There’s a moment towards the end of Adolescence, Netflix’s unflinching drama about a teenage child killer, that left my partner and I in bits. Stephen Graham, as a father struggling to reconcile what has happened to his son, tucks his teddy bear into his childhood bed, and cries “I’m sorry, son. I should have done more”. It was devastating. Not just because of Graham’s sublime acting ability, but because it captured what so many parents fear deep down: that they have somehow lost their sons.
You don’t need to be a teacher like me, a social worker, or policymaker to see that boys are in trouble. The statistics are stark. Girls outperform boys at nearly every level of education. They are more likely to engage in school life, get better results and go to university in greater numbers.
Meanwhile, boys – particularly from working-class backgrounds – are disengaging. They aren’t reading, to a scary degree. (Perhaps we should urgently try to give boys books they actually want to read?). They are also more likely to be excluded and increasingly likely to tune out of education entirely.
Adolescence understands the restless energy of teenage boys, the bravado masking deep uncertainty, the way friendships are built on survival and unspoken hierarchies. It captures the slow-motion tragedy of a generation of boys who feel school isn’t for them. But it also grasps something even more complex: the battle over what it means to be a man in 2025.
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Read MoreFor generations, traditional “male” traits – physicality, resilience, stoicism – were seen as strengths. Schools, keen to promote emotional intelligence and self-expression, often struggle to articulate what positive modern masculinity looks like today. Many boys feel they are under attack. Into this vacuum step pernicious “influencers” like Andrew Tate.
To many boys, Tate is less a person than an ideology: a mix of material excess, hypermasculinity, and seductive sense of grievance. He tells boys what they want to hear: that the world is against them, that traditional masculinity is oppressed and success comes through dominance. Adults might dismiss him as a misogynistic charlatan, but his influence is real. Boys are torn between authority figures urging them to “be kind” and a culture telling them kindness is weakness.
Adolescence highlights those teachers who battle eye-rolls, blank stares and open hostility. Teachers need to model to boys that being a man doesn’t have to mean being cruel or closed off. Boys need to hear that working hard, caring and striving to be better aren’t frailties, but acts of courage.
How can parents navigate this minefield? Most aren’t social commentators or experts on masculinity. They’re just trying their best. They watch despairingly as their sons retreat into YouTube and TikTok algorithms they don’t understand, adopt attitudes they don’t recognise and slip through their fingers.
“I should have done more.” That’s what so many parents feel. My partner and I shed tears because we recognise that helplessness.
Adolescence should be a salutary lesson, yes, but across British culture, we also need to give young men a break and remember they are not somehow inherently “bad”. Because for all the debates, statistics and think pieces, the truth remains: raising good men has never felt harder.
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