Women Aren’t Your Enemy: The Male Loneliness Epidemic & Accountability

The Eric Swalwell scandal and the Manosphere's toxicity show why we must believe women.

Illustration by Riley Levine

Through the “male loneliness epidemic,” current social discourse, modern reality shows, and the shift toward streaming over mainstream content, it’s easy to get wrapped up in the stereotypes:

“Women hate men these days.”

“Women just don’t like us.”

“They’re all out to get us.”

Or insert whatever lazy take you’ve heard from single men online over the last few years …

Maybe I was a gay man in a past life. Maybe it’s because I’m not a douchebag who thinks there’s some liberal conspiracy to “cuck” every man in America. I’ll probably get shit for “pandering” or trying to score points with women…

But women are fucking cool, dude.

I’ve always gotten along better with women than men. And it’s always kind of puzzled me, because I’ve fit into all the traditional masculine boxes: jock, soldier, popular with women …

But women have never been the ones who made my life hell.

Women never bullied me. They didn’t call me “faggot” or “pussy” because they thought they could get away with it. They didn’t punch me in the face during passing period because I looked at them the wrong way. They didn’t try to snake their way into my relationships behind my back.

That was men.

Women, in my experience, have been supportive, kind, endearing, and empathetic. They’ve shared humor. They’ve gone out of their way to show up for me when I’ve expressed emotion instead of shutting me down for it.

And they keep showing up.

So forgive me when I say I’m fucking confused by this lazy train of thought that has men my age and younger convinced that the opposite sex is their enemy or a punching bag for their words or grievances…

When in reality, we might want to take a harder look at ourselves.

And then you see something like this …

Congressman Eric Swalwell (D-Calif.) falling under scrutiny over sexual assault and rape allegations, with people calling for him to drop out of the California governor’s race.

And almost immediately, the pattern starts to play out.

Women come forward about their own experiences — stories they’ve been carrying for years because they feared reporting it and not being believed, or worse … shamed. Fear of being torn apart by the exact people who claim to care about them. And sure enough … here come the replies.

From our side.

People rushing to defend him because he’s a “good guy,” and “one of us.” Because it’s politically or cognitively inconvenient to believe the women speaking up.

And it’s fucking horrifying to watch because this is exactly what they’ve been talking about the whole time.

This is why they don’t come forward. This is why they stay quiet. Not because they’re weak, but because they know what happens when they speak.

And still … they do it anyway.

That’s the part that sticks with me.

Because while men are online sitting around bitching and complaining about loneliness, blaming women, convincing themselves they’re the problem —

I keep seeing women be the ones who step up.

I see Julie K. Brown bringing light to the Epstein files.

I see Ellie Leonard investigating every single drop to decipher exactly what was going on.

I see Tara Palmeri continuing her work with Virginia Giuffre and highlighting the world that these injustices and horrific acts existed inside of.

I see women like Suzanne Lambert using her art and comedy to influence the way Gen Z and women see politics and take it in. I see her being one of the first to bring light to these women who were speaking out about what Eric Swalwell did to them.

I see April Ajoy sharing her experiences with Christianity and how lived experiences shaped her current political ideology.

I see my friend, Kim Hunt, on Threads and Instagram using her voice to fight back against the system that took her career for speaking out, and then make one of her own out of it.

I see Susan J. Demas running an entire operation on Lincoln Square and directing the push to help democracy survive.

I see Maya May working tirelessly (although it looks effortless) to host shows, do interviews, provide information to the public and just be an outright force for our nation.

I see every day women out in public being the ones to speak out about small injustices or perceived slights of others and make on the spot corrections that keep society in check.

They’re the ones that are telling the truth when it’s uncomfortable. They’re the ones backing each other when it would be easier not to. They’re the ones willing to take the hit—socially, emotionally, publicly, or personally—just to say, “this isn’t right.”

That’s strength.

That’s courage.

And they are consistent in their application of it.

You see it in moments like this where that cognitive dissonance comes into play and one side of the political spectrum is forced to deal with a reality of one of their own. It fights you internally when you want to believe with every fiber of your being that the person you supported was a good, and honorable public servant. That they would do the right thing just as you would…

I saw countless men question the veracity of the reporting. The timing. The people behind the leaks or the articles that fed us the information that sent a shock through the system.

I didn’t see hardly any of them questioning the character of Swalwell …

I didn’t see them questioning how a grown man, who at the very least cheated on his wife and the mother of his three children, recorded an apology video where he admitted to the infidelity on his part and dismissed it on his wife’s behalf by saying, “She knows I’m not saint.”

I’m fucking sorry? WHAT?

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At what point do we stop becoming such dirtbags that when we are accused of something so horrific like rape or sexual assault, that we take a step back and look at the perception of our own actions before we voluntarily offer up a woman to soften the blow for us — much less a woman that has literally given you life and a family.

So, fellas …

When women are online and you see them say “not all men, but always a fucking man…” or they’re saying things like “believe all women,” take a beat and use your second functioning head to garner some critical thought before you open your mouth …

Because the reason they say, “Not all men, but always a man,” is because how many women in Congress are running around sexually assaulting or raping their staffers? How many female elected officials are sending unsolicited pussy pics to said staffers?

My guess is zero …

When they say “believe all women,” it’s because as Heather Ashley pointed out on Threads:

• In any given study, it is estimated that 2%-10% of sexual assault allegations may be false.

• 2% of all sexual assault cases result in any jail time.

• 200 men falsely accused of sexual assault would total a roughly 1% chance of even thinking about seeing the inside of a jail cell for it.

• 98% of women who ARE sexually assaulted — know their abuser will never be held accountable.

• Roughly 81% of women report experiencing at least one sexual assault.

• 91% of perpetrators of rape and sexual assault are men.

• 90% of women killed, are killed by men.

• And one of my (least) favorite statistics…

• The number one killer of women? Men.

• The number one killer of men? Heart disease.

So yeah … believe women when they come forward with something like a sexual assault allegation—especially when it’s against a well-known public figure who has the platform and power to try and bury it or ruin the accuser.

Especially when there are multiple women.

Especially when there’s credible evidence.

Especially when it’s been fact-checked, corroborated, and still somehow people are twisting themselves into knots to avoid the obvious.

Because what you’re really watching in those moments isn’t skepticism, it’s self-preservation.

It’s men protecting the idea that “guys like us” couldn’t possibly be capable of that … because if they are, then maybe we have to start asking some uncomfortable questions about ourselves, our friends, and the way we’ve all been conditioned to look the other way.

So miss me with your grievances.

Miss me with the loneliness bullshit about how all women hate you, how they’re “out to get us,” how the world is somehow rigged against you—because your infantile brain can’t imagine a world where women might actually be right.

Because if you look around … they’re right a fucking lot these days.

They’re right about power.

They’re right about abuse.

They’re right about accountability.

They’re right about the systems that have protected men like this for decades.

And instead of actually listening to them, too many of us double down.

We deflect. We joke. We get defensive. We turn it into culture war bullshit instead of just facing it head on. I don’t know… maybe that’s why things feel so broken. Because the people who have been forced to develop empathy and resilience just to survive in this fucked up system—

Aren’t the ones running it.

Maybe it’s time we rethink that.

Maybe it’s time we stop clinging to this patriarchy bullshit that clearly isn’t working for anyone except the worst people benefiting from it.

And maybe, just maybe, it’s time we let women lead from the front a little more. Because in my experience, women have only ever been honest, empathetic, and strong in ways that actually make people feel seen instead of belittled.

They’ve shown up.

They’ve continued to speak out.

And they’ve told the truth, even when it costs them the most.

Imagine if we built a society that reflected those values?

I don’t think we’d be sitting here arguing about why everything feels so fucked.

We’d already be fixing it.