I.
Let’s talk about the business model.
Because that’s what the manosphere is, at its core: not a philosophy, not a movement, not even really a subculture. It’s a business. A highly profitable one. And like all businesses, it has products, customers, distribution channels, and a sales pitch.
The product is rage.
The customers are lonely, frustrated, economically anxious young men who have been told their problems have a single, clarifying cause: women.
The distribution channels are YouTube, TikTok, X, Rumble, Telegram, Discord, and an ever-shifting constellation of platforms that either can’t or won’t moderate hate speech when it comes wrapped in “self-improvement” language.
And the sales pitch? It goes like this:
“You’re not the problem. Feminism is. Women have been given too much power, and it’s destroyed the natural order. But if you follow me, if you buy my course, if you join my community, if you adopt my mindset—you can reclaim what’s yours. You can become the alpha. You can get the girls. You can win.”
It’s a scam. But it’s a very, very profitable one.
II. The Kingpins
At the top of the manosphere economy sit a handful of men who have turned misogyny into empires.
Andrew Tate is the most visible. A former kickboxer turned influencer, Tate built a following of millions by openly calling himself a misogynist, bragging about manipulating women, and selling young men the fantasy that wealth, cars, and dominance would make them irresistible.
He monetized it through a program called “Hustler’s University”—a subscription service where members paid for “courses” on wealth-building and masculinity. At its peak, it reportedly had over 100,000 subscribers paying $49.99 a month. Do the math: that’s $5 million a month in revenue.
In December 2022, Andrew Tate and his brother Tristan were arrested in Romania on charges of human trafficking, rape, and forming an organized crime group to sexually exploit women. Romanian prosecutors allege the brothers recruited women, coerced them into producing pornographic content, and kept the profits. Both deny the charges. As of early 2025, they remain under investigation and house arrest, but Andrew Tate’s social media following has only grown.
That’s the perverse logic of the manosphere: even arrest on trafficking charges becomes content. Even scandal becomes mythology. His followers don’t see a criminal allegation—they see a man being “persecuted” by a system that fears him.
By 2023, polling showed that 1 in 5 young men aged 16-29 in the UK had a favorable view of Andrew Tate. Other surveys found that over 50% of teenage boys had heard of him and many considered him a role model.
Let that sink in. Half of teenage boys know who Andrew Tate is. And a substantial number think he’s someone to admire.
III. The Content Factories
Below the kingpins are the content mills—podcasters and YouTubers who churn out hours of “dating advice,” “red pill philosophy,” and thinly veiled misogyny disguised as male empowerment.
Fresh & Fit is a prime example. Hosted by Myron Gaines and Walter Weekes, the podcast gained over 1 million YouTube subscribers by bringing women onto the show, berating them, insulting their appearances and life choices, and then framing it as “holding women accountable.”
The format was predictable: invite young women (often models or influencers), ask them invasive questions about their sexual histories and dating preferences, then mock and berate them when their answers didn’t conform to the hosts’ ideology. The audience—overwhelmingly young men—ate it up.
In July 2023, Fresh & Fit hosted Nick Fuentes, the white nationalist livestreamer. During the episode, the hosts and Fuentes joked around while wearing Ku Klux Klan hoods. The backlash was swift. By August 2023, YouTube permanently demonetized the Fresh & Fit channel for repeated violations of its hate speech policies.
But here’s the thing: demonetization didn’t kill the brand. Fresh & Fit migrated to Rumble, a platform with looser content moderation, and continued building their audience. They still tour, still sell merchandise, still operate a subscription service for “exclusive content.”
The manosphere doesn’t die when you kick it off one platform. It just moves.
IV. The Streamer Edge
Then there are the streamers—younger, more algorithm-native, more plugged into the chaotic energy of TikTok and Twitch and Instagram Reels.
Sneako (real name: Nico Kenn De Balinthazy) is a protégé of Andrew Tate. He built a following by making edgy, conspiratorial, misogynistic content aimed at Gen Z men. After being banned from YouTube in 2022 for repeated policy violations, he moved to Rumble and continued growing his audience.
Sneako is important not because he’s particularly original, but because he represents the pipeline: a young man consuming this content can start with a funny TikTok clip, move to a YouTube video, end up on a livestream, and within weeks be fully immersed in a worldview that tells him women are the enemy.
Adin Ross, a massively popular Twitch and Kick streamer, isn’t explicitly manosphere, but he’s manosphere-adjacent. He’s hosted Andrew Tate multiple times, platformed other controversial figures, and cultivated an audience of young men who see him as “one of them”—irreverent, anti-establishment, willing to say what “they” don’t want you to hear.
Ross’s streams regularly pull tens of thousands of live viewers. When he platforms someone like Tate, he’s not just giving him a microphone—he’s giving him access to an audience that might not have sought out manosphere content directly, but will absorb it when it’s delivered by someone they already trust.
This is how the pipeline works. It’s not about forcing young men to seek out extremism. It’s about making sure extremism finds them.
V. The Far-Right Overlap
And then there’s the explicit far-right crossover.
Nick Fuentes isn’t just a misogynist—he’s a white nationalist. He’s called for a “white America,” denied the Holocaust, and built a following by blending racist, antisemitic, and misogynistic rhetoric into a toxic package aimed at disaffected young white men.
After Trump’s 2024 victory, Fuentes became the face of the “your body, my choice” taunt. But he’s been building toward this moment for years, hosting a livestream called “America First” where he regularly attacks feminism, LGBTQ rights, and racial equality.
In November 2022, Fuentes attended a dinner at Mar-a-Lago with Donald Trump and Kanye West (who was in the midst of his own antisemitic meltdown). Trump later claimed he didn’t know who Fuentes was. But the fact remains: a sitting president dined with a man who openly espouses Nazi ideology and celebrates the subjugation of women.
That’s not an accident. That’s the ecosystem.
The manosphere and the far-right aren’t separate worlds. They’re overlapping circles in a Venn diagram, and in the middle is a shared belief: that white men have been unfairly dethroned, and the only way to restore order is to put women, people of color, and LGBTQ people back “in their place.”
VI. The Business Model
So how does this translate into money?
Paid courses and “universities”: Andrew Tate’s Hustler’s University. Fresh & Fit’s “exclusive membership.” Sneako’s Patreon. These programs promise to teach men how to make money, attract women, and become “high-value males.” They cost anywhere from $20 to $200 a month.
Affiliate marketing: Many manosphere influencers push supplements, fitness programs, crypto schemes, and other products aimed at men. They get a cut of every sale.
Super chats and donations: On platforms like YouTube and Rumble, fans can pay to have their comments highlighted during livestreams. Top streamers can make thousands of dollars per stream this way.
Merchandise: T-shirts, hats, mugs, all emblazoned with slogans like “Escape the Matrix” or “High Value Man.”
Speaking tours and events: Some manosphere figures host live events where men pay hundreds of dollars for tickets to hear them speak in person.
Sponsorships: Even after being demonetized or banned, many of these creators find sponsors willing to pay them directly—VPN services, online casinos, shady investment platforms.
The key insight is this: male grievance is infinitely monetizable.
Because the product isn’t a solution. It’s a feeling. And feelings don’t run out. You can sell a man the idea that he’s been wronged, that he deserves more, that he’s been cheated—and as long as his life doesn’t improve, you can keep selling him the next course, the next framework, the next guru.
It’s a perpetual motion machine of resentment.
VII. The Impact
By 2024, the manosphere wasn’t fringe anymore. It was infrastructure.
Analysis and reporting connected Trump’s gains among young men to the influence of manosphere-adjacent creators and platforms. One study found that young men who consumed manosphere content were significantly more likely to hold hostile attitudes toward women and to support Trump.
In the UK, polling showed that 1 in 6 young men believed “feminism has done more harm than good.” In the U.S., similar surveys found that a growing number of Gen Z men felt that society had become “too focused” on women’s issues at the expense of men.
These aren’t just opinions. These are the fruits of a years-long campaign to teach young men that their struggles—economic anxiety, loneliness, lack of romantic success—are the fault of women, not the fault of a system that has failed them too.
And here’s what makes it so insidious: some of what the manosphere identifies is real. Young men are struggling. Male suicide rates are high. Economic mobility is stagnant. Social isolation is epidemic.
But instead of addressing those problems with structural solutions—better mental health care, economic reform, community building—the manosphere offers a scapegoat: women.
And scapegoats are cheaper than solutions.
VIII. The Scam
Here’s the scam at the center of it all:
They sell young men the idea that doubling down on machismo—being loud, being dominant, being “alpha”—will get them the girls, the respect, the power they crave.
But they’ve taken the macho out of machismo.
What’s left is performance without courage. Posture without protection. Dominance without competence.
These are the softest men alive, pretending toughness is a personality. Men who wouldn’t know how to protect a woman in a real crisis. Men who can’t cook, can’t clean, can’t manage their own emotions. Men whose entire sense of masculinity depends on a woman being smaller, weaker, less capable—because if she isn’t, the whole performance falls apart.
And when women reject them—because of course women reject them—they don’t reflect. They radicalize.
They go back to the content. Back to the guru. Back to the community that tells them: It’s not you. It’s her. It’s all of them. They’re broken. The system is rigged. But we see you. And if you stick with us, you’ll win.
And so the cycle continues.
IX.
In 2025, we stopped being able to pretend the manosphere was just “weird internet stuff.”
Because the men who built it—the Tates, the Fuentes, the podcast hosts—they weren’t just making content anymore.
They were shaping elections. They were influencing policy. They were sitting down with presidential candidates and being treated as power brokers.
The line between grift and governance had dissolved.
And the men who had spent years being told they were victims?
They were ready to govern like it.
Monica Craiyon
Creator, Powerhouse Novelas | Erotic Power Fiction
Powerhouse Novelas is erotic power fiction—stories of devotion, dominance, restraint, obsession, and consequence. These are intimate economies of desire where consent is deliberate, pleasure is intentional, and power is never neutral.
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