‘Bro science’ and ‘Huberman husbands’: The alpha male wellness business that promises to optimize sex and extend life

Taking care of yourself used to be a woman’s thing. Concern for physical and mental well-being conjured up images of mothers doing aerobics with Jane Fonda, or of influencers drinking kale and chia smoothies. Dieting was something women did. Men were more likely to talk about how much they drank, rather than how little they ate.

It’s not that men don’t need to take care of themselves: men have a shorter life expectancy, they drink more alcohol, they have a poorer diet, and their mental health problems more frequently end in suicide. However, from a marketing standpoint, wellness was long considered to be a “woman’s thing.” The industry developed a language and an aesthetic with women in mind. That is, until things started to change.

The Global Wellness Institute estimates that the economy of this industry reached $5.6 trillion worldwide in 2023, with this figure expected to grow to almost $8 trillion by 2028. To achieve this explosive growth, there’s been a need to find new market niches. And, to do so, industry experts have changed the terminology and the aesthetics, rebranding the notion of “wellness” with men in mind. For instance, “self-care” has been renamed “biohacking.” Meditation has been deemed to be a “cognitive enhancement.”

The industry has embraced stoic behavior: pleasant spas are replaced with ice-water baths, while salad-based diets are tossed out in favor of red meat and spartan intermittent fasting regimens. Gyms are now filled with technological gadgets: glucometers, fitness trackers, calorie counters and pulse oximeters. Wellness has become a competition, instead of focusing on rest and self-care. It’s been deemed more masculine to talk about optimization, appealing to the desire for control and achievement.

The marketing shift has worked. Well... sort of.

Emily Contois – a sociologist, nutritionist and author of Diners, Dudes, and Diets: How Gender and Power Collide in Food Media and Culture (2020) – tells EL PAÍS that “there are clear marketing reasons for creating a diet culture for men.” Certainly, the fact that many men are starting to worry about their diets could be good news… but the author believes that this paradigm shift is driven by economic reasons. She laments that the worst aspects of diet culture, which caused so much harm to women years ago, are now being replicated with men.

Daniel Ursúa, a registered dietitian-nutritionist at Nutrihabits agrees with this analysis. “Detox smoothies aren’t necessary for women, nor is the paleo diet necessarily beneficial for men,” he explains. “Behind both ideas is the same market seeking to profit from other people’s insecurities.”

Experts point out that these differentiated diets don’t have a biological grounding, but rather an economic one. And weight-obsession and restrictive diets are equally harmful, whether they’re aimed at men or women. “Whenever a change in habits isn’t aimed at improving long-term health, it will cause problems in the short or medium-term,” Ursúa adds.

To explain what’s happening with men’s bodies, Contois goes on to analyze the cultural context. “There’s increasing social pressure for men to look a certain way,” she reflects. In the first decade of the 21st century, a study warned about the disproportionate and unrealistic growth in children’s action figures, pointing to these items’ potential influence on the future. It was precisely during this time that there was a surge in superhero movies.

Contois directly cites “the rise of the Marvel Cinematic Universe and its heroes in skintight suits” to explain how the canon of male beauty has changed. Suddenly, naturally-toned bodies were bloated and hyper-defined. Hollywood actors subjected themselves to strict training routines, which they then detailed in specialized magazines, leading men around the world to believe that they, too, could achieve a body like theirs in a couple of months. This shift was fueled by “the increasingly widespread use of performance-enhancing drugs and testosterone supplements,” the expert explains. She also mentions the popularity of sports like CrossFit, where “strength and endurance aren’t the only important factors; showing off a shirtless torso is equally crucial.”

But it was social media that most influenced how men perceived their bodies. A recent study from the University of Toronto linked visual exposure to muscular torsos with body dysmorphia and low self-esteem in young and adult men. “This type of content isn’t just easily available; I’d say it’s inescapable on the internet,” Contois notes. “It’s influencing how men think about their own bodies, about what they eat… all of this shapes notions of masculinity and what it means to be a man.”

This new performative masculinity capitalizes on a shift in attitudes toward wellness that dates back to 2008. That was when Gwyneth Paltrow sent out her first newsletter for Goop – a women’s wellness empire valued at $250 million. In that moment, a significant leap occurred: before, being healthy meant not being sick. Afterward, it was all about constantly caring for and improving the body. Diets began to be presented as ways to eliminate toxins, gain more energy, or reduce inflammation. Gut flora was understood as a garden to be cultivated and nurtured. Natural foods suddenly weren’t natural enough, meaning that supplements, vitamins and medications began to be consumed. This lifestyle was quickly adopted by celebrities, from Hollywood to Silicon Valley, with their choices becoming topics of conversation. And so, we began to shape the current context.

The new wellness gurus

Within this ecosystem, popular male wellness influencers have emerged, addressing the concerns of a new generation of men interested in improving their work life, sex life and longevity. This genre has been dubbed “bro science” – a curious mix of ideology, fitness evangelism and an obsession with productivity.

The most famous influencer in this realm is Andrew Huberman, an associate professor of neurobiology at Stanford. His podcast – Huberman Lab – has over 140 million views on YouTube and is a phenomenon in the United States, where they’re already talking about “Huberman husbands.” The New York Times has dubbed him the “Goop for men.”

Huberman is a kind of He-Man in a lab coat: a bearded, muscular jock with an impressive resume and even better oratory skills. He preaches a Silicon Valley-style self-help approach, a kind of “pop neuroscience” focused on lifestyle changes and supplements to work faster and live longer. He frequently cites studies from specialized journals, peppering his discourse with scientific jargon like “neuroplasticity,” “norepinephrine” and “serum cortisol.” But he also recommends activities that are more befitting a deranged shaman than a scientist. According to Huberman, bathing in cold water increases concentration, looking at the sun in the morning helps you sleep better, and breathing through your nose (never your mouth) will give you a more harmonious face.

Huberman isn’t the only one, but he’s the best-known of a long list of histrionic charlatans. Joe Rogan talks about ice baths and sensory deprivation tanks. Tim Ferriss optimizes sleep and sex with supplements. Liver King believes the crisis of modern masculinity would be solved if we all ate more raw offal, while Jordan Peterson’s solution is to only eat meat. Many coat their particular ideas about male wellness with far-right and anti-feminist rhetoric.

This trend goes beyond North America: for instance, in Spain, there are also so-called “wellness ambassadors.” Representing only themselves, they operate with little scientific evidence. There’s Antonio Moll, who claims to be able to reverse gray hair and eliminate wrinkles by “reprogramming the subconscious” and doing facial yoga exercises. Or Gonzalo Ruiz Utrilla, who has a newsletter in which he writes about topics as seemingly disparate as investments, transhumanism, business, immortality and personal development. An impossible cocktail, but one that combines all the concerns of “bro science.”

It starts with diet and health, but behind it all lies a whole ideological package, including sexuality, money, conservative politics and transhumanism. “It’s what the manosphere calls being a ‘high-value man,’” Ursúa explains. “The ideal of masculinity that these spaces [and influencers] want to promote is that of a successful businessman: seductive, strong and analytical, while taking care of his appearance as part of his personal brand,” the expert points out.

To lump all content creators who talk about male wellness into this category would be reductionist. The aforementioned examples may be the most extreme ones, with the least scientific basis, but the fact that wellness has adapted to men can also be good news… and not just for the industry. There are earnest communicators and new cultural contexts that allow for fresh ideas and conversations to emerge. The “new masculinity” has resulted in a world where men can apply moisturizer without shame, worry about their mental health or their diet, all while discussing topics that, until recently, were taboo, such as erectile dysfunction or hair loss.

Perhaps male interest in biohackers and immortality is simply a way of coping with a fear of death. Maybe the obsession with CrossFit and intermittent fasting is a catalyst for discussing physical insecurities. Men are now finally sharing their experiences, after also having been bombarded with unrealistic body images for years. Until just a little while ago, unlike women, they’ve had difficulty talking about the impact of this phenomenon.

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