‘Bake Off’ Is for Bros

Among my friends, ‘The Great British Bake Off’ was the gateway to a better model of masculinity.

A row of cakes from ‘The Great British Baking Show’
Netflix

This is a subscriber-only edition of Humans Being, a newsletter that unearths deeper meanings in pop culture.

I am 6 foot 2. I lift weights and talk about sports. None of my friends have seen me cry. I present as a masculine man who was raised to the standards of a Ford-truck commercial or a men’s lifestyle magazine. Many of my male friends do too. But I have a group chat with two of my friends, Alex and Alessandro, that has evolved into a backlash against portrayals of hypermasculinity. It wasn’t intentional, and it initially did begin as a place to argue about sports, but eventually, the chat changed to focus on a different competition. The chat’s name: The Great British Bake Off Chat.

The three of us have seen every episode of the 13-season series (known in the U.S. as The Great British Baking Show), which crowned its most recent champion yesterday. It’s one of the most wholesome shows on TV, with contestants who support each other in their shared goal of being named the best amateur baker of the season. Cheering for Bake Off contestants is like enjoying sports we love without the punditry and toxicity that come with them. We’ve streamed the series on Netflix and used VPNs to watch episodes on U.K. time; when I couldn’t wait to watch the latest finale on Netflix this week, I downloaded it in … other ways. During Bake Off seasons, me and my two bros talk about baking like we do the NBA—full of faux armchair analysis, heartbreak, and anger.

Netflix

And then we play the role of our own trolls and bullies in the group chat, laughing at what soft little beta cucks we are. Of course, we don’t mean the things we say about our softness—at least not in the way that assholes would. Our jokes about being “soft” are part of the unexpected culture we’ve developed in this group chat, where we endlessly make fun of hypermasculinity. It’s full of memes about insufferable tech bros (Alessandro is a software engineer), idiotic wealth influencers (Alex is a professor of mathematics), homophobic politicians, and open misogynists. We laugh at men’s fears that anything emotional is “gay.” We give each other relationship and mental-health advice. We talk about breakups, work struggles, and financial worries. I talk about therapy a lot. It’s become a place where we can be our full selves without the weight of needing to perform our strength, status, or intelligence.

Our version of masculinity won’t be common any time soon; like-minded men tend to hide behind their presentation of masculinity to the larger public. But my hope is that more men find a place where they can talk about their feelings, give and receive support, and be soft with other men without judgment or fear. For me, that place is The Great British Bake Off Chat. Where is it for you?

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Thanks to everyone who responded to my last Humans Being, about God of War: Ragnarok and wanting to be an older dad. My favorite response came from Will, who wrote:

I don’t think enough people hear this, so I wanted to say that I was raised by “old” parents and thought it was great. My mom was 42 and my dad 40 when I was born, and I am their eldest. They were consistently more patient, more assured in who they were as people, clearer communicators, and more mature than my friends’ parents … my parents were just a little bit calmer, more reliable, and more even-keeled. I really think the stigma of being an “old” parent is silly.

I love reading everyone’s email responses to Humans Being. I read them all, even though my inbox has become too flooded for me to respond to each of them. I hope to catch up on replies one day. [Stares up into the night sky] … One day.

This week’s book giveaway is a hardcover of the National Book Award–winning The Underground Railroad, by Colson Whitehead. Just send me an email telling me if you have a favorite Bake Off contestant this season, and I’ll send the book to a random person who hits my inbox. And this one’s not for free, but if you want to read my memoir, Piccolo Is Black: A Memoir of Race, Religion, and Pop Culture, I’d love that too. You can reach me at humansbeing@theatlantic.com or find me on social media at … I don’t know anymore, man. My Twitter is @JordanMCalhoun, if you want to play the violin as the Titanic sinks. My Instagram is the same handle but is mostly stories of my dog. And I would capture a pigeon and tie notes to its foot before ever going back to Facebook.

Jordan Calhoun is a contributing writer at The Atlantic.