“Toxic masculinity” is one of the most overused phrases in popular culture. Nine times out of ten, what the media dubs “toxic masculinity” is actually “normal masculinity” — i.e., boys being boys.
But that doesn’t mean “toxic masculinity” is 100% fictional.
C’mon folks, growing up, we all knew guys with a twisted view of masculinity — your old high school buddy who’d get drunk and start fights every frickin’ weekend; your ex-college roommate who got clocked going 110 miles-per-hour ‘cause the car next to him revved its engines at the red light; your coworker who (proudly) cheats on every girlfriend and has a series of “baby mommas.”
Some interpretations of masculinity are, if not toxic, extremely gross and bizarre.
In the case of “The Liver King,” a.k.a. Brian Johnson, his version of masculinity was literally toxic: He was spending $11 thousand each month on steroids and other supplements. Johnson is nearly 50 years old.
All that “juice” takes a toll on your health. Lots of people exercise to maximize their fitness and longevity, but the sad truth is, competitive bodybuilders don’t live very long. Their mortality rates are 34% higher.
At this point, the causal connection between elite bodybuilding and early deaths is difficult to refute:
Although the cause is unclear, the increased mortality supports the possibility that use of performance enhancing drugs and unique competitive training, such as extreme weight changes, may contribute to deaths among younger professional bodybuilders.
“Professional male bodybuilders use high-dose testosterone and other performance enhancing drugs to improve athletic performance,” the authors noted in a study abstract. “These anabolic agents are potentially associated with negative sequelae including hyperlipidemia, cardiovascular effects, and possible liver damage.”
Possible liver damage, eh?
Let’s get back to The Liver King, who’s currently starring on one of the most-watched shows on Netflix. Brian Johnson became an internet sensation with his eye-popping physique, crazy fitness routines, and “nine ancestral tenets.” Here’s a 51-second example:
According to Johnson, his supplement company is pulling in $100+ million annually.
A big sales driver was Johnson himself. By showcasing his mindboggling physique and crediting it all to his diet, supplements, and “ancestral tenets,” the implication was, if you wanted to look like Johnson, you simply had to eat like him, train like him, and buy his products.
Of course, his promotional videos never mentioned consuming boatloads of steroids.
“I don’t touch the stuff [steroids],” Johnson claimed in 2022. “I’ve never done the stuff. I’m not going to do the stuff.”
Johnson’s version of masculinity included heavy training, eating raw animal organs, hunting, firing weapons, and the virtues of being barefoot and connecting to the earth:
“The earth has a slightly negative charge,” Johnson explained. “We’re electro-physical beings, right? Every single cell is electrical in nature. And so, just by default, you see all of the primitive culture tribes connecting with the earth almost 24/7, 365.”
Taking off your shoes and walking barefoot, you see, is one of Johnson’s nine ancestral tenets.
That’s not to say that Johnson’s message is worthless. Lots of young men are confused and lost. A poor diet and a lack of exercise are (alas) culturally commonplace. If you squint really hard, you can almost detect a faint gleam of nobility in Johnson’s abs-centric theatrics: He’s inspired thousands of people to live better, healthier lives.
Trouble is, it was all based on a lie.
Eating raw liver, training hard, and buying his supplements will NOT make you look like Johnson. (I assure you, Johnson wasn’t spending five figures per month on steroids for the placebo effect.)
In the Netflix documentary, Johnson comes across as a natural-born salesman. He’s great on camera; his charisma and likeability pops off the screen.
Unfortunately, he’s a natural-born salesman — but his body is anything but. It was enhanced and augmented by tons of steroids, pharmaceuticals, and all kinds of synthetic, lab-created drugs.
Not much “ancestral” about that.
“I’m on the rocket ship,” Johnson explained in the Netflix documentary, offering his side of the steroid scandal. “Ships don’t turn on a dime. But they actually do. Unless you’re on a rocket ship. Which I’m on.”
(Yeah, I don’t know what he means either.)
The truth is, weightlifting and exercise can greatly enrich your life. Grip strength is one of the key biomarkers for longevity but not because squeezing something makes you live longer. Instead, it’s linked to your overall strength and fitness: The better your grip strength, the less likely you’ll be injured in a fall.
About 1 out of 3 people who break a hip will die in five years. That’s not because breaking a hip is ultra-deadly, but a broken hip is often indicative of other physical deteriorations. It’s not causal, but it's correlative.
Like lots of gym bros, Johnson was fueled by insecurities: His father died when he was young, and he was badly bullied as a kid. Which makes sense: Insecurity is a helluva motivator. It’s the reason why thousands of gym bros are spending thousands of hours moving weights up and down: They hate how they look and feel compelled to transform their body into something superhuman.
It's counterintuitive because we often associate big, hulking physiques with narcissism and vanity. But more often than not, it’s less about arrogance and more about a deep-seated sense of inadequacy. Let’s face it, if you already feel pretty good about yourself, you’re probably not gonna spend dozens of hours a week in the gym and/or thousands of bucks on steroids, just to pack on even more muscle.
Johnson knew how to reach that audience because he’s one of them.
He still is, too.
One of the takeaways from the Netflix documentary was that, despite having the body of a Greek god, the so-called Liver King was driven more by his insecurities than anything primal or ancestral. His physique would’ve still been amazing if he worked out naturally, but his ego demanded something more.
That’s the dark side of the fitness culture — and the kind of toxic masculinity that’ll eventually kill you.
