By the time anyone notices, Jamie has already been pulled deep into an online world few adults recognise.

Adolescence doesn’t just tell the story of one boy. 

It captures something much bigger: The breakdown of the very systems that were meant to guide and support him. 

The old adage reminds us: It takes a village to raise a child. But what happens when the village itself falls apart?

In my research into men’s mental health, I’ve met countless men who are living out Jamie’s story — albeit at different stages and ages. They aren’t inherently angry or predisposed to dangerous ideologies. 

They’re looking for belonging, identity, purpose — needs that once might have been met in family, school, or community, but which now often go unanswered.

Instead, they turn to the digital village — a village governed not by care but by algorithms optimised to hold their attention, regardless of the consequences

Much of the public conversation today focuses on figures like Andrew Tate or Jordan Peterson. This focus misses the point. They are not the root cause; they are symptoms. 

In fact, part of Peterson’s appeal lies in his ability to articulate — however imperfectly — that many men feel adrift in a world where their struggles go unrecognised.

But what  Adolescence forces us to confront is this: When nobody else reaches out to these boys, when nobody provides a healthy narrative to help make sense of the confusing — often turbulent — aspects of identity, sexuality, and belonging, someone else will. And the danger here is deeper than a few bad influences. 

The danger is rooted in the very nature of masculinity itself, which is inherently susceptible to power-based validation.

Behaviour over biology

Anthropologists broadly agree on one point: Womanhood, across cultures, is more robust because it is strongly anchored in biology, specifically in the role of reproduction. 

Manhood, by contrast, is socially conferred—defined more by behaviour than by biology.  

Masculinity must be proven, demonstrated, won

This is why masculinity tends to be more fragile than femininity. When was the last time you heard of femininity in crisis?  Exactly, never. 

As the American poet Leonard Kriegel wrote: “In every age, not just our own, manhood was something to be won.” But what can be won can also be lost. 

Therein lies the fragility: The ever-present anxiety of how one’s manhood measures up.

The making of masculinity is an important cultural task for every generation, particularly during periods of rapid social change.

Anthropologist Margaret Mead once observed that the first sign of civilization in a culture was not its tools or technologies but evidence of care — of individuals tending to one another, ensuring that even the vulnerable could thrive. 

This ethic of care, this fundamental social glue, is what’s fraying in today’s society

Figures like Jordan Peterson and Andrew Tate simply stumbled upon this fray: A vast reservoir of unmet male needs. 

They became digital father figures for many lonely men. For too long, many on the left have seen men as the problem — rather than people with problems. 

Feeling included

We hear endless talk about inclusivity, yet many men — particularly those from working-class backgrounds — never feel included.

In fact, across key measures — education, employment, health — working-class men have experienced some of the sharpest declines in recent decades, leaving them among the most left-behind groups in society today. 

Yet acknowledging this fact, and advocating for the rights and wellbeing of these men, is too often seen as somehow anti-women. It is not 

We can continue working toward a more equitable society where women are no longer relegated by hegemonic powers to subsidiary roles beneath powerful men, while also recognising that men who are left isolated, disaffected, and invisible are more vulnerable to falling through society’s cracks.

And the reality is, there is nothing more dangerous to women — and to society as a whole — than lonely, broken, and ideologically susceptible men. Right now, we are producing far too many of them.

In this way, the digital world cultivates a warped version of inclusion — one that trains boys toward a pseudo-sense of masculine superiority and encourages them to measure their worth through an endless feedback loop of curated personas and metrics approval. 

Following the release of  Adolescence, I’ve heard many parents whose immediate instinct is to confiscate their sons' phones, to tighten control, to cut them off from the digital world altogether.  It’s an understandable reaction, but ultimately a counterproductive one. 

Removing the device doesn’t address the deeper questions: Why is your son drawn to this content? What is it offering him that the real world isn’t?

Instead, we need what many people in the men’s wellbeing space call for compassionate accountability — a willingness to hold young men to the best of themselves while remaining deeply attuned to their unmet needs. 

This means leaning in, not shutting down; asking not just what they're consuming online, but why it resonates

It means co-designing spaces where they feel seen, valued, and understood not just as avatars to be liked or patronised — but as human beings to be seen and cared for.

Importantly, this kind of engagement works best when it happens in spaces of familiarity. Our GAA and sports clubs, but also gaming communities, youth groups, workplace settings, local gyms, even online forums where young men already gather. 

Perhaps surprisingly much of the research consistently shows that it’s not the headline-grabbing influencers or radical ideologies that pose the greatest danger. The true risk lies in the quiet, everyday erosion of connection — a slow drift that leaves boys and men feeling unseen, unheard, and alone.

Culture is the most powerful teacher of masculinity, and it has channeled men towards many positive social ends — most notably in community groups up and down the country. 

However, “this behaviour, being learned, is fragile,” warned Margaret Mead, “and can disappear rather easily under social conditions that no longer teach it effectively.” A warning we ignore at a heavy cost.

The village may well be under threat. But as Mead reminds us, civilisation begins when we choose to care.

• Conor Hammersley, originally from Tipperary, is a Fulbright scholar at Columbia University and principal research investigator specialising in masculinities and rural men’s mental health at the New York Centre for Agricultural Medicine and Health.