Summary

The article reflects on the societal and personal implications of male anger, as exemplified by a man's outburst in a bagel shop, emphasizing the need for men to confront and manage their emotions constructively.

Abstract

The viral video of a man's aggressive tirade in a bagel shop serves as a stark reminder of the destructive nature of uncontrolled male anger. The author, while acknowledging the instinct to ridicule the man, also admits to a reluctant empathy, recognizing similar feelings of rage within himself. The piece delves into the cultural expectation for men to suppress vulnerability and express anger instead, suggesting that this narrow emotional spectrum is both a privilege and a trap. It underscores the importance of men learning to healthily process emotions, advocating for self-awareness, meditation, therapy, and community support as means to break the cycle of toxic masculinity.

Opinions

The author believes that the man's behavior in the bagel shop was inexcusable and deserving of public mockery, yet also sees it as a symptom of broader societal issues surrounding male anger.
There is a shared understanding that male anger is often a cover for fear, loneliness, and a sense of powerlessness.
The article criticizes the societal acceptance of male anger, which is seen as a 'sacred' and unifying emotion for men across different backgrounds.
The author points out that anger is celebrated among some groups of men, reinforcing a toxic culture of emotional suppression and aggressive behavior.
The piece argues that men have a limited range of 'acceptable' emotions, with anger being the most socially permissible expression of distress.
It is suggested that the performance of anger is a learned behavior, ingrained from a young age, which serves to maintain patriarchal structures and male privilege.
The author emphasizes the importance of personal responsibility and the necessity for men to seek healthier ways to deal with emotions, such as through meditation, therapy, and support groups like AA.
The article concludes that true power comes from vulnerability and the ability to feel and express a full range of emotions without resorting to anger.

The Powerlessness Of Male Anger

Video of a misogynistic tantrum — and confrontation — in a bagel shop is a must-watch for dudes with hair-trigger tantrums.

She just wanted a bagel.

That was my first thought when I watched the now-viral video on Twitter of a man unleashing a hateful rant about women at a bagel shop before being tackled by another man and then, to my horror, I found myself relating to him.

That was my second thought: I’ve lost my cool before. Maybe not like this maniac and maybe not so… randomly and viciously. But I’ve got so angry I can’t see straight.

I do not want to be misunderstood: this dude’s nonsensical ravings were unacceptable. I don’t find this video funny but he 100% deserves the mockery. The public pillorying. I tweeted out a joke about the video but then deleted it because, like, really, who am I to judge?

The woman who recorded the episode just wanted a bagel. She is a victim of a man who is not in control of himself. Who abused the innocent patrons around him. I think most people agree he got what he deserved. Ask for an ass-kicking and ye shall receive. I’m not one of those people: it depressed me to see the violence. That said, that man’s meltdown had to be called out.

In a way, it doesn’t matter why this dude exploded — in the video, he is literally babbling about being rejected on dating sites because of his height. He may as well have been barking about Star Wars movies or some meme designed to light his fuse.

And yet, sadly, it’s not difficult for me to empathize with him. I have to write that if I’m honest. It makes me feel grimy to have to do so. I watched and rewatched the video and I saw my own anger. It was humbling, to say the least, to watch a video of a man lose himself in incomprehensible rage. His insecurity oozing out like lava.

I have yelled at loved ones trying to help me. I have howled like an all-too-visible poltergeist out of pure self-hating anger. Once, I screamed at a 42-ton New York City subway car that was late and I can’t think of a better way to visualize impotence than a small man cursing out a giant steel train.

That was a long time ago but I’m still that person. Always will be, although I have discovered better parts of myself to nurture. Every day I have to make a choice to live in the world, to be open-hearted and rooted, and to reach out to those who love me or, at the very least, want to hear from me. I sometimes still get angry when I’m scared or lonely. When I feel powerless. I’m not proud of that but I try. Meditation helps. So does therapy. For me, at least, AA meetings, too.

The only real power anyone has is the power to stand firm, in your skin, and feel whatever emotions bubble up, and out, even if that means closing your eyes and listening to yourself breathe.

Men are born angry. That fury is a secret covenant. A foundational agreement. If the patriarchy were a visible religious organization complete with berobed priests every newborn boy would be baptized with the words “Thou shalt raise thy voice for thou art wrathful.”

Our anger is sacred.

This single, lonely, emotion unites men of all classes, creeds, and races. It is the primary perk of my gender: silent permission to rage at that which frightens, or frustrates. Society makes space for male anger, which is why more men aren’t more embarrassed post-outburst. Men who are successful are allowed to get angry at those who defy them. Men who are failures are also allowed to get angry at those who defy them. This is the deal. No matter a man’s lot in life he is entitled to yell. And the world is supposed to cower, or endure, the spittle-flecked gibberish.

I am angry that men have so few emotional choices. In the fine print of the male social contract are cruel terms. A man must project strength. A man cannot show weakness. A man who cries is weak. A man who despairs is weak. Do not feel. Instead, get angry because anger is fear with boxing gloves.

My temper is the like the neck frills of lizards that puff out when threatened.

The casual application of anger — which so often precedes violence — is one of the organizing principles of male identity. A man at a restaurant yells at a waiter because his soup is cold. A boss chews out a subordinate behind a closed door. A man sends a vulgarity-laced email to a writer whose opinion offended him. This is boorish behavior and shouldn’t be tolerated and, yet, it is. Amongst many men, it is celebrated. When one man blows his stack, you can bet there are others who politely applaud the spectacle.

Men perform for each other. Monkey see monkey do. It’s how we reaffirm our privileges. The older I get the more I become aware of how my anger is a magic trick I was taught to perform before I could even form words. My anger is misdirection. A magic wand, waving. It’s a distraction that keeps me from knowing how I’m really feeling, even if those feelings make me feel vulnerable.

Anger can be fun. That is for sure. The intensity, the endorphins, the illusion that your ferocity can scare the world into submission. This can be exciting, but fantasy is frequently exciting.

I am reminded of a bill I received from the IRS many years ago. I was drinking quite heavily then, and prone to put inconvenient financial requests in a drawer that I could then forget. This was a final bill from the government demanding thousands of dollars I had failed to pay. My response was to get angry. I got so angry I tore the bill in half with my bare hands and I could not abracadabra it back together.

That pathetic display of power was all I had. The truth was, I was terrified and ashamed and heartbroken. I would eventually settle my debt, after many years, and I will reveal how I did it: I worked and sent a check every month and went without. I had no other option. It’s not like I could have called the government and cussed until I was forgiven. You can’t intimidate actual power.