The British media watchdog has trained its sights on an unlikely target: a Hollywood actor turned manosphere messiah. That this particular individual has managed to transfix a generation of disaffected young men is hardly surprising. What is more curious is the panic this has inspired among our cultural gatekeepers.
They would have us believe that a man who once played a superhero is now a threat to national stability. One might recall a similar moral panic when rock and roll first corrupted the youth. Or when the Beatles suggested they were more popular than Jesus.
The pattern is tediously familiar: when established authorities lose their grip on the narrative, they reach for the nearest scapegoat. This actor, with his crude rhetoric and callous slogans, is merely a symptom of a deeper rot. We have spent decades dismantling every pillar of traditional masculinity, only to find that nature abhors a vacuum.
The manosphere, for all its flaws, offers a sense of purpose that our effete institutions have abdicated. To focus on this one man is to miss the forest for the trees. The real scandal is not his influence, but the intellectual and moral bankruptcy that made it possible.
Let the watchdog bark. The dogs of decadence have been sleeping too long.
