Masculine longing, mirrors and the Cost of identity
I’ve been seeing an uptick in what I guess you could call “man bashing.” Long videos and clips of women kind of going in and essentially swearing men off, cursing them from Jakarta and back. What visually comes to mind for me is that scene from Waiting to Exhale where Angela Bassett is burning her husband’s clothes in his car. Flames dancing in the background as she smokes her cigarette—pearls, robe, and all.
As a woman myself, I make room for the anger, the frustration, the fatigue, the heartbreak, and all of the above. But as an observer, I go deeper—asking more questions and coming into the reality of what masculine energy means or represents from an energetic perspective. The reality is that men and masculine energy are essential to all of us regardless of sexual orientation or preference. They exist within our biology, our chemistry, and our consciousness—connecting us to depth, density, and the more grounded aspects of our humanity.
Where feminine energy often seeks a container to experience itself, masculine energy tends to seek a mirror that confirms identity. In love, this can show up as attraction to direction, purpose, or the embodiment of a future self. You’ll often see men who are affluent or status-oriented drawn to women who reflect the current standard of beauty. Attaining something that is broadly desired can function as an affirmation of identity—proof of having arrived, or of becoming who they believe themselves to be.
This is why figures like Kevin Samuels became so polarizing. Not because everything he said was right, or because his standards should apply universally, but because he was naming a dynamic that already existed. The kind of men he spoke about were often drawn to women who mirrored ego-affirming traits—youth, beauty, social currency. His conversations frequently centered on men wanting youthful women, on rating scales, and on blunt assessments delivered publicly. While his tone was often harsh, the underlying pattern he pointed to was less about morality and more about how unintegrated masculine identity seeks validation through what it can attain and display.
These types of relationships tend to rely more on functionality than internal connection. On both ends, the focus becomes about what makes the other person feel safe. The woman may feel secure through financial stability, while also feeling chosen in a way that subtly communicates worth and visibility in the world. At the same time, the man’s sense of identity is reinforced through what he can provide and who he can attract.
I noticed many women were intensely triggered by him because his commentary pressed directly on existing insecurities—fears of being unwanted, of aging out of desirability, of not being seen or valued. The reaction wasn’t just about disagreement; it was about having vulnerable places named publicly, without softness, and without room for nuance.
I want to point out another reality that I feel often gets overlooked, or maybe even goes unnoticed. We talk a lot about living in a patriarchal society, but from an energetic perspective, that means something deeper than power or dominance alone. It points to a culture largely organized around survival—achievement, protection, provision, and external control. When energy is structured primarily around survival, it leaves little room for internal balance. In that sense, masculine energy hasn’t always been mirrored or modeled in its integrated form. Instead of reflecting inner coherence, presence, and self-containment, it has often been shaped by pressure, scarcity, and the constant need to prove or secure.
When masculine energy is shaped primarily by survival and external pressure, the inner world often goes unmirrored. That absence has real consequences in how men show up emotionally, especially in relationships. A lot of what gets labeled as emotional unavailability in men often appears to be something else entirely. When I sit with it more carefully, it looks less like avoidance and more like disorientation—particularly when masculine energy hasn’t yet learned how to integrate its inner world. Without internal balance being mirrored or modeled, emotional distance becomes less a choice and more a default response to not knowing where to place what’s being felt.
What often follows in these dynamics are deep triggers and the subconscious upheaval of each person’s deepest insecurities, which in turn creates rifts and layers of misunderstanding. It can look like this: imagine carrying a deep wound around your complexion or skin tone. If he likes another woman’s photo on Instagram and she happens to be light-skinned, that moment can quickly become internalized. It may be interpreted as, “Maybe he’s distant because I’m not his type. Maybe I can’t be what he actually prefers.”
This can then dangerously turn into attempts to regain safety and control, slowly shifting into manipulation as a way to feel secure. Over time, this progression creates further disconnection in the dynamic, as both parties move fully into survival mode rather than connection.
Sitting with all of this, the question that naturally arises is where we go from here. If survival has been the organizing force, what does it mean to move toward connection without denying the realities that shaped us? Moving forward doesn’t mean undoing what shaped us. It means becoming aware of how those conditions still operate inside our relationships. When survival is no longer questioned, it quietly dictates behavior. Connection begins to emerge when we can notice when we’re reacting from protection rather than presence, and when we stop asking love to stabilize what we haven’t yet learned to hold ourselves.