Dear men,

We owe you an apology.

At some point, society apparently got together, passed around a clipboard none of us saw, and agreed that men were somehow immune to body image issues. Completely unaffected. Emotionally Teflon-coated. As if the male species was built to absorb years of scrutiny, comparison, and unsolicited commentary with nothing more than a shrug and a protein shake.

Women got the awareness campaigns, the body positivity movement, the inspirational quotes slapped onto pastel backgrounds, and at long last, actual conversations. Not perfect conversations. Not finished conversations. But real ones. Progress with its hair in a messy bun, running five minutes late, but progress all the same.

And men?

Men were told to grow a beard, shift some weights, and maybe stop being so dramatic. Which, when you look at it, is an absolutely rotten deal.

Because let’s not act like men have spent the last few decades floating about in some enchanted little confidence bubble, entirely untouched by insecurity, mirrors, or the slow emotional damage of being ripped apart in school changing rooms. You haven’t. You’ve just been given fewer words for it, far less room to say it out loud, and almost no sympathy when it slips out anyway.

If a woman says she’s struggling with how she looks, people are at least starting to understand the conversation. Slowly. Imperfectly. Occasionally with all the grace of a giraffe on roller skates, but still.

If a man says it, half the room immediately prescribes deadlifts.

The feedback tends to go a bit like this:

Soft stomach? Gym.

Skinny arms? Also gym.

Feeling a bit rubbish in your own skin? Gym, but with urgency.

Hairline retreating at speed? Shave it off and “own it”

Can’t grow a beard? Better luck next puberty.

Too short? Unlucky, mate.

Too slim? Have a burger.

Too big? Have a salad.

Care about your appearance? Vain.

Don’t care enough? Scruffy.

It’s less of a support system and more of a bizarre humiliation relay, where every possible version of existing in a male body somehow gets marked as incorrect.

And then we all stand there baffled as to why so many men aren’t exactly glowing with self confidence in a changing room. A real mystery for the ages.

Because this is where the apology is actually due.

Men haven’t just been judged on how they look. They’ve been judged while also being told they’re absolutely not allowed to care. Which is a particularly twisted little bit of social nonsense when you think about it.

You’re meant to look good, but in a way that suggests you simply rolled out of bed like that. Be fit, but not too interested in being fit. Age well, but don’t make a fuss about it. Moisturise if you must, but don’t get cocky and start recognising ingredients. Apparently that is where society clutches its pearls.

And through all of this, you’re expected to stay completely unfazed. As though body confidence comes pre-loaded in men somewhere between the Y chromosome and an unearned opinion of barbecues.

It isn’t.

It never was.

A lot of this came gift wrapped as banter, which is convenient, really, because “banter” has long been society’s favourite little getaway car. And yes, sometimes banter is funny. Sometimes it is genuinely harmless. But sometimes it is just cruelty with better PR.

It let body shaming pass as “just the boys messing about.”

It let hurtful comments swagger around disguised as humour.

It let men carry years of insecurity while laughing along, just to avoid looking like the one who “couldn’t take a joke.”

And that phrase “just banter” has been an unbelievable amount of heavy lifting for some truly awful behaviour.

That kind of pressure does not simply bounce off because you can carry all the shopping in one trip or pretend the back pain is “nothing serious.” It gets in.

It gets in when boys are laughed at in changing rooms at thirteen and learn, with depressing speed, exactly which parts of themselves will get mocked and which bits they’d better keep quiet.

It gets in when the “ideal male body” is served up over and over again on screen, in gyms, across adverts, films, and social media, as though the average man is somehow supposed to emerge looking like he’s midway through a Marvel contract.

And it gets in when the tiniest hint of vulnerability is immediately scooped up, wrapped in banter, and lobbed back at you before you’ve even finished the sentence.

And that is how so many men end up in this knackered, quiet little limbo of not quite enough. Not enough muscle. Not enough height. Not enough hair. Not enough jawline. Not enough comfort in their own skin to just exist without mentally adjusting themselves every five minutes.

But because they were also taught that having feelings about any of this is a bit soft, a bit dramatic, a bit not very manly, it rarely gets said out loud. It just sits there. Silent. Festering. Occasionally leaking out as avoiding photos, skipping beach days, tugging at T-shirts, or laughing along with a joke that actually hit somewhere tender.

That is not a weakness. That is just what happens when something hurts and everyone around you insists it shouldn’t

And I don’t think men need another lecture. They certainly do not need another twelve week transformation plan sold like confidence can be ordered online, delivered in bulk, and built entirely out of chicken, rice and shame.

I think what men need, more than anything, is permission.

Permission to say: “Actually, this got to me. Actually, I do not feel great in my body sometimes. Actually, I am tired of pretending I am completely fine with being measured, compared, and commenting on like it is all just part of the wallpaper.

That should not be a radical thing to say. And yet here we are, acting like basic self respect in a male body is somehow niche.

Male body positivity does not have to mean standing in a windy field in your pants, tearfully declaring love for your thighs under an aggressively inspirational sunset. Nobody is asking for that.

Sometimes it just means not wincing every time you catch yourself in a shop window.

Sometimes it means buying clothes because you like how they look, not just because they do a solid job of disguising your existence.

Sometimes it means going to the gym because you enjoy it, because it clears your head, because it makes you feel stronger, not because the world has spent years trying to convince you that you are somehow unloveable without the structural outline of abdominal muscles.

There is, in fact, a world of difference between those two things, and it matters more than people like to admit.

The version of masculinity a lot of men were handed was painfully narrow and about as forgiving as a folding chair on concrete. Be strong. Be useful. Be stoic. Be desirable. Do not be needy. Do not be soft. And absolutely do not admit that one bad photo can send your confidence into freefall for the rest of the day.

What a grim little rulebook to give someone and then act surprised when they struggle under it.

No wonder so many men have spent years trying to win a game that was rigged before they even knew they were playing.

So yes, this is an apology.

For every time insecurity was laughed off like it was nothing.

For every time vulnerability was treated as some sort of embarrassing design flaw.

For every time genuine discomfort was met with “just hit the gym, mate,” as though a dumbbell could sort out years of being quietly picked apart.

For every time the pressure was obvious, but the compassion mysteriously failed to turn up.

You deserved better than that.

You still do.

To the men reading this,

If you have ever sucked in for a photo, reached for the “safe” outfit because the other one felt a bit too ambitious, skipped a beach day because the ideas of taking your top off made your stomach sink, or laughed along with a comment that actually hit somewhere tender, this is for you.

If you have ever felt quietly, consistently not enough in a way that was very real to you but somehow sounded daft the moment you tried to explain it, this is for you too.

There is nothing pathetic about wanting to feel good in your own skin. Nothing. That is not vanity. That is not a weakness. That is not you somehow failing the grand exam of Manhood™ because a comment stuck with you longer than it should have.

That is just you being a person.

And people do remember what hurt them, especially when they were told it was nothing. Especially when they spent years smiling through it, pretending they were in on the joke when actually they were the punchline.

You were never ridiculous for caring.

You were never broken because something stayed with you.

You were never weak for noticing.

You just needed someone to say it plainly, without taking the mick out of you for it.

Do consider this a slightly overdue apology.

And, with any luck, the start of something better.

In the words of Joey Swoll “Do better.” As a society I believe we can.