Boys Don’t Cry - A Dive Into The Lost Ocean Of Man’s Tears

By Mitch McKee

After losing a crucial college football game in 2009 that crushed his team’s shot at the national championship, Florida’s star quarterback and Heisman contender, Tim Tebow, was caught on camera crying on the sidelines. Almost instantly, “Tim Tebow crying” became the hottest search on Google. The media response was brutal—some mocked him, even dubbing him “Tim Tearbow.”

The backlash highlights a hard truth: when men cry, it doesn’t go unnoticed. It clashes with long-standing ideas that masculinity is about emotional control, making it a point of debate rather than just a human moment. This topic might make you instinctively recoil—an allergic reaction baked into us over centuries.

The explanation of why it is so taboo for the average man to cry in company—unless it is over major life events like death or extreme hardship—can be answered by biological and psychological mechanisms forged over millennia. The hard truth is that when a man cries publicly, it subconsciously signals vulnerability, decreased dominance, and lower mate value in a way that conflicts with traditional cues of masculinity and protection.

The Science and History Of Man’s Emotion, & Where It Is Accepted Now

In the literary paper Men’s Tears: Football Players’ Evaluations of Crying Behavior by Wong et al. (2009), we see a fascinating insight into the world of male emotions—how men are perceived when they expose their lowest depths. While therapy culture has shifted in favour of men discussing emotions and opening up to trusted professionals—a huge step forward for masculinity—the stage for a man revealing his emotional depths is still tied to his place in the social hierarchy.

It’s safe to say that men with critical social influence have carved their own way to a complete emotional license. And honestly, this has can't help but seem and feel earned, as per the reactions from viewers and commenters, including myself. Whether through televised events or the soaring rise of podcasting, these leading men have driven these platforms to broadcast their tears in front of millions—not only to be accepted, but respected.

In recent years, permission to cry seems granted to those who have already claimed society’s respect, often by proving their masculinity in elite competitive arenas. Think UFC middle-weight champion Sean Strickland on This Past Weekend (2024), Chris Bumstead winning Mr. Olympia for the sixth consecutive time (2024), or even Barack Obama during his famous speeches on gun violence in 2016 and about his wife and daughters in 2017.

We see actors do it on the screen all the time, and mega star Tyler The Creator shamelessly recounts “water in my eyes kept falling like Niagra” on recording.

But is a truth hidden by the veil of entertainment in time pieces like film and music only now reserved for celebrities?

Even for a superstar athlete like Tim Tebow in 2009, the weight of reality likely crushed his spirit for a time after he released his emotions on-air. But for men living in the modern age like Sean, Chris, and Barack, there’s an undeniable sense that they have ‘earned’ their right to true, boundless, unapologetic public expression. And with these more modern examples, the case for man’s ability to open up publicly has evolved.

Would Tebow’s on-field behavior be sidelined today the way it was in 2009?

I doubt it.

Or has social media’s rise and the platforms it has since created paved the way from then?

More than likely.

Crying Culture

I recently covered Boys Don’t Cry by The Cure on Instagram, adding a ‘sad-clown’ look to highlight its paradoxical take on masculinity. Since its 1979 release, the song has sparked both celebration and criticism—some see it as a reflection of shifting gender norms, while others view it as reinforcing stigma. But its core message remains undeniable.

I’m not trying to push an agenda here, despite the obvious benefits of men releasing pent-up emotions through a therapeutic outlet. I just want to add a layer of truth to a fascinating, yet slowly evolving subject. When I get emotional, it’s almost always alone or with someone I truly trust. The same goes for any man who isn’t a world champ, a leader, or a man who has ‘earned’ enough ‘man points,’ as Chris Williamson puts it.

An Early Understanding

Just before high school, a fragile classmate—who had spent years being quietly labeled a “sook” or a “pussy” behind his back—broke down in front of me. I never made fun of him, but I could see how tough it would be for him moving forward.

I took him aside, and said “I don’t want to be the one to tell you this, but everyone here is used to you crying. High school will be something else entirely, you might have a really hard time if you cry there.”

After that he got angry. I felt guilty. I only wanted to help, but it felt like I might be making things worse.

Yet, in those final weeks before we finished, he never cried again. Even at the little things that had always set him off.

I don’t know if that was a breakthrough, or just another boy learning to shut it down before the world forced him to.

Social conditioning is like a baptism by fire – and it leaves no one unharmed.

Some feel it early and hurdle themselves out of the tub, and others have a delayed reaction and need someone to step in.

But we all feel the fire, sooner or later.

A Profound Case For Mastering Emotions

I’ll never forget one of the very first people I counselled in a clinical coaching role outside this webservice—a man who had survived unimaginable trauma.

He had prior sessions with some of our female counsellors, but I was the first man to see him, a purposeful decision for his therapeutic benefit made on behalf of our clinical lead.

In an act of bravery that I still behold each time a client bares all to me, he told his story in confidence to the professional stranger before him.

Towards the end of our session, as I listened to his story and the dark places it led him to, the message became profound.

“I cannot and would never attempt to relate exactly to your experience,” I told him. “But what is undeniable is that you are one of the strongest people I have ever met. Not just for surviving, but for choosing to share your story.”

His response was simple but powerful: “This is the first time I’ve told my story without breaking down. And you’re the first man I’ve told it to.”

By the end of the session, he was beaming with glee at this newfound result, which he said had been a personal goal for his recovery for some time.

And all I did was offer him a new reference point to be seen from. Between someone who he respected, and someone who respected him, he made a breakthrough.

I felt a privilege when I was with this man, like any other. But what really mattered was that our time together served him in a positive way.

Just as we saw before, a little space held between two men who respect each other can make way for vast breakthroughs.

Tears—for the first time, and tears for the first time, without restraint. Friend or therapist, I've seen these spaces work wonders for men moving through something difficult.

This isn’t to say that a woman’s tears are any less significant, or that a man’s pain is greater or lesser than anyone else’s. Nor does it imply that a therapist’s gender makes them inherently better suited to a client—though it is always recommended to seek a change if you feel uncomfortable with or opposed to being counseled by someone of a particular gender.

But for centuries, society has conditioned men—for better or worse—to keep their emotions to themselves.

Not once has a male client let their tears fall easily, even in the safe and warranted release of my trained presence. And every time, I hold space for them with sheer respect for their courage in opening up and revealing their deepest self.

What stands out is when a male client is clearly on the brink of tears – a natural release of emotion – but he refuses to let them go. The same goes for anyone in therapy or in security of a trusted person, but it’s very common for men to refuse nature to let it take it’s course.

It makes about as much sense as holding in a shit for extended periods of time. Massive yikes at the thought that.

As a man, I completely understand holding back. But watching someone suppress something so natural—out of fear of being judged by a professional they know would never judge them—really drives home the reality men face.

The reality is harsh; it may only change if our evolving biology and psychology slowly unravel the ancient ties to our primal ancestry. If you’re a man, there’s no shame in admitting you’ve been emotional or have shed tears before. Vulnerability is something anyone with a heart should respect.

But there's no denying that as a man you will actively avoid tearing up in front of others at most costs, lest you risk your social credibility to crumble before you on the spot.

The message here is a harsh truth, wrapped in a stigma cultivated long before our time, and likely to remain long after we are gone.

And while television and social media have carved out an emotional hall pass for men of high status, for the rest of us, therapy spaces and trusted loved ones remain the only places where men can safely drop the mask.

Until tears spilled by the average man in the public eye can fall without any social consequence, most men will keep their emotions in the shadows – unless they’ve earned the right to cry in the spotlight.

And that’s just the way it is – for now.