When We Stop Seeing Our Boys

What the Netflix series Adolescence reveals about emotional suppression, power, and toxic masculinity in tech leadership.

Spoiler Alert: This article discusses key plot points from Netflix’s Adolescence. I watched Adolescence on Netflix last week, and it stuck with me in a way I wasn’t expecting. I’m not a father, but as a man—and someone who spends a lot of time thinking about toxic masculinity in tech leadership and human behavior—it wasn’t just the disturbing realities of gender-based violence and adolescent isolation that hit me. It was the quieter moments.

The silences between men and boys.

The fictional story of Jamie — a 13-year-old boy accused of murdering a classmate — was brutal. But what stayed with me most was Jamie’s father, standing there, trying to understand his son. Trying to bridge a chasm that had formed long before the tragedy.

It’s the same chasm I see growing around us now.

The Boys We’re Failing

We’re in a time when masculinity is being weaponized. The Red Pill movement and its ideology of dominance have resurfaced alongside the rise of toxic masculinity and MAGA extremism. All of it feeds a narrative that men are under siege.

Giants of tech and media amplify this voice, from billionaire manfluencers to Silicon Valley CEOs—many of whom embody the very worst of toxic masculinity in tech leadership, where vulnerability is dismissed and dominance is rewarded.

And boys are listening.

But instead of offering them emotional literacy, we offer them performance. Instead of helping them build resilience, we reward their bravado. They learn quickly that the world doesn’t care how they feel, only how they appear.

The show’s depiction of Jamie — a boy struggling under the weight of humiliation, inadequacy, and isolation — feels alarmingly familiar. His father, despite his good intentions, mirrors the helplessness of so many men I know who simply don’t know how to reach their own sons, let alone other men.

And it makes me wonder: When will men stop being consumed with being men and start being accountable?

The Red Pill and the Illusion of Power

Tech culture has increasingly become a breeding ground for toxic masculinity in tech leadership, glorifying the lone genius, the ruthless founder, the unrelenting CEO, and emotional detachment as strategy. Emotional regulation? Self-awareness? Compassion?

Those are sidelined as soft skills — irrelevant in the pursuit of growth at all costs. And the boys who grow up watching this? They learn that emotional suppression isn’t just normal; it’s necessary. Success becomes synonymous with detachment.

Influence is measured by dominance. Vulnerability is dismissed as weakness.

But it’s not just the Red Pill influencers they’re absorbing. It’s the quieter, everyday forms of toxic masculinity in tech leadership—the leaders who model emotional unavailability and sidestep accountability. The managers who shut down difficult conversations. The executives who refuse accountability. The venture capitalists who reward aggression over collaboration.

So when the highest levels of leadership reject humanity, why would our sons embrace it?

For example, many in tech often justify emotional detachment by citing misunderstood versions of stoicism, reducing it to a philosophy of apathy rather than resilience and self-mastery. This distortion encourages the suppression of emotion rather than the acceptance and regulation of it.

But There’s Another Path

And yet, I’ve also seen something else. I’ve seen men — men who weren’t modeled emotional presence — try anyway. I’ve seen leaders, even in high-stakes environments, choose curiosity over control. I’ve seen founders resist the call to brute force and instead lead with integrity.

And I’m still learning to do the same. 

There have been moments when I’ve reached for control instead of curiosity, mistaking detachment for strength. I’ve caught myself dismissing difficult emotions under the guise of resilience, only to realize that avoidance isn’t leadership. 

I know what it feels like to believe that the safest thing to do is to push through, to armor up, to not let anyone see the cracks. But the cracks are where the growth happens. Every time I’ve allowed myself to sit with discomfort instead of escaping it, I’ve grown — and so have the people around me. The work is ongoing. It always will be. It’s not easy. It’s uncomfortable. But it’s possible. 

And if I can do it, so can you.

We have a responsibility — not just as individuals but as leaders — to model something different. To show that strength isn’t stoicism. That power isn’t control. That leadership isn’t about silencing discomfort but navigating it.

The next generation is watching. And so are our employees, our peers, and our communities.

Toxic Masculinity in Tech Leadership…and Beyond

If you lead a team, a company, or even a conversation, ask yourself: What are you modeling?

Are you making space for vulnerability? Are you creating environments where people can admit failure without fear of humiliation? Are you choosing accountability over avoidance?

Because what we normalize at the top doesn’t stay at the top.

It trickles down — into our companies, our culture, and yes, into the minds of boys figuring out what it means to be a man. And if you think this doesn’t apply to you, I’d encourage you to think again. The most dangerous leaders aren’t the loudest. They’re the ones who normalize indifference.

So why not ask yourself: What am I modeling? Am I reinforcing empathy or unknowingly feeding into toxic masculinity in tech leadership?

Final Words

If this resonates, let’s talk. Not in a formal, “book a session now” kind of way. Just as two people trying to figure it out. I get to witness the building of something more intentional every day in my work with leaders who challenge the narratives they’ve inherited.

It’s incredible to watch.

If this brought something up for you — as someone navigating masculinity, leadership, or simply the complexities of human behavior — reach out. Because the conversations we’re willing to have now? 

They’ll shape the stories we tell later.

Thanks for reading. Let’s keep the conversation going.