Adam Stanaland, University of Richmond

When Meta CEO Mark Zuckerberg appeared on a Jan. 10, 2025, episode of “The Joe Rogan Experience,” he lamented that corporate culture had become too “feminine,” suppressing its “masculine energy” and abandoning supposedly valuable traits such as aggression.

The workplace, he concluded, has been “neutered.”

Perhaps not surprisingly, Zuckerberg has also embraced stereotypically masculine pursuits in his personal life. He’s become a mixed martial arts aficionado and has shared his affinity for smoking meats. On his expansive Hawaii compound, he’s even taken up bow-and-arrow pig hunting.

He’s come a long way from the geeky image of his youth.

But is Zuckerberg right? Do workplaces in the U.S. need to embrace a more diesel-fueled, street-fighting, meat-eating mentality?

As a social psychologist who studies masculinity and aggression, I think it’s important to evaluate what the science says about Zuckerbeg’s claims – and to consider what it means for the future of workplace culture in the U.S.

Show no weakness

In 2018, sociologist Jennifer Berdahl and her colleagues coined the term “masculinity contest culture” to describe workplaces rife with cutthroat competition, toxic leadership, bullying and harassment.

Integrating decades of prior research on masculinity in the workplace, Berdahl and her collaborators were able to map how masculinity contest cultures operate, as well as show how they affect organizations and individual employees.

In her experiments, she had participants agree or disagree with statements such as “expressing any emotion other than anger or pride is seen as weak,” based on their perceptions of their own organization. Using advanced statistical techinques, Berdahl’s team was able to distill masculinity contest cultures down to four components: “showing no weakness,” “strength and stamina,” “putting work first” and “dog eat dog.”

Then they were able to show how these cultures are tied to a host of negative outcomes for workers and companies, such as burnout, turnover and poor well-being. And at the organization level, they can foment a dysfunctional office environment, toxic leadership and even bullying and harassment.

An imagined grievance

Based on this research, then, it seems like promoting rigid masculinity in the workplace is not the best solution for an arguably already struggling Meta.

What, then, led Zuckerberg to claim that the workplace has been neutered and must be infused with masculine energy? Has the American office really gone full “Legally Blonde”?

Zuckerberg’s own company isn’t exactly a paragon of parity: Its total workforce, as of 2022, was nearly two-thirds male, while its tech workforce was three-quarters male. Furthermore, according to psychologists Sapna Cheryan and Hazel Markus, workplaces in the U.S. still reflect what they call “masculine defaults” – cultures that reward characteristics or behaviors generally associated with men.

This can range from how companies describe themselves – for example, as places that are “aggressive” and “unrestrained” – to hosting events catering to traditionally male pursuits, such as golf outings.

Although Cheryan and Markus’ analysis centers on how masculine defaults make it harder for women to carve out their professional paths, they can harm everybody, including men.

My research, for example, has shown that when men feel pressured to fulfill certain masculine expectations, they can develop fragile masculine identities, which are linked with aggression and anxiety.

Although the pervasiveness of masculinity norms can give men an upper hand in the workplace, I wonder whether men are contorting themselves to fit into outdated molds of who succeeds at work. Indeed, research shows that successful organizations promote a healthy mix of stereotypically masculine and feminine qualities.

In other words, it’s best when people of all genders feel comfortable showcasing traits such as cooperation and agency, qualities that don’t necessarily fall into one gender camp.

The rise of the fragile billionaire

If many workplaces still possess dog-eat-dog cultures and celebrate masculinity – with evidently poor outcomes – you might wonder why billionaire corporate leaders would advocate for them.

The most generous explanation is ignorance. Zuckerberg could simply be unaware that most offices in the U.S. still possess competitive environments and traits associated with traditional masculinity.

Although this could be the case, I think there could be two other explanations for Zuckerberg’s promotion of rigid masculinity norms.

There could be an economic motive. Perhaps Zuckerberg thinks that promoting his company as an arena of high-stakes competition and aggression is the best way to attract talent and spur innovation in a field already dominated by men. It’s often thought that competition drives innovation. So “Meta needs to be more masculine” could actually be code for “Meta needs to breed more internal competition, which will spur innovation and turn a profit.” This assumption is also misguided: Recent research has shown that internal competition may actually stifle innovation.

There could also be a psychological motive. I’ve found in my research that men are most likely to cling to notions of rigid masculinity when they feel pressure to “man up” and are insecure about themselves.

Perhaps Zuckerberg sees diversity efforts as a challenge to his power. Maybe he thinks aligning himself with President Donald Trump’s version of masculinity will help him gain and retain power, especially as he faces challenges from other tech giants. So his promotion of an aggressive workplace, along with his slashing of policies that could make him look “weak,” are moves to reinforce his status as a leader, as an innovator and as a man.

This isn’t to say that activities such as hunting and mixed martial arts are inherently bad, or even inherently masculine: There are plenty of female hunters and UFC fighters. Nor is it to say that certain masculine characteristics in the workplace are inherently bad.

But when I see middle-aged billionaires – Zuckerberg isn’t the only one – exhibiting the signs of fragile masculinity that I’ve observed among young adult men and adolescent boys, I can’t help but wonder what the country’s future holds.

Adam Stanaland, Assistant Professor of Psychology, University of Richmond

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Armin Langer, University of Florida

In January 2015, 12 people were killed at the French satirist magazine Charlie Hebdo’s office after it published controversial caricatures of the Prophet Muhammad. Ten years later, the tragic events continue to resonate in global conversations about limits to the freedom of expression.

The attacks led to an outpouring of public sympathy for the victims, summed up by the slogan “Je suis Charlie” – “I am Charlie.” This slogan became a symbol of solidarity and declared support for freedom of expression and France’s tradition of using satire in art and media.

Since then, Charlie Hebdo has been framed as a universal symbol of freedom of speech. Yet, for others – especially French Muslims – the magazine represented the reinforcement of racial and religious stereotypes under the guise of satire.

As a scholar who studies secularism in Europe, I argue that communities’ reactions to satire are deeply influenced by factors such as religious marginalization, political exclusion and cultural tensions.

The attack was a horrific act of violence that cannot be justified. However, the discussions that followed often overlooked the ways in which the magazine’s caricatures perpetuated racist stereotypes – particularly against Muslims, who occupy a precarious position in French society.

Punch up, not down

The underlying question of satire’s ethical limits lies in its relationship to power. At its best, satire critiques authority, exposes hypocrisy and challenges systems of dominance.

Jonathan Swift’s 1729 book “A Modest Proposal,” for example, ridiculed British exploitation of the Irish. Similarly, The Onion has published pieces lampooning billionaire greed, and comedian Hasan Minhaj criticized Saudi Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman for human rights violations.

I would argue that effective satire should “punch up, not down” – targeting those in positions of power or privilege rather than vulnerable communities who already face oppression.

When satire targets marginalized groups, it can strengthen harmful stereotypes instead of challenging them. For example, Charlie Hebdo’s caricatures of Muslims relied on stereotypical and dehumanizing images – often portraying them as violent extremists.

Charlie Hebdo’s caricatures were not isolated cases; they reflected and reinforced broader narratives in French society that link Islam with backwardness, violence and resistance to integration. In a country where Muslims already face discrimination in jobs, housing and policing, such portrayals can deepen their marginalization.

Supporters of Charlie Hebdo’s style of art pointed out that the magazine has also made fun of Catholics. For instance, the magazine’s cover in 2013 depicted Pope Benedict XVI resigning from the papacy to elope with a Swiss Guard – a satirical critique that highlights the church’s strict views on homosexual relationships.

Charlie Hebdo’s satire of Catholics, however, works differently. While it often harshly criticized the Catholic Church, its target was an institution deeply embedded to France’s culture and history.

Even as religious adherence declines, Catholicism remains deeply intertwined with French national identity in ways that Islam does not. Criticism of the Catholic Church, therefore, challenges a powerful institution, whereas criticism of Islam often targets a marginalized community.

Laïcité and its application

At the heart of this disparity lies France’s strict commitment to laïcité, or secularism. France’s commitment to laïcité is meant to ensure religious neutrality but has often been used to target Muslims unfairly. Many, including myself, would argue that policies like headscarf bans in public schools, for teachers and students alike, and limits on public expressions of Islamic faith have turned laïcité into a tool for exclusion rather than inclusion.

According to some critics, the 2019 Notre Dame fire further exposed the “hypocrisy” of laïcité. While the French government raised nearly US$1 billion to restore the cathedral as a symbol of French heritage, Muslim communities continue to face barriers to building mosques, with local authorities citing the policy of laïcité to block their efforts.

In this context, Charlie Hebdo’s satire of Muslims echoed state narratives portraying Islam as clashing with French secular values. One infamous cartoon showed the prophet with a bomb in his turban, reinforcing the stereotype of Islam as inherently linked to terrorism. Another featured the prophet in sexually suggestive poses, which sent the message that Muslims are sexually strict and backward, while French secular society is modern and free. It fed into old colonial beliefs that Western culture is superior and that Muslims need to be liberated from their alleged backwardness.

Instead of challenging authority, these caricatures often mirrored and reinforced the Islamophobia already prevalent in France. Critics point to examples such as the disproportionate policing and surveillance of neighborhoods with large Muslim populations, which effectively criminalize these communities. Therefore, they argue, Charlie Hebdo’s style of satire crossed the line between critique and complicity, aligning itself with state narratives rather than resisting them.

Rethinking the legacy of Charlie Hebdo

Looking back on 10 years of debates since the Charlie Hebdo attacks, it is clear the discussion must move beyond framing the issue as free speech versus censorship. Instead, I believe the focus should shift to what satire ought to convey in a society striving for equality and justice.

Scholar of Francophone studies Nadia Kiwan writes that the “Je suis Charlie” slogan pushed people to conform to a single way of expressing support, making it hard for those with different views to speak up. She points out that this pressure to agree with the slogan silenced important voices – particularly those attempting to explore deeper causes of the attacks or to question how France handles issues like freedom of speech, equality and diversity.

Satire that uses racist stereotypes can strengthen existing social discrimination and inequalities, instead of challenging power.

A truly inclusive idea of free speech, I believe, must take into account how marginalized groups experience such portrayals, and ensure that freedom of expression does not come at the cost of dignity or respect for others.

Armin Langer, Assistant Professor of European Studies, University of Florida

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

Guzel Garifullina, University of Richmond

As 2025 begins, Russia ends its official “Year of the Family.” But the state has been promoting what it calls “traditional” or “pro-family” values for more than a decade – and looks likely to continue.

“Traditional” values are now central to the idea of “Russian-ness” that the federal government promotes, portraying itself as a defender against many Western societies’ more liberal views on gender, sexuality and reproductive rights.

“Today some countries are cynically destroying the institution of the family, and common, simply normal human values are cynically broken down and replaced by false ones,” Putin said in January 2024, launching the Year of the Family. “Traditional family values drop out of favor in these countries. But we, on the contrary, will preserve, strengthen and pass them on to future generations.”

One of the most recent measures putting traditional values into practice was a November 2024 law introducing fines for what the legislators call “the promotion of the child-free ideology”: any material seen as discouraging Russians from having kids.

An intentionally vague phrase, “traditional values” came to the center of the state ideology after 2012, when Putin came back to office for his third presidential term amid massive protests. Ever since, political and religious leaders at the national level have often voiced their importance – particularly in light of Russia’s declining population. In 2023, Russia’s birth rate was just 1.41 children per woman, the lowest in 17 years – and well below 2.1, deemed the “replacement level” for a stable population.

International attention on the Russian traditional values campaign tends to focus on national leaders’ flashy statements that target voters at home and conservative fans abroad. As a scholar of Russian politics, however, I know federal policies aren’t the full picture. The Kremlin may set the agenda, but regional governments are often where the federal narrative of family values transforms into policies with broader reach.

Federal vision

One of the main national-level policies promoting traditional values are one-time government payments for the birth of a child. Named “maternal capital,” the popular benefit was introduced in 2007 for individuals giving birth to, or adopting, their second and subsequent children.

Since 2020, payments have been offered for every child. Current payments for the firstborn amount to about US$6,000, or roughly 10 months of the median monthly salary. The payments are regulated to be primarily used on children’s education or housing.

Federal attempts to restrict abortion, on the other hand, fall short of the rhetoric adopted by church officials and politicians. Widely discussed proposals from the latter include removing abortion care from the free universal health care program or requiring a father’s consent.

Attempts to introduce any sweeping restrictions on abortion have been eventually turned down by federal lawmakers. Under current law, abortion can be performed for any reason until 12 weeks of pregnancy. Women who were raped can access abortion services until 22 weeks, and the procedure is allowed for medical reasons at any point. The only recent federal restriction has been stricter control on drugs used for medical abortions.

Another focus of the federal government’s “values” campaign, and the one receiving the most international attention, is a series of repressive laws targeting LGBTQ+ people. Discussing homosexuality was labeled “propaganda to minors” and became a punishable offense in 2013. Sex-change treatments and changing one’s gender in official documents were outlawed in 2023, and that same year, the Supreme Court declared “the international LGBTQ+ movement” an “extremist organization.”

These and related legislative measures have made Russian LGBTQ+ people a target for violence. Many have left the country. But other initiatives against LGBTQ+ rights are mostly symbolic, like the November 2024 law banning adoption to countries where gender transition is legal. Russia has not allowed adoptions to the U.S. since 2012, and just 2.6% of all adoptions were to families overseas in 2021, making that legislative change fairly inconsequential.

Local laws

While the federal government publicizes its anti-LGBTQ measures, regional authorities seem to focus on pro-natalist policies, encouraging childbirth through increasingly inventive measures.

From 2016 to 2018, five regions introduced ad hoc temporary bans on abortions for a symbolically chosen day or week, such as International Children’s Day. In 2023, at least four regions banned abortions in private clinics, and the measure has been recommended in more regions. According to a current estimate, almost 1 in 5 private clinics that used to provide abortions in Russia have stopped doing so.

Since 2023, more than a dozen regions have introduced fines for “encouraging” a woman to have an abortion – leading to concerns among doctors that their support for a patient’s decision could be construed as encouragement. Other regions are discussing such legislation.

One of the most intrusive policies regarding abortion has been implemented in the Belgorod region south of Moscow, where women are often pressured to get approval from a priest and a psychologist before they can get an abortion. While not a legal requirement, it appears to be an informal regional recommendation that public hospitals try to follow.

Regions don’t rely exclusively on repressive measures, though. As national leaders express concern over Russian women deferring childbirth to prioritize education, some regions have initiatives that encourage earlier pregnancies, specifically among college students. At the moment, at least 11 of the 83 Russian regions have instituted special one-time payments to female college students who have children.

Finally, most regions have their own “maternal capital” payments with various amounts and requirements. For example, in the Novgorod region of Russia’s northwest, parents will receive a regional subsidy of around $3,700 in addition to the federal $6,000 for their first child.

‘Values’ vs. reality

Some of those policy measures are actually at odds with citizens’ preferences, which are often far less “traditional” than the state wants to believe.

Restrictions on LGBTQ+ rights are an exception: By the 2000s, public attitudes were neutral at best and have deteriorated as state propaganda vilifies LGBTQ+ people.

But the Russian population is not, in fact, very conservative when it comes to other issues around sex and family planning. Opinions on premarital sex, access to abortion, divorce and family planning are much more liberal. Almost two-thirds of Russian citizens oppose abortion bans. In a 2019 poll, the average number of children that men and women called ideal was 2.6. The average number of children they themselves expected to have was 1.8 – a far cry from the large family promoted by the state.

Overall, Russian society’s conservatism is much more nuanced and muted than what the state propaganda tries to paint.

What’s more, the country is not homogeneous. Certain areas, like the North Caucasus, show closer adherence to these so-called traditional values in terms of getting married younger and starting families sooner. Most regions, though, are firmly in the category of what demographers call “second demographic transition”: People get married and have children at a later age, use contraception, and have fewer children.

Why the local initiatives?

These attitudes might explain why national authorities’ traditional values policies focus on widely liked measures like child payments, as well as repressive legislation that uses the LGBTQ+ community as a scapegoat. They care about popular support and don’t expect those measures to provoke mass backlash.

Regional governors, on the other hand, more often experiment with potentially unpopular measures to match the national talking points – specifically, discouraging abortions. Regional governors are highly dependent on the Kremlin’s benevolence, and such initiatives may be another way of demonstrating loyalty and compliance. Increasing the birth rate is a federal policy goal consistently communicated to regional authorities and even included in the governors’ formal performance indicators.

The federal government has used regions to roll out unpopular policy initiatives before. During COVID-19, for example, dealing with the pandemic was largely delegated to the regional authorities.

Regional pro-natalist policies further demonstrate the often-overlooked vast differences between parts of Russia. A citizen’s experience of the pressure to act according to “traditional values” may vary depending on which city and region they call home.

Guzel Garifullina, Assistant Professor of Leadership Studies, University of Richmond

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.