Spring 2015 (I am eleven and in sixth grade)
As I head down the stairwell ready to go home after a long day, I hear commotion and feel a rising sense of dread when I’m met with a group of seventh-grade boys.
Every grade is required to enter and exit the school using designated stairwells. This is the sixth-grade stairwell, but I find myself blocked by the group.
I don’t catch everything they’re saying; I’m too flustered, heat already rising in my face. Every time I try to move around them, another one steps in my way, blocking my escape.
I recognize one of them.
Our older sisters are friends, and he played “Just Dance” on our Wii with me in my basement a few months ago. But he doesn’t seem to recognize—or care—that I’m standing here, trapped.
That was just boys being boys, but it terrified me.
I ended up in tears, running away to a different stairwell, praying I wouldn’t get in trouble.
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Fall 2019 – Spring 2020 (I am fifteen and in tenth grade)
I sit quietly in my Spanish class, taking notes, when I feel something hitting me lightly from behind. I look down and see tiny pieces of paper scattered across my desk. The boys in the back of the room are throwing things, seeing what will stay in my hair.
I wonder how the teacher does not notice. I sit in the front row.
I discreetly pull my hair to the front, doing my best to remove the debris. I can hear them laughing softly—they must find it amusing that I noticed.
At the end of class, I embarrassingly ask another girl to check if I’ve missed anything in my hair.
But it doesn’t stop there.
They escalate over the year.
They take my phone and pass it to the boy I rejected the previous summer.
The boy behind me pulls at my braids and my friends say he likes me. Their theories bring me no comfort and I avoid wearing braids altogether.
The teacher does nothing, so I strike a deal: copy my homework, and leave me alone for the period.
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Fall 2022 (I am eighteen and a freshman in college)
“Whatever, I’m not that desperate anyway, b*tch,” he spits at me, his words sharp and venomous.
His friends laugh.
Under different circumstances, I might have laughed too—the irony of him hitting on me and then calling me ugly is impossible to miss.
But it’s just me. And him. And his friends. No other girls around.
And it’s not funny.
One spares pity on me and tells me to “get the f*ck out then.” I run out. ______________________________________________________________________________
These moments, snapshots from my past, echo in the current cultural landscape where misogyny is often brushed off as “boys being boys.”
I was lucky enough to not be put in actual harm’s way during any of these situations. But just because none of these situations escalated does not mean they easily couldn’t have.
These actions, while seemingly small at the time, have the potential to build into something much darker.
According to the United Nations, one in three women experience violence in their lifetime. When behaviors like these are normalized, when boys are taught to view dominance over women as a sign of strength, we create an environment where this violence can escalate.
What starts as harmless teasing or casual disrespect can quickly evolve into physical or emotional harm.
With the rise of figures like Andrew Tate and the proliferation of “podcast bros,” young boys are fed a steady diet of toxic masculinity.
They are taught that aggression toward women is not just acceptable, but expected. This normalizes the degradation of women, making it seem like a natural part of growing up.
The new Netflix series, Adolescence, highlights this troubling trend, showcasing how young men are influenced by these toxic ideologies.
Stephen Graham, one of the creators of the show revealed in a CNN interview, that motivation for the series was sparked after he heard about multiple incidents of men stabbing young women.
“I remember thinking, ‘What’s happening? What going on with society for this to be happening?’” Graham says.
“It’s not a one-off incident. It’s shocking. And it’s harrowing for us as a nation and as a society to digest. I had this idea about wanting to bring that issue into the social consciousness…” he continued.
The series paints a stark picture of how these cultural influences can have real-life consequences.
Misogyny is not just an abstract concept; it’s woven into everyday interactions like the ones I’ve experienced. It breeds insecurity in young men, who feel pressured to assert their dominance in unhealthy ways.
The laughter that followed their words and actions wasn’t just a reaction; it was a reinforcement of a culture that belittles women and diminishes their worth.
In environments where such behavior is tolerated, young boys learn that aggression is a valid form of masculinity.
The irony is that these boys—often projecting confidence and bravado—are frequently grappling with their own insecurities. They mask their vulnerabilities with contempt for women, believing that degrading others will elevate their status among their peers.
This cycle of toxic masculinity is not just something that happens in isolated incidents—it’s a pattern that gets reinforced with every joke, every comment, every act of aggression that goes unchecked.
And as long as we continue to brush it off as “boys being boys,” we are allowing this behavior to fester and grow.
We must do better. We must stop accepting this behavior as normal. Whether it’s calling out inappropriate comments, having conversations about respect and consent, or holding boys accountable for their actions, we all play a role in breaking this cycle.
Adolescence offers a powerful lens into how these cultural forces shape young men’s understanding of themselves and others.
Watching it is just the first step.
If we want to change the culture, we have to start by challenging these narratives—at home, in schools, and in the media.
It’s time to stop normalizing toxic masculinity and to start teaching boys that true strength comes from respect, empathy, and emotional intelligence.
Only then can we begin to dismantle the systems that allow misogyny to thrive.
