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On a podcast this morning, I encountered a curious argument during a conversation about gender identity and societal change.

The speaker — referencing a psychologist colleague — suggested that the rise in the number of people identifying as transgender is due to the deliberate “demasculation” of men in Western culture.

Their view was that in the past, children understood gender roles clearly: the father was strong and went out to work; the mother stayed at home and nurtured.

But then Hollywood changed everything — fathers began to be portrayed as bumbling idiots, childish and weak. The dad who once led the home became the man in the apron, cooking while the mother went out to work. And as a result, children supposedly became confused about gender.

At first glance, this argument may feel familiar or even persuasive, particularly to those who yearn for more traditional models of family and masculinity.

But is it really? What if the opposite is also true — that confusion about gender does not arise solely from the loosening of presumed traditional roles, but also from their rigidity?

Consider a boy growing up who is naturally quiet, sensitive, gentle or nurturing. These traits, while admirable in any human being, are often not recognised or celebrated in our dominant images of masculinity.

Instead, society — including popular media — tends to define “real men” as bold, physically strong, stoic, extroverted, and assertive. Anything outside that mould is often labelled as weak, strange, and unmanly.

In such a world, some boys who do not conform to that model may begin to feel alienated from manhood altogether. They might grow up questioning whether they fit in, whether their traits are valid, or whether they are somehow different or broken.

Rather than blaming the erosion of gender roles, we might consider how overly narrow and stereotypical definitions of masculinity also contribute to confusion, especially for young people still forming their sense of self.

From an Islamic perspective, this argument becomes even more nuanced. In our tradition, masculinity is not defined by loudness or domination. It is defined by adab (etiquette), haya (modesty), rahma (mercy), and sabr (patience).

These qualities were deeply embodied by the Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, who reportedly cried openly, treated his family with kindness, mended his clothes, and helped with household duties — all without ever ceasing to be a leader, a warrior, and a guide.

For Muslims, then, the traits that society often calls “emasculated” or “feminine” may in fact be the most dignified and prophetic expressions of manhood.

When we talk about confusion around gender roles, we must be careful not to pin the blame on modernity alone. Perhaps what is needed is not a return to rigid binaries, but a broader, deeper, and more compassionate understanding of what it means to be a man — and what it means to be human.

Of course, these reflections don’t explain every case of gender identity exploration or why someone might identify as transgender. Gender dysphoria is deeply felt by many. The increase in visibility might better be explained by a range of social, psychological and biological factors.

It seems overly simplistic to suggest that people change their identity simply because father figures are shown in a different light in the media. Human identity is far more complex than that. It also overlooks the diversity of family structures across cultures and time.

Even within the West, the “1950s nuclear family” was a brief social construct, not an eternal standard. And it further ignores that in many Muslim societies, women occupy the role of farmers working the land. If you have ever encountered them, you’d know how tough and strong they can be!

The argument I heard this morning reflects a growing anxiety about cultural change, particularly among those who feel something important has been lost. That fear deserves undererstanding. But blaming Hollywood or shifting gender roles for the rise in transgender identities risks ignoring the actual experiences and struggles of those involved.

Instead, we might ask: how can we build a culture that honours the full range of human character — gentle and strong, introverted and bold, nurturing and ambitious? And how can we raise boys to feel confident in who they are, even if they don’t match widely held stereotypes of a society quick to judge?