Can Men Be Feminists?

In an era where gender conversations are now social media debates, we find ourselves witnessing men declaring themselves “loud and proud feminists.” Recently, a discourse unfolded on X (formerly Twitter), asking if men can be feminists. Responses ranged from support to questioning and outright dismissal. 

This conversation takes on heightened urgency in deeply patriarchal societies like Nigeria, where traditional gender roles remain largely unquestioned, and feminism often faces resistance or misunderstanding. In such contexts, a man’s declaration of feminist identity can feel both heartwarming and suspect, performative at best, disingenuous at worst. 

The existence of male feminists raises fundamental questions about what feminism means today. Can those who have historically benefited from patriarchy truly advocate for its dismantling? Is feminist identity something that can be claimed, or must it be earned through consistent action and sacrifice? Most importantly, in societies where women’s voices have long been marginalized, does male participation amplify or overshadow those the movement seeks to empower? These questions require careful examination, free from the polarizing rhetoric that often dominates online debates. Currently, male feminism looks like a mix of allyship and performative activism. Men sharing feminist slogans on social media, speaking on panels about gender equity, or publicly supporting female-led movements. In some cases, it’s genuine advocacy rooted in introspection and a willingness to cede space. In others, it manifests as co-optation, men centering themselves in conversations meant to uplift women, or using feminist language to deflect criticism and gain social capital.

Prominent feminist voices have weighed in decisively. Bell Hooks, in The Will to Change: Men, Masculinity, and Love, reframes the debate by naming patriarchy—not men—as the real enemy. She reveals how toxic masculinity confines men as much as it oppresses women, calling for compassion toward men trapped in these systems. Feminist activist and writer Nighat Gandhi echoes this, viewing men’s inclusion in feminism as natural and necessary, since feminism’s core mission is to dismantle all systems of oppression, including those that limit men.

Nigerian author Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie makes a compelling analogy: just as opposing racism doesn’t require experiencing it firsthand, fighting gender inequality should not be limited to those most affected. “Every human being who cares about justice should be against it,” she says.

However, this vision collides with lived reality, particularly when skepticism runs deep. American feminist scholar Andrea Dworkin articulates concerns that resonate with many Nigerian feminists today. In her book Intercourse, Dworkin explores how societal structures position men as inherent beneficiaries of oppression, arguing that this privilege creates a fundamental barrier to true understanding. Her analysis implies that those who profit, often unconsciously, from inequality cannot fully grasp the depth and impact of the systems they claim to oppose.

The tension between opposing views on male feminism reflects that this question can’t be answered by theory alone, but must be grounded in cultural and social realities. In Nigeria’s digital spaces, especially on X, a troubling pattern has emerged: men who loudly proclaim feminist values online are later exposed as abusers, manipulators, or hypocrites in private. One prominent example is Solomon Buchi, a self-proclaimed male feminist whose online persona eventually unraveled. After facing criticism from women who called out his contradictory behavior and rhetoric, he not only renounced feminism but began actively attacking it and those who uphold its values. For many Nigerian women, such reversals have justifiably bred deep skepticism. And Buchi is not an isolated case, other men have followed similar arcs, using feminism as a cloak until their true intentions surface.

What this pattern exposes is clear: some men claim the feminist label not out of conviction but for convenience. For them, feminism becomes a form of social currency, a tool to gain trust and proximity, especially to women. But beyond surface-level co-optation, some men falsely proclaim feminist ideals with the intent to manipulate and cause harm. In November 2024, on Nigerian Twitter, a man pretending to be a woman and feminist infiltrated a female-only WhatsApp group. By presenting himself as an ally, he encouraged vulnerable conversations and personal sharing. He later took screenshots of a woman’s messages and posted them online. The tweet went viral, leading to public ridicule, harassment, and even death threats against the woman. In such cases, feminism was weaponized to exploit women and violate the safe spaces the movement was built to protect.

In response to this dilemma, many have proposed a more fitting alternative: male allyship. The idea of a feminist ally, someone who supports the goals of the movement without centering themselves, offers a more grounded role for men. True allies understand their position outside the lived experience of gendered oppression. 

But perhaps the debate over labels misses a more essential point. For men who are genuinely committed to dismantling patriarchy, what matters most isn’t what they call themselves, but what they do. Take a simple, everyday moment: a waiter addresses only the man at a mixed-gender table. If that man redirects the greeting to include his female companion, he performs a quiet act of resistance. He interrupts a norm and challenges an assumption. At that moment, does it really matter what we call him?

The most effective male supporters of gender equality often operate without fanfare or self-congratulation. They tend to focus on actions rather than public declarations, understanding that true allyship is measured not by the volume of one’s feminist proclamations but by the consistency of one’s behavior when no one is watching. These men recognize small moments count, in boardrooms where they amplify women’s voices, in social settings where they challenge sexist jokes, and in their homes where they model equitable partnerships.

The danger lies in men who loudly proclaim their feminist credentials while contributing little or no substance. Big words, minimal action. These are the men who commandeer conversations about women’s experiences and expect praise for basic decency. Their presence in feminist spaces often drowns out the voices the movement seeks to elevate.

So we return to our central question: can men be feminists? The answer, it seems, depends entirely on how we define both “men” and “feminists” amid evolving understandings of gender, power, and social change.

Perhaps Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie offers the most pragmatic resolution to this debate. In her influential TED talk “We Should All Be Feminists,” she says: “A feminist is a man or a woman who says yes, there’s a problem with gender as it is today, and we must fix it. We must do better.” Within this framework, the question evolves, from whether men can claim the feminist label to whether they tangibly live out feminist values. The most impactful male allies understand that feminism isn’t a badge to be worn, but a responsibility to uphold. Their contribution lies not in self-identification, but in how they wield their privilege: by challenging systems that benefit them and making room for women.

Ultimately, the way forward requires moving beyond performance to actual change. Whether we call these men feminists, allies, or simply decent humans matters less than the choices they make daily. But true male feminism must go beyond using feminist slogans or speaking on feminist panels, it requires engaging with the systems: social, cultural, and institutional, that produce and protect male privilege. It demands that men actively challenge structures that enable misogyny and uphold patriarchy. In a world still shaped by inequality, the most radical act may be to work so persistently for change that proclamations become unnecessary because the work speaks for itself.