More Than A Magazine, A Movement
Recent headlines warn of a national budget bill that cuts Medicaid and food stamps, enabling billionaires to escape fair taxes.
The bill’s 1,000-plus pages contain another dangerous threat: freeing still-experimental AI from regulation, essentially turning Americans into lab rats in a billionaire-bro tryout without guardrails.
Father’s Day is a celebration of caregiving. Let’s also make it a day for men to be emotionally sensitive guides, not just breadwinners or protectors.
Let’s say to the boys in our lives: “You don’t have to be angry to be strong. You don’t have to dominate to be respected. You don’t have to hate women to be a man.”
Let’s tell them: “You can cry and still be brave. You can nurture and still be powerful. You can be gentle and still be strong.”
Let’s begin the conversation with our sons—again, and again, and again—until they hear us. Until they believe us. Until they believe in themselves.
Since November, much of the media coverage of this most recent election cycle has focused on Gen Z—especially the Gen Z gender gap, and how young men in particular seem to be swinging further and further right.
At the same time, Gen Z (born between the mid 1990s and the early 2010s, so around ages 13 to 28 in 2025) is the most diverse generation in American history… which might be why so many of the Trump administration’s recent actions, like attacks on higher ed, seem to be targeting Gen Z specifically.
An excerpt from Sexy Selfie Nation: Standing Up for Yourself in Today’s Toxic, Sexist Culture, in which Leora Tanenbaum offers an incisive exploration of why many young women wear body-revealing outfits and share sexy selfies and what these choices say about our toxic, sexist culture:
“As temperatures in New York City climbed, young women faced a dilemma: They wanted to wear summery tank tops and miniskirts but were concerned that as they traveled around the city, especially on the subway, they would be met with predatory stares, harassing, ‘Hey baby, won’t you give me a smile?’ comments, and even unwanted touches and gropes.
“And so, being resourceful New York women, they hatched a solution: the ‘subway shirt’—an oversized, shapeless shirt one slips over her ‘real’ outfit.”
“Your body, my choice.” That misogynist credo is the crux of the blockbuster Netflix mini-series, Adolescence, the third most-watched English language show of all time on Netflix. The show continues to provoke debate about the impact of social media on the mental health of boys, in a world dominated by the manosphere, and its power to transform boys’ into violent misogynists.
Surprisingly, porn was the one missing element in the otherwise brilliant four-part Netflix drama.
The show centers on a 13-year-old boy, Jamie—a typical lad, vulnerable, like so many other young men, to the venom of online misogyny spewed through unbridled social media, chatrooms, blogs and podcasts. This angry ideology, masquerading as manly virtue, blames women for male alienation and promotes violent sexuality and the dehumanization of women—the very narratives of porn.
Under Trump’s America, violence against women isn’t just ignored—it’s become a deliberate political strategy. Powerful men accused of abuse are actively protected and celebrated by the Trump administration, while survivors and those who stand up for them are punished and silenced. (Just look at the attacks and public shaming Christine Blasey Ford had to endure after courageously coming forward with her sexual assault allegations against Brett Kavanaugh.) From legal interventions and judicial appointments to funding cuts, Trump has systematically dismantled protections for women and emboldened those who harm them.
Health and Human Services Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. made a speech on April 16 in which he made many false assertions about autism.
I’ve heard these harmful, ableist myths about autism my whole life—now that they’re coming from the head of HHS, I’m calling them out one by one.
Whether it’s lending or borrowing a cup of sugar, or providing others bare necessities when the power goes out on your block for two weeks, it is essential that we break our prolonged isolation and build relationships across differences.
Building face-to-face relationships across differences is the first act of resistance—and the foundation for community defense, disaster response and democratic revival in the South.
(This essay is part of a collection presented by Ms. and the Groundswell Fund.)
Since stumbling on “underconsumption-core,” I’ve been deep in a world of no-buy rules, budgeting spreadsheets, and influencers who turn frugality into an aesthetic. What started as a seemingly productive financial reset now feels more like a lifestyle that rewards domesticity and quiet femininity over real economic empowerment. The deeper I looked, the more it felt like a soft return to tradwife ideals.
It’s not that saving money is bad, but when frugality becomes a moral performance, especially for women, it’s worth asking who this trend really serves.
Adolescence is a powerful cautionary tale about the destructive forces of the manosphere and the isolation many young boys face today. Through the lens of Jamie’s tragic journey, the show illuminates the profound impact of online misogyny, social media and a culture that discourages vulnerability in young men. As both a fictional story and a reflection of the real lives I’ve encountered, it serves as a stark reminder of the urgent need for adults—teachers, parents and communities—to guide boys through the confusion of adolescence and protect them from harmful online influences.
If we fail to act, the tragedy we see in Adolescence may become a reality for more young men.