men experience it as real, and that experience shapes behaviour, identity, and retreat into increasingly hostile spaces. We do have to ask the question why men’s reaction to misandry can be extreme and women are less likely to react in the same way: possibly male reaction is extreme because they occupy a position of power? I also do not intend to minimise the real way that women experience misogyny.
There is an irony here. The more poisonous the messages within the manosphere become, the more they provoke understandable anger and defensiveness among women. We either fight back: we respond: we challenge or we hide because of our fear of physical violence. In challenging we can unintentionally harden the very polarisation society should be trying to resist. Conflict breeds content; outrage fuels algorithms. In this sense, the manosphere and what might jokingly - but not entirely inaccurately - be called a “womanosphere” begin to feed one another. It feels true to say that womanosphere does not exist as an equally harmful opposite to the manosphere.
We can see hints of this elsewhere. Middle-aged women now drive divorce rates in their age group, often articulating deep disdain and contempt for men. Much of this is rooted in legitimate grievance, exhaustion, and inequality. But when contempt becomes the dominant language, it risks becoming another push factor - another reason for men to feel rejected, blamed, and unheard, and therefore another pathway into radicalised spaces. That is not to say that unhappy partnerships shouldn’t be ended.
This dynamic is insidious because it compounds itself. Feeling like a victim - of misogyny or misandry - narrows perspective. It polarises opinion. And crucially, it shapes what we model for young people. If boys grow up seeing masculinity as the manosphere suggests, and girls grow up seeing men framed primarily as a threat, we should not be surprised when trust collapses.
There is also a quieter issue: many men feel increasingly unable to challenge this harmful culture. I have noticed this professionally. I am comfortable calling out damaging language from both male and female colleagues: possibly because I am a white, privileged woman. Some of my male counterparts, however, admit they do not feel able to challenge women - even on professional platforms like LinkedIn - for fear of social or reputational backlash.
When good people retreat into silence, the space is left to the loudest and most extreme voices. As a society we should and can all proactively challenge the incel culture regardless of our gender, race, age or political persuasion.
The broader cultural context matters too. What we are seeing in America - deep gendered political divides, culture-war narratives, racism and moral absolutism - rarely stays contained. These currents cross borders quickly. Popular culture reflects and reinforces them, whether through viral debates, reality television moments, or the way public figures are celebrated or condemned.
At the heart of all this is a deeper misunderstanding of masculinity and femininity. Your gender is irrelevant in terms of whether you default to the masculine or the feminine. We can all choose to act in either depending on the situation we are handling. Both bring something essential. Masculinity often builds the tower: structure, risk, protection, ambition, laser focus. Femininity builds the platform: connection, meaning, sustainability, care. One without the other collapses. Power does not only look like dominance; it also looks like influence, persuasion, and what is often called “soft power.” Societies need both.
Women may hold up half the sky whilst there is no doubt that low level misogyny in daily life is experienced by women all over the world, it is only half the sky. Gender harmony, not gender victory, should be the aspiration and this can only be achieved together. That means resisting narratives that rely on blame alone and instead asking harder questions about how we live together, raise children, and speak about one another from all members of society.
It is important to be clear about what this argument is not. Women do not cause misogyny, nor are they responsible for men’s radicalisation or for repairing the harm done to them. Anger, withdrawal, and resistance are often rational and necessary responses to inequality and violence. Responsibility for misogyny lies with those who perpetuate it and with the systems that allow it to flourish.
When I speak about polarisation, I am not suggesting that women should soften their anger or manage male reactions, but that all of us - particularly those with power, platforms, or influence - should be attentive to how conflict is amplified and exploited in ways that ultimately entrench harm rather than reduce it.
If we want to move beyond the manosphere we need less certainty, more humility, and a renewed commitment to shared humanity. Otherwise as educators we risk teaching the next generation not how to live together, but how to retreat further into opposing camps, convinced the other side is the enemy.
