Sensitive men, bad fathers?

The times they are a-changin' for men in our world, and the easiest place to see this change is on trashy television. But isn't bad TV total garbage? What could it possibly teach us about our culture? That tune's been sung since television was in its infancy. In 1961, FCC chairman Newton Minow famously called bad television — though not, mark you, all television — a "vast wasteland." Reality television, that senseless stream of the quotidian, only added more firepower to the critics' arsenal. But while it has about as much narrative cohesiveness as Bob Dylan's "Subterranean Homesick Blues," reality television can illuminate deep cultural shifts.

One such shift is in the American ideal of manhood. If you don't believe me, try watching VH1's "Hogan Knows Best," a reality show centered on iconic pro-wrestler Hulk Hogan. Hogan was a hero in an age when strength made a man, and extraordinary strength made a man a hero. Now in his mid-50s, he retains much of his strength; but that strength is a currency which our culture no longer accepts. As Hogan tries to cultivate better relationships with his children, his family derides him for his outdated wardrobe. He is a hero trapped in the wrong place and time; as the tides of heroic ideals recede, the strong hero is left stranded on dry ground.

Hogan's plight is evidence of the gradual death of strength as a masculine ideal. Consider the popularity of Orlando Bloom and John Mayer, whose boyish looks captivate young girls' hearts and are a far cry from the bygone standards of masculine strength epitomized by Humphrey Bogart or Clint Eastwood. Actors of the Bloom-type come across as sensitive and vulnerable; their characters often need women more than women need them.

Consider also how professional sports, a traditional cult of strength, have lost their innocence in recent years. When Barry Bonds broke Hank Aaron's career home run record, his tremendous feat of strength and skill was sullied by questions about the use of performance-enhancing drugs. Because of his own actions, Bonds has forfeited his status as a hero in the temple of masculine strength. That temple has been looted and many of our childhood idols desecrated. Unfortunately for him, Bonds lost that chance to be worshipped as a hero, and unfortunately for today's children, there are fewer untouched idols left.

As the allure of masculine strength dies in movies, music and sports, we should worry that the next generation of men will be weaker husbands and fathers than the men of previous generations were. There is a fine line between sensitivity and weakness, and those who strive for the former often achieve only the latter. While the ideal of the strong, silent man may not provide a universal archetype for manhood — and it certainly has its flaws — we should not dismiss it so quickly. Our culture tells us that a sensitive and open man is better than the quiet stoic because the sensitive man is strong enough to share his feelings. But the stoic, I dare say, is quiet not because he has nothing to say, but because he has too much to say, because he cannot formulate his feelings into words. Clint Eastwood's facial expressions speak volumes, while the vulnerable cliches of today's "sensitive" actors and singers ring hollow.

My critics will object that it's just plain unhealthy for a man to contain his feelings. But that objection is a product of today's widespread cult of health, according to which whatever is "healthy" ought to be pursued, and whatever is unhealthy avoided at all costs. When a study finds that some food has beneficial health effects, people eat all of that food that they can — and they feel miffed if another study a week later says that the food is unhealthy. What is healthy is fast replacing what is good, with doctors and scientists becoming the high priests of a new religion for those who have given up on such obsolete institutions. Besides, emotionalized outpouring is not the only outlet for pent-up feelings — a brisk walk or punching bag can do the trick.

The strong man may be going out of style, but the winds of fashion are fickle. I'll be watching "Dirty Harry" until those winds change. Matt Hoberg is a junior from Kennett Square, Pa. He may be reached at mhoberg@princeton.edu.