Bending the Knee

For as long as there have been humans, a dark symbiosis between men has played out—a dance where those who dominate find willing partners who submit. The strong toxic man, full of bluster and aggression, doesn’t just assert power; he demands it be reflected back at him by weaker men who willingly bend the knee, hoping to find safety in his shadow. This ritual of submission is as old as power itself, a perverse courtship where the kneeler trades his dignity for the illusion of protection.

The phrase “bending the knee” is more than just a gesture of deference; it’s a symbolic surrender of autonomy, a willing choice to forfeit one’s own principles in exchange for proximity to perceived strength. For weak toxic men, kneeling isn’t just about survival—it’s about adopting the very behaviors that keep them subservient. In the presence of a strong toxic man, they don’t just follow; they fawn, hoping that by submitting, they can partake in the power they fear they’ll never truly possess.

Dominant vs Submissive Toxic Masculinity

Toxic masculinity is most often associated with Alpha or bro-like behaviors—what we might call "strong" toxic masculinity. This form is loud and forceful, marked by aggression, dominance, emotional repression, and an unyielding quest for control. Men who embody it project authority through intimidation, refusing to show any sign of weakness. Their fear of losing status drives them to assert themselves at every opportunity, often at the expense of others.

However, there is another side to toxic masculinity—weak toxic masculinity. In many ways, it is more insidious. It reveals itself in behaviors like passive-aggressiveness, people-pleasing, sycophancy, and, most notably, bending the knee. Men who embody this form avoid direct confrontation, opting instead to manipulate situations to protect themselves. 

In both cases, they are driven by a deep-seated fear of rejection and failure, seeking safety in controlling others - either overtly or subtlety. Both types avoid vulnerability and suppress their emotions, either through aggression or manipulation. Both deflect responsibility, whether through loud accusations or subtle deflections. Both engage in dishonest communication—strong toxic men through outright lies, weak toxic men through insincerity.

Both forms are conditioned by a culture that equates masculinity with dominance and control while stigmatizing vulnerability and emotional expression. Men are taught that they must either dominate or submit—there’s no room for balance. Those who feel capable of exerting control adopt strong toxic behaviors, while those who feel powerless resort to weak toxic strategies.

Polarity produces attraction.

One of Donald Trump’s only useful contributions to society being the model example of what not to do and who not to become. Trump epitomizes how strong toxic men attract weaker ones. His aggressive, domineering persona appeals to those who feel powerless or insecure. His bravado gives these men a sense of strength by proxy, allowing them to avoid confronting their own inadequacies. Rather than building real confidence, they align with Trump’s forceful tactics, believing that his perceived strength can compensate for their weaknesses.

Consider Marco Rubio. Once a fierce critic of Trump, even mocking his “small hands” during the 2016 primaries, Rubio quickly pivoted. By 2020, he was a finalist for Trump’s vice-presidential pick. Rubio’s reversal—going from outspoken critic to loyal supporter—is a textbook case of bending the knee. His willingness to sacrifice his principles for political survival is emblematic of weak toxic masculinity.

J.D. Vance offers another stark example. In 2016, Vance was openly critical of Trump, calling him “reprehensible” and warning that he would lead the country into a “moral disaster.” Fast forward to 2022, and Vance not only embraced Trump’s endorsement for his Senate run (with a public shaming from Trump), but made it all the way to being Trump’s VP selection. The transformation from critic to sycophant reveals a pattern of weak toxic masculinity: aligning with power to avoid the discomfort of standing alone.

Even Robert F. Kennedy Jr., whose family name is synonymous with liberal politics, has succumbed to the allure of Trump’s toxic masculinity. Once a champion of environmental causes and liberal ideals, Kennedy has increasingly cozied up to Trump’s base, embracing conspiracy theories and anti-establishment rhetoric. His latest pivot—leaving the race to support Trump—highlights how weak toxic masculinity can lead even those with a legacy of strength to abandon their principles.

This dynamic also explains why Trump’s appeal is so strong among men who might otherwise feel powerless or overlooked. For many of these men, Trump embodies a version of masculinity that appears powerful, assertive, and unyielding. His refusal to apologize, his bombastic style, and his willingness to break norms without remorse resonate with those who feel marginalized or insecure in their own lives. Trump’s brand of masculinity gives them a script to follow—one that seemingly allows them to sidestep the hard work of introspection, emotional growth, and genuine self-improvement.

For these men, Trump’s model of manhood offers a kind of permission slip to avoid the discomforts that come with vulnerability, honesty, and accountability. Vulnerability requires admitting fear, pain, or uncertainty—emotions that strong toxic masculinity teaches men to repress. Honesty demands confronting uncomfortable truths about oneself, one’s relationships, or one’s environment, which can be difficult for those accustomed to living in denial. Accountability involves taking responsibility for one’s actions and their impact on others, a daunting prospect for those who have built their identity around avoiding blame or admitting fault.

This reliance on Trump’s version of masculinity comes at a cost. By avoiding vulnerability, honesty, and accountability, these men only reinforce their own weaknesses. The more they double down on Trump’s approach, the more they entrench themselves in a cycle of toxic behavior. This cycle not only damages their relationships with others—leading to distrust, resentment, and alienation—but also deepens their own insecurities, leaving them even more dependent on the crutch of toxic masculinity.

Toxic Culture = Toxic Politics

Moreover, this dynamic has broader societal implications. When large numbers of men adopt this mindset, it creates a culture where toxic behaviors are normalized and even celebrated. The refusal to apologize, the rejection of accountability, and the embrace of aggression as a primary means of communication contribute to a hostile environment where genuine connection and trust become rare. This, in turn, perpetuates a cycle where new generations of men learn to value dominance over empathy, control over cooperation, and strength over integrity.

This dynamic isn’t just harmful to society—it’s detrimental to the country as a whole and poses a significant threat to democracy. When a substantial portion of the population embraces a version of masculinity that prioritizes dominance, submission, and avoidance of accountability, it undermines the very principles that democracy relies on: integrity, empathy, cooperation, and mutual respect. In a healthy democracy, citizens are expected to engage in civil discourse, to hold themselves and their leaders accountable, and to prioritize the common good over personal gain. However, the toxic behaviors promoted by this brand of masculinity—blame-shifting, rejection of truth, and refusal to admit mistakes—erode the foundations of democratic governance.

In this way, the allure of Trump’s version of masculinity doesn’t just damage personal relationships and individual growth—it corrodes the democratic fabric of the nation. It replaces the values of accountability, integrity, and cooperation with a dangerous mix of aggression, submission, and denial, threatening the very essence of what makes democracy viable. If left unchecked, this toxic dynamic could lead to a society that is less free, less just, and less democratic.

A Healthy Way Forward

Thankfully, there are plenty of examples of men in authority positions who display healthy masculine traits like high emotional intelligence, openly expressing love, being in service to others, being compassionate,  being accountable and a person of consistent character and integrity, displaying courage in multiple ways, standing up for what’s right, and many others. On the political front, men like Tim Walz, Adam Kinzinger, Pete Buttigieg, and Mitt Romney personify these healthy masculine traits. 

“All of us have to recognize that being a man is first and foremost being a good human.  That means being responsible, working hard, being kind, respectful, compassionate.  If you’re confident about your strength, you
don’t need to show me by putting somebody else down. Show me by lifting
somebody else up.” - Barack Obama

There is no one definition of healthy masculinity, nor is there one perfect example. Indeed, it is the accountability and resilience of overcoming failures and flaws that is the crucible for healthy masculinity. As I stated, there is a variety of traits, but there is no set of specific behaviors to subscribe to. Instead, we each must do our own work to find our version of healthy masculinity. Here is the framework:

• Get to Know Your Mind: A key aspect of healthy masculinity is self-awareness. By understanding your thoughts and mental patterns, you can better navigate challenges with emotional intelligence and make decisions that reflect integrity and accountability.

• Get to Know Your Heart: Healthy masculinity embraces vulnerability and compassion. Connecting with your emotions and understanding what truly moves you allows you to express love openly and stand up for what’s right with courage and empathy.

• Get to Know Your Soul: True strength in masculinity comes from living with purpose and authenticity. By aligning your actions with your deeper values and sense of meaning, you demonstrate consistent character and lead with a commitment to serving others.

To break free from this cycle, men must confront the very discomforts that Trump’s toxic masculinity allows them to avoid. Real strength comes not from dominating others but from mastering oneself. It requires the courage to be vulnerable, the integrity to be honest, and the responsibility to be accountable. Only by embracing these qualities can men truly grow and find a healthier, more authentic model of masculinity—one that builds rather than destroys, connects rather than divides, and empowers rather than weakens.