What Does It Mean to Be a Good Man? (with Jon Ronson)

Jon Favreau (0:00)

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Jon Ronson (1:17)

I woke up to a series of texts for my son. And the last text said, we left, that was completely fucked.

We're okay now. He and three friends have been invited to a party being held by a stranger that one of them had met earlier that week on Tinder. And I thought, this guy's trying to be Hugh Hefner during surely the worst period in human history to be Hugh Hefner. Our purposelessness is pushing each of us into hazardous situations. Like it's pushing me into investigating this guy's sending me death threats. And it's pushing him into very skeevy things with women in his castle. So with the death of somebody of the old institutions and deindustrialization and the some ways I think impacting men and women. But among men, I think there is probably a sense that what's our place now? Like what do we do? There's more than 7 million men in America. They aren't really unemployed. They aren't even looking for work. They've just bowed out. But also the American Psychological Association brought out this paper and listed harmful male traits and sojourny and so on.

But others are things that I do all the time, like adventure, competitiveness.

Jon Favreau (2:26)

Reading those traits, I'm like, yeah, I'm ambitious and competitive and all that kind of stuff too. And then you're like, well, do I teach my boys that? Do I not? What do you think a positive vision of masculinity looks like?

Every time there's another horrifying story about the way men treat women. It leads to another conversation about how to raise boys. A conversation that's usually about the men we don't want them to become. Don't be cruel. Don't be entitled. Don't confuse aggression with strength or mistake dominance for respect. Don't treat other human beings as objects or ignore boundaries or stay silent when you see someone getting hurt. Basically, don't become the kind of man who thinks the world revolves around him. I think about this all the time. Our boys are six and almost three, and right now they are the sweetest, most sensitive, thoughtful little kids. Emily and I would do anything for them to stay that way. I'm sure most parents would. No one sets out to raise boys who become bad men. But even when they're young, you quickly realize that you can't predict, much less control, every person, idea, or situation your kids are exposed to. They will inevitably compete with other kids, struggle with friendships, experience rejection, and encounter all kinds of messages about what being a man is supposed to mean. Our job, I think, isn't just to keep our boys away from the worst versions of masculinity. It's to give them a compelling picture of the men they could become, one that offers something more fulfilling than the endless pursuit of success, approval, and self-gratification. It's not like we don't know what makes a meaningful life. All the major religions, the social sciences, even neuroscience, keep pointing us in the same direction. We need each other. We need to love and be loved. We need connection, true connection, to one another and to something larger than ourselves. Close relationships, tight-knit communities, we've heard it over and over again. The hard part isn't knowing any of this. It's actually building a life around it, to find work that makes us feel useful and fulfilled, Places we feel like we belong, Friendships that don't fade as we get older, busier and more wrapped up in our own lives. The more difficult it's become to find those things, the more tempting it's become to settle for something that feels close enough. Why go out when it's easier to spend the night scrolling? Why risk an uncomfortable conversation or an awkward social interaction that ends in disappointment? Why take those chances when the thing we're always staring at is forever promising an escape from all that friction? A world where there's always someone who agrees with us, where people admire us, follow us, want us, where there's always something new to watch, something new to laugh at, to make us feel good, even for a bit. And now with AI, something that will listen to us for hours, tell us exactly what we want to hear, and never bother us with its own needs. When being liked is this easy, why go through the trouble of being known? And here's the problem with trying to raise boys who won't spend their lives chasing all these things. I still chase plenty of them myself. I know how important it is to spend time with the people I love. I also know how easy it is to reach for my phone the second I have nothing to do. To spend five, 10, 20 minutes scrolling through shit I barely care about instead of calling a friend or my parents, or just being present with Emily and the kids. And if it's not the phone that steals my attention, it's work. Thinking about the next episode, the next essay, the next thing I should be doing, the next achievement I can pursue. I feel incredibly lucky that I get to do work that gives me purpose with people I care about. But I also know how easily that can turn into measuring my own worth by what I accomplish, and how fleeting that satisfaction can feel. And what worries me about that isn't just that I may miss out on the very things that make my life meaningful, it's that my boys are watching. And even though Emily and I tell them it's OK to make mistakes, that they don't have to be the best at everything, that what matters most is how they treat other people, the lessons that stick are the ones they get from watching us. What are they learning when they see how much time I spend working? Or how distracted I can be when I'm supposed to be spending time with them? Yes, I want them to work hard, take pride in what they accomplish, and find ways to contribute something meaningful to the world. But I never want them to believe that their accomplishments are what make them valuable. Because people can admire what you accomplish without ever knowing who you really are. An audience can applaud without caring whether you're really happy. A job can make you feel indispensable without giving you the sense that you're loved. Real relationships, close relationships, are different. They involve people who don't always agree with you, flatter you, or tell you what you want to hear. They require patience, compromise, honesty, and occasionally admitting you're wrong. They can be clumsy and frustrating and even break your heart. But it's through those relationships that we learn to care about other people's needs as much as our own. Where we discover the satisfaction of showing up for someone, even when it's inconvenient. And where we learn that love isn't something we have to earn by accomplishing enough. I don't know how to teach my boys all of this. I'm not sure anyone does.