Men Asking Men for Comfort is Still a Big No-No

You want ME to ask HIM for a HUG?!

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“We loved each other in the way men do
And never spoke about it, Al and me,
But we both knowed, and knowin' it so true
Was more than any woman's kiss could be.”
-The Lost Pardner, Badger Clark Jr.

Letterboxd is telling me I will clear 300 movies watched this year. That’s not a brag by any means. I spent 2024 unemployed to underemployed and could’ve used some of that time to knock off so many books on my reading list. Alas, there’s always next year.

As a cinephile who spends life trying to ringleader my way through a circus of masculinity, I take stock of my viewing patterns from the year to try to offer one big takeaway of MENNESS IN MOOOVEEEZ. Last year, I reflected on the staggering amount of violence against women I’ve casually watched in my life as a moviegoer.

Well, it’s that time in December when I look back and say, “This essay will make all those viewing hours worth it.” Rather, “please, oh please, make all that time add up to something, dog.”

I initially thought I’d go back to some early 2024 thoughts about how this year might be the year when movies answered the question, “How would two years of a Dobbs decision affect 2024 horror?” (You can now add The Substance, Alien: Romulus, and The Front Room to that spring assessment.)

But no, it had to stem from this damn election. Let me explain.

The day after the United States finished dropping in their ballots, I had a burning desire to hear someone say, “Killin’ Naht-zeee’s,” namely Brad Pitt employing a Southern patois as Lt. Aldo Ray in Inglorious Basterds. I needed a lil’ fuck fascism energy as a balm of sorts. As happens when revisiting one film by an auteur, a rabbit hole ensued as I went through Tarantino movies I hadn’t seen in many years.

A staple of my high school years, Reservoir Dogs is in that canon of films memorized to the point of “adapted personality.” I don’t think I was too obnoxious about my fandom of the film as a teenager, but I’d temper any assessment of my younger self until asking anyone who was around me during that “quoting movies” time in my life. It’s been nearly 15 years since I last saw Dogs (that’s what we REAL fans used to call it). As I age, what strikes me about the film is its level of tenderness—namely, the relationship between seasoned gangster Mr. White (played by Harvey Keitel) and the cherubic Mr. Orange (played by Tim Roth). During the film’s running time, the two often embrace or touch as Mr. White tries desperately to soothe a wounded (and frankly, dying) Mr. Orange.

Mr. White and Mr. Orange fan art via wroniec’s Tumblr.

Curious about the more recent commentary on the film, I went to Letterboxd to read peer reviews (and, importantly, not-so-peer reviews from younger audience members who may have come to the film for the first time in recent years). As I scrolled down, I saw a recurring comment about the film.

You’ll have to trust me when I say that I’m okay with interpretations of gay subtext or homoeroticism into fiction, and I welcome criticism of adolescent faves—yeah, sometimes that “swinging dick” flick I liked as a kid is really about men wanting to fuck each other. But this read feels different, and it follows a thread of cultural ickiness that shows up in the ways we exoticize adult male friendship (cue the word “bromance”) and a Western discomfort with same-sex forms of intimacy. While tough guy epics are often lauded for the “f word” count involved, when you add too much of an intimate element, you’ve got something certified as queer.

SO MANY F BOMBS = PRAISE
TOO MUCH TOUCHING = GAYS

We still have a hard time understanding why straight (or seemingly straight) men would want to touch eachother, unless it’s sexual.

It hasn't been long since male intimacy began to be widely photographed. In Picturing Men, John Ibson, a leading scholar studying male relationships, offers transformative insight into this shift. Covering the U.S.'s late 19th to mid-20th century, Ibson reveals how visual documentation of male friendships—and sometimes romantic relationships—highlights a once-normalized comfort with masculine touch that has sharply declined over time.

From the Civil War until the 1920s, it was very common for American men to visit photo studios to get portraits taken together, often holding hands, sitting on each others laps, or draping their arms around each other.

The modernization of society significantly reshaped male friendships and etiquette. In more traditional settings, friendships thrived within close-knit communities, where stability and proximity allowed bonds to flourish. However, the mobility brought by the industrial age fractured these staid networks. Wage labor increasingly replaced self-employment, reducing the time and autonomy men once had to cultivate relationships. Additionally, the rising economic and political participation of women disrupted longstanding social dynamics, compelling men to navigate friendships and roles within a rapidly changing societal framework. These shifts profoundly influenced how male friendships were formed and sustained.

While photographers did capture gay relationships at this time, Ibson says the “sex lives of American men who had their portraits taken together is nearly always just a parlor game, the comfort and tenderness that many men felt seems quite obvious.”

Once words like “heterosexual” and “homosexual” entered our language, medical terminology began categorizing all forms of same-sex intimacy as a single, sexually deviant identity, stigmatizing a broad spectrum of relationships. As philosopher Michel Focault stated, “the homosexual was now a species.”¹

As America embraced the brawnier ideals of modern masculinity during Teddy Roosevelt's era, men faced societal pressure to transform their smaller, leaner physiques into more rugged and muscular forms. Displays of emotional intimacy and effeminacy between men faced scrutiny, fueled by fears of any perceived sexual or emotional excess in male relationships. As a result, photographs began to reflect a shift: physical displays of affection were replaced by images of men in combative or physically competitive poses. These depictions concealed deeper bonds while presenting an image of masculinity defined by toughness and emotional restraint.

As traditional gender-segregated spaces gave way to more integrated environments, men and women—once strangers inhabiting distinct social spheres—began interacting more frequently. The rise of amusement parks and nightclubs created opportunities for shared leisure and socialization, breaking down barriers of unfamiliarity. This shift extended to visual culture, as photographs increasingly captured men and women together, particularly in recreational settings like beaches. The emergence of beach photography as a cultural norm reflected and reinforced this new era of co-mingling, documenting moments of casual intimacy and shared experiences between the sexes. While photographers did capture gay relationships at this time, Ibson says the “sex lives of American men who had their portraits taken together is nearly always just a parlor game, the comfort and tenderness that many men felt seems quite obvious.”

Where were men seen maintaining intimate poses? Team sports and the military provided the most enduring and socially acceptable records of male intimacy. Photographs and accounts of these environments often showcased men in close, physical proximity, their bonds framed as an extension of their shared purpose. In particular, the military amplified this intimacy through the "myth of camaraderie," promising deep, meaningful relationships amidst the isolating and impersonal shifts of modern society. These settings allowed men to express closeness without breaching societal norms, creating a space where physical and emotional connection was both celebrated and justified by context. As John Ibson puts it, “Facing the possibility of dying together, however, has often been enough to force men to surmount cultural impediments to the sensation or expression of intimacy.”²

While World War II photography brought intimate depictions of male camaraderie into public view—thanks to widely circulated publications like Life Magazine—the postwar cultural reconstruction reshaped the narrative around gender and sexuality. As America transitioned to a domestic ideal, Life and similar outlets began focusing on bridal imagery and family-oriented advertising, sidelining representations of male closeness. Men photographed together were increasingly framed in contexts that reinforced masculinity, such as drinking or boisterous celebrations.

Although the rise of consumer cameras allowed for more personal and private displays of affection to be captured, the anxiety around publicly processed photographs from snapshot cameras created new barriers. Fear of judgment or misunderstanding limited the distribution of these moments, further distancing male friendships from the visual lexicon of intimacy in postwar public life at a time when it was “easier to admit to being a communist, than being a homosexual.”

The rise of film and televised sports provided new, highly visible models of masculinity, often codified through physicality and emotional restraint. Deep affection, touch, and intimacy among men became highly contextual, limited to arenas like sports or rugged group activities. At the same time, culture dictated that expressions outside these spaces be labeled as queer. Hollywood's growing influence further entrenched these binaries, with genres like the Western, gangster films, and mafia dramas presenting unique frameworks for male closeness.

In these stories, men—often depicted as ethnic, foreign, or outsiders—could kiss cheeks, embrace, and express camaraderie through touch, justified by their cultural "otherness" and tough exteriors. These moments, however, were contained within codes of masculinity tied to segregated male spaces, ensuring they didn't transgress too far into perceived vulnerability.

This is still the case.

For many men, the phrase "I love you" often isn't the steepest hurdle to cross—it's "hold me" that challenges the core of masculine norms. Despite my comfort in exploring vulnerability, I've never spoken those words to a friend. The cultural aversion runs deep.

In Tarantino's 1992 film, during a pivotal moment, Mr. Orange, gut-shot and dying, pleads with Mr. White to hold him. The scene juxtaposes violent camaraderie—shouting, shooting, and dick jokes—with raw, physical vulnerability. It's jarring, not because of the gore or chaos, but because male comfort breaks the unspoken code. This request for touch, for reassurance, lays bare a longing that remains an allergic reaction to the masculine identity. It's a reminder that the greatest challenges to traditional masculinity aren't the big declarations but the quiet, human needs that remain unsaid.

My critique of modern masculinity isn’t tethered solely to a 30-year-old childhood fave like Reservoir Dogs. It’s grounded in observing how today’s conversations about vulnerability often feel as outdated as the "gay panic" narratives of a century ago. Despite some progress, reactions to male intimacy—be it emotional or physical—still punishes tenderness and reinforces outdated ideals. It’s a reflection of how deeply ingrained these beliefs remain, even as the world increasingly questions their relevance.

What’s a guy gotta do to get a hug?

Adios, ciao ciao, byeeeeeeeee,
Mark✌🏼

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For those that need a real “best of list” in their inbox, these are my FAVORITE films of 2024—a mixture of new releases and first-time views:

1. Anora (2024), Dir: Sean Baker

2. El Crack (1981), Dir: José Luis Garci

3. Gasoline Rainbow (2024), Dir: Turner Ross & Bill Ross

4. Handgun (1983), Dir: Tony Garnett

5. Hollywood 90028 (1973), Dir: Cristina Hornisher

6. Los Reyes (2018), Dir: Iván Osnovikoff & Bettina Perut

7. Love Lies Bleeding (2024), Dir: Rose Glass

8. Mike’s Murder (1984), Dir: James Bridges

9. National Anthem (2024), Dir: Luke Gilford

10. Testament (1983), Dir: Lynne Littman

1. Michel Foucault, The History of Sexuality, vol 1, an introduction (New York: Vintage Books, 1990)

2. John Ibson, Pitcturing Men: A Century of Male Relationships in Everyday American Photography, (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2002)