Men in the Glennon Doyle chat

dispatch from the latest Substack drama - and why identity gatekeeping no longer works

Confession:

I sometimes listen to “We Can Do Hard Things,” the podcast hosted by Untamed author Glennon Doyle, her wife Abby Wambach, and her sister Amanda. Its acoustic intro, deep conversations, and heartfelt reflections give it a distinctly female vibe. I like it in doses, like on a long drive when I’m in my feelings (rare!).

There’s a depth and vulnerability in the way they talk that occasionally quenches a thirst I don’t often find in “dude” spaces. As a man around their age, I sometimes relate to their conversations. And I appreciate the pod’s lesbian-sisterhood energy. (I was recently charmed by the book, The Three Lives of Cate Kay, which had a similar vibe). It reminds me of the woo-woo leadership work I’ve done, sometimes as the only man in the room. I’ve benefited from those spaces, but I wouldn’t want to live in them full-time.

So when I noticed the controversy over Doyle joining and then quickly leaving Substack, I paid attention. I was curious.

The drama centered on how she debuted on the platform. Some felt she showed up with fanfare, soaking up oxygen without making an effort to be part of the community. To them, it was like Dave Chappelle dropping in at amateur comedy night and hogging the spotlight without so much as a nod to the regulars.

To me, the concerns felt nitpicky. Who cares if a celebrity joins the platform? Isn’t it a plus if she brings a massive audience?

Most of the Doyle-drama discourse came from women, which makes sense given Doyle’s audience. But a few men eventually weighed in too, including me.

In a Substack Note, I shared an essay by

Sema Karaman

that I found nuanced and thoughtful. I quoted the part of it where she wrote:

I find myself uneasy with the genre wherein women publicly expose their personal traumas, and whether intentionally or not, transform their vulnerabilities into a business model.

I thought it was a compelling point. I share her mixed feelings about commodifying trauma, not just as a critique of Doyle but as a cultural matter for men and women alike. I like therapy culture, but I also wonder: When is it too much?

Apparently, that quote was too much for some. One commenter accused me of being a “white maile [sic] commenting on HOW THE FUCK WOMEN SHOW UP IN THE WORLD.” I pointed out I was quoting a woman and could share whatever I wanted on my own timeline. She told me to fuck off.

This wasn’t an isolated moment. Another guy,

Michael Mohr

, posted a thoughtful piece titled “Glennon Doyle is not a victim” and was summarily accused by a commenter of mansplaining and misogyny for even engaging on the topic.

Watching this got me thinking: How often do we police who gets to speak based on identity alone? What do we lose when people self-censor because of it? It also made me angry. Like, have these people learned nothing? These dynamics helped fuel Trump.

To be clear, most women weren’t like that. The majority reacted to the handful of men’s opinions the same as any other. And if one of them had pointed to a feminist critique of the Doyle situation, I suspect many of us would’ve considered it. We were good-faith commenters, not trolls looking to goad anyone.

But a vocal minority seemed to believe that men should stay out of it altogether, unless it was exactly what they wanted to hear and in a groveling tone. They treated men expressing an opinion as a transgression. That’s when disagreement becomes identity-based gatekeeping… and gaslighting.

This raises a larger question: What’s the role of identity in public discourse? How do we retain the positives of “woke” — new sensitivities — while leaving behind its annoying excesses?

There’s a difference between pointing out gendered patterns and maligning men for having an opinion. And in this case, the controversy wasn’t even gendered to begin with. It was about celebrity, platform dynamics, and Substack culture, not Doyle’s womanhood. If Joe Rogan had done what she did, the outcry would’ve been just as loud and probably a lot meaner.

And again: Not only was the issue not gendered, but the vast majority of commentary came from women. It’s not as if men were dominating the conversation — far from it. If anything, most men on Substack were like: Who’s this Doyle person?

So let’s be clear: Men are allowed to have opinions, just as women are. We don’t need permission. We’re allowed to write, reflect, and question controversies, especially ones involving well-known public figures. Disagree? Say so. Comment on it. Or just ignore it and scroll on. But don’t pretend someone’s identity disqualifies them outright from engaging in discourse. And don’t imply that commentary from a man is inherently misogynistic or mansplaining.

The few male takes didn’t even focus on gender issues. And even if they had, so what? No one fixated on Doyle’s looks, body, or sexuality. Their takes were overly anodyne, if anything.

I’m sympathetic to the unfair burdens of women, like facing more scrutiny. We see it with female politicians, for example, with their looks and dress. But if we’re being honest, a lot of this critique comes from women as well as men. And just because some men’s criticism is boorish doesn’t mean all male criticism should be off-limits, or that men must tip-toe around all controversies involving women. That’s absurd.

At the same time, there are issues where lived experience and identity do add perspective. If we were discussing sexual harassment or catcalling, I’d want to listen more closely to those who’ve experienced those things and are targets of it. When trads opine abstractly about gay parenting, I get annoyed for the same reasons women might find straight-guy opinions on catcalling annoying: they’re not the ones experiencing it, and the stakes aren’t as personal. I understand that dimension deeply and viscerally.

Still, it’s time we moved beyond a reductive, boys-vs-girls mindset when it comes to issues like the Doyle drama. This isn’t second grade. It’s not Gamergate either. Not every issue has to be filtered through a rigid identity or justice framework. Identity is relevant in some conversations more than others. And when it is, not every opinion from an outside group stems from bigotry or self-interest. So let’s stop assuming that.

We can make space for both women’s and men’s issues and, increasingly, we must. This doesn’t mean pretending women’s and men’s issues are the same, or of equal weight, but it does mean recognizing that they can coexist without canceling each other out. A positive-sum heuristic for men is: What kind of world do you want to create for your daughters? And for women: What kind of world do you want to create for your sons?

As for me, I’ll keep listening to “We Can Do Hard Things” when the mood strikes. I’ll do the same with Tim Ferris, Joe Rogan, and other bro-ish podcasts too. I like learning about codependency and 4-hour workweeks in equal measure.

I think it’s great that Doyle can join Substack, change her mind, and then leave. That’s her right. And it’s cool that people can have conversations about it.

The real question isn’t whether identity matters but how we relate to each other. Can we do it with curiosity and good faith? If not, then what kind of discourse are we even trying to build?

Let’s hold off on gatekeeping good-faith opinions based on identity. The whole point of Substack is to make room for more honest and thoughtful voices, not to shrink the conversation.

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