The Hidden Dangers of Being a ‘Nice’ Guy: A Confession
I spent years being ‘nice,’ only to realize I was pretty awful
I’ve been thinking a lot lately — maybe it’s because I’m 35, maybe it’s because I have a daughter, or maybe it’s just… gestures wildly at the world — but I’m starting to look back and see how easily I could have gone down a very different path. This isn’t what I usually write about. But, if you’ll allow me, this is the story of how I, a recovering “nice guy,” narrowly avoided becoming something I might now despise, especially as political lines continue to harden in the US. It feels like half the world has turned away from empathy altogether. And to non-Americans exhausted by us, I’m sorry, I’m exhausted too.
The “Nice Guy” Mask
For most of my life, I’d have told you I was one of the good ones. I was a little nerdy and socially awkward, and deep down, I thought of myself as “nice.” I didn’t realize being “nice” wasn’t always genuinely kind. Back then, though, my “nice guy” identity was a bit of a shield — one that hid my insecurities and convinced me that any criticism, especially from women, was unfair. Why? Because I was one of the “good guys,” right?
Well, that self-image started to crack when I got into my first real relationship, which turned out to be… pretty much a disaster. I won’t go into all the details. We both had toxic traits we never came to terms with, but let’s just say that “nice guy” didn’t always translate to being a great boyfriend. When things didn’t go as planned, I fell into a spiral of resentment. I felt like I was the victim like I deserved something in return for all that “niceness” I’d given out.
Looking back, I can see how this resentment became fertile ground for other, more toxic ideas.
How the Algorithm Almost Got Me
YouTube’s algorithm is a Wild West of suggestions. I started getting hit with all sorts of content. Stuff that was ostensibly what I was interested in science, video games, and anime. But I watched more and more videos that subconsciously spoke to my bruised ego, passing comments portraying women as somehow out of reach, irrational, or just as unfairly critical of the hosts as I was feeling. At the same time, Gamergate had just exploded, and there was no shortage of YouTubers happy to dive into culture wars and stoke the fires of “us versus them.” This was a gateway to some dangerously close-minded thinking. In a different timeline, I could have doubled down on that content, resentful and self-righteous, feeding on a steady diet of grievance-fueled videos.
But I got a nudge in the other direction by a twist of fate (and maybe just some sheer luck). I stumbled upon a few progressive voices mixed in with all the outrage content. Some talked about gaming and culture, but they framed it differently — not as an attack, but as something to reflect on. They talked about empathy, accountability, and how real kindness sometimes means hard work. They made me think that being “nice” was more than avoiding conflict. It meant actively choosing to understand others, even if that wasn’t the easiest path.
At first, I watched these videos like an outsider. I didn’t necessarily agree with everything, but something kept me coming back. Over time, their ideas seeped in, almost without me noticing. I started to question not just what I believed but why I believed it. Slowly, I let go of that “nice guy” identity and started working on something more authentic.
Fatherhood and Self-Reflection
Then I had a kid, and everything shifted again. I always care about my students, but it’s funny how much your own kid can do that to you. Suddenly, it’s not just about the world I grew up in or the world I live in — it’s about the world she’ll grow up in. Seeing her, with all her potential, brought home how much I wanted to see the toxic worldviews I’d once flirted with be excised from society. I didn’t want her to grow up in a world where women are automatically set up to be seen as “other,” or even worse, as objects of resentment and blame.
Raising her, I want to be someone she can look up to, sure, but I also want to help create a world she can feel safe in. And feel safe to be whoever she wants to be. Part of that means speaking out against ideas that I might once have let slide. It means being open to criticism — sometimes, harsh criticism — and not falling back on the defense of “I’m not that kind of guy” as an excuse. It’s a daily challenge, but I’m grateful for it, and I’d take it over the alternative any day. I’ve rewritten this portion half a dozen times, and I’m afraid it still sounds like a girl dad realizing women exist at the birth of his daughter.
The Problem with “Nice” Guys and What’s at Stake in 2024
As we head toward another contentious election, it’s hard to ignore the shifting political landscape in the US and worldwide. My shift toward progressive values, which started over a decade ago, mirrors an alarming number of young men moving further to the right, often pushed there by a mix of social media algorithms and resentment-fueled narratives that target them directly. Meanwhile, young women are moving left, drawn to ideas of equity and empathy that feel increasingly at odds with the growing hostility they see from the other side. It’s like the political divide is deepening along gender lines, and the consequences could be dire.
I am trying to figure out what the answer is here. Should we be reaching out to these young men? Are they, like I once was, just frustrated and misguided, in need of a more positive direction? Or is it too late, especially as we face the genuine possibility of a Trump/Vance election that could cement people’s worst fears of a Christo-fascist America? My instincts tell me we can’t just ignore it. These young men, these “nice guys,” are going somewhere with their frustrations. If we don’t give them something healthier to believe in, the toxic forces of the internet will be more than happy to sweep them up. I don’t think it’s coincidental that “nice guy” J.D. Vance is Trump’s VP pick.
The Responsibility of Men to Hold Each Other Accountable
One of my biggest lessons is that it’s not enough to do the inner work alone. There’s a lot of talk about “accountability,” but the real challenge is putting it into action — especially with other men. It’s one thing to feel personally uncomfortable with the jokes or comments you hear, and it’s a whole different level to call them out. Yet, if there’s one thing I’ve realized, it’s that if men don’t hold each other accountable, no one else really can. And without that accountability, we’re just keeping the cycle going.
We’ve all been in those conversations where someone makes an offhand sexist joke or a comment about “women these days,” and it’s easy to brush it off or even laugh uncomfortably and stay silent. But staying silent is just passively endorsing it. I’m not saying I’m perfect — I’ve let things slide plenty of times — but I’m realizing that we have to step up and address these things, even if it feels awkward or uncomfortable. Because if we don’t, who will? Who can?
The same goes for this culture of unrealistic romantic expectations, which can be a dangerous rabbit hole. So many men are caught up in this fantasy about finding “the one” who’ll magically fix everything, who’ll love us “unconditionally,” and it sets up toxic dynamics from the start. We’re talking about real people here, with their own lives, needs, and boundaries — not some idealized character who’s there to make us feel validated. As men, we have to start checking each other on these expectations and encourage each other to work on ourselves instead of waiting for a partner to solve it all.
Reaching Out and Being There for Other Men
This goes hand in hand with another, more challenging part: reaching out to each other in real, vulnerable ways. Most of us were raised to bottle things up, to compete rather than connect, and to act like we don’t need support. But isolation breeds resentment, and resentment feeds that exact same toxicity we’re talking about.
The number of men I know who don’t feel they have a close friend they can open up to is staggering. And sure, it’s easier to talk about sports or the latest TV show or video game than what’s actually weighing us down. But if we don’t start bridging that gap, we’re leaving each other on islands of frustration, anger, and pent-up emotions.
We need to be there for each other — not in some macho, “Just toughen up” way, but in an emotionally available, “I’ve got your back” kind of way. It means texting that friend you haven’t heard from in a while, asking how they’re really doing, and being willing to listen when they tell you. It means showing up, even when it’s inconvenient, and being vulnerable, even when it feels risky.
I’m not saying I have all the answers or that I’ll be able to live up to this promise, either. Still, if we’re going to create a world where people like my daughter (and other young girls and women) can feel safe, valued, and equal, it’s taking more than passive disapproval. It’ll take us actively showing up for other men and making different choices in how we handle ourselves and hold each other and ourselves to a higher standard. Because that’s being nice — it’s about taking responsibility, holding each other accountable, and pushing each other to be better.
I worry about my daughter, but not just her. I worry about the young Korean girls dealing with deepfake porn rings in their high schools, I worry about the Japanese women who had their medical university entrance exam scores lowered just to let more mediocre men in, and all the girls coming up in a world that seems more openly hostile to them every day. It’s a hostility that I recognize because, in a different timeline, it might have been mine. And so, the work isn’t done. Maybe it never will be. But if there’s any hope, I think it’s in each of us trying to be more than “nice.” To be good, to be open, to choose empathy over resentment. Because if we don’t, I fear we’ll lose far more than just a U.S. election.