Worst Pieces of Advice Men Get (And What to Do Instead)

Somewhere around age sixteen, the advice starts pouring in. From your dad, your uncle, your football coach, your friend's dad who grills in New Balance 624s and considers himself a philosopher, random guys on podcasts, motivational posters in dentist offices, and eventually the entire internet. Everyone has opinions about how men should live, work, date, exercise, eat, sleep, invest, dress, and think. And roughly seventy percent of it is garbage.

I know this because I followed most of it for years and ended up confused, burnt out, emotionally constipated, and wearing a lot of ill-fitting khakis. Then I started questioning the advice instead of just absorbing it, and things got significantly better.

Here are the worst pieces of advice men commonly receive, why they're wrong, and what you should do instead. Consider this a public service announcement from someone who has been steered wrong enough times to build a whole article about it.

"Man Up" / "Toughen Up" / "Real Men Don't Cry"

This is the big one. The granddaddy of bad advice. The idea that masculinity requires emotional suppression -- that acknowledging your feelings is weakness, that stoicism means never being affected by anything, and that the correct response to pain, fear, sadness, or confusion is to shove it down somewhere deep and pretend it doesn't exist.

I followed this advice faithfully for about fifteen years. I "manned up" through a breakup by going to the gym and telling everyone I was fine. I "toughened up" through a job I hated by drinking more and sleeping less. I "didn't cry" when my grandfather died, which I now recognize as one of the saddest things I've ever done to myself.

Here's what actually happens when you suppress emotions for years: they don't go away. They ferment. They turn into anxiety, anger, insomnia, drinking problems, and a vague but persistent feeling that something is wrong that you can't quite name. I finally talked to a therapist at 28, and in our first session he said something that rearranged my entire brain: "Acknowledging what you feel isn't weakness. It's information. You're ignoring data about your own life."

What to do instead: Feel your feelings. Talk about them. Not necessarily to everyone, not necessarily all the time, but to someone -- a therapist, a close friend, a partner. The strongest guys I know aren't the ones who feel nothing. They're the ones who feel everything and deal with it head-on instead of running from it. That takes significantly more courage than pretending you're a robot.

"Follow Your Passion"

Oh, this one. This shiny, well-meaning, absolutely devastating piece of advice that has launched a thousand quarter-life crises.

"Follow your passion" assumes two things that are often not true: first, that you have a clearly defined passion, and second, that your passion is something people will pay you for. Most twenty-two-year-olds don't have a burning passion. They have vague interests, things they're sort of good at, and a degree in something their parents suggested. Telling them to "follow their passion" is like telling someone who's lost in a forest to "follow the trail." Which trail? There are forty of them and none are clearly marked.

I spent two years after college agonizing over whether I was in the right career because I wasn't "passionate" about it. I liked my job fine. It paid well. I was good at it. But I wasn't leaping out of bed every morning consumed by burning purpose, so I assumed something was wrong with me. I wasn't following my passion. I was just... working.

Then I read a book called "So Good They Can't Ignore You" by Cal Newport, and it reframed everything. Newport argues that passion doesn't precede great work -- it follows it. You get good at something, you gain autonomy and mastery, and then you become passionate about it. The passion comes from competence, not the other way around.

What to do instead: Build skills. Get good at things. Pursue work that offers growth, reasonable pay, and people you don't hate being around. Passion usually shows up after you've achieved a certain level of competence and control. Waiting for passion before starting is like waiting to be hungry before learning to cook -- you've got the sequence backwards.

"Fake It Till You Make It"

There's a kernel of truth buried in this advice, and it's surrounded by a thick outer shell of bad idea.

The kernel: acting confident in situations where you feel uncertain can help you push through discomfort and build real confidence over time. That's true. Walking into a job interview with your shoulders back and your voice steady, even if you're nervous, does genuinely help.

The problem: "fake it till you make it" often gets interpreted as "pretend to be something you're not, indefinitely." And that path leads to imposter syndrome, chronic anxiety, and a career built on a foundation of bluff that you're constantly terrified will collapse.

I worked with a guy who faked his way into a management role he wasn't ready for. He couldn't fake the skills. He couldn't fake the experience. He spent fourteen months in a job that made him miserable, performing badly, before getting laid off. "Fake it till you make it" put him in a position where failure was inevitable and humiliation was the only possible exit.

What to do instead: "Be honest about where you are, but committed to where you're going." That's less catchy, but it's true. Say "I haven't done this before, but I learn fast and I'm ready to figure it out." That honesty actually builds more trust and respect than pretending you already know everything. People can smell a faker from a mile away. They respect a learner.

"You Just Need More Discipline"

The internet has decided that discipline is the answer to everything. Can't wake up at 5 AM? Discipline. Can't stick to a diet? Discipline. Can't save money? Discipline. Can't finish that project? Discipline. It's like a magic word that explains every human struggle and conveniently blames you for all of them.

Here's the issue: discipline is a finite resource. You can white-knuckle your way through a few days or even a few weeks of pure discipline, but eventually it runs out. Willpower depletes. Self-control fatigues. If your entire system for doing hard things is "just force yourself," you're building on quicksand.

I tried to discipline myself into waking up at 5 AM for a month. I set three alarms. I put my phone across the room. I went to bed at 9 PM. It worked for eleven days. Then my body staged a coup, I slept through all three alarms, and I woke up at 10:30 AM feeling like a failure -- which was exactly the opposite of what this disciplinary regime was supposed to achieve.

What to do instead: Build systems, not willpower. Make the right choice the easy choice. Want to eat healthier? Don't buy junk food -- now there's nothing bad to reach for at midnight. Want to go to the gym? Put your gym clothes on the moment you wake up -- the hardest part of going to the gym is the decision, so remove the decision. Want to save money? Automate your savings so the money moves before you see it. Discipline gets you started. Systems keep you going. Read about how making friends as an adult works the same way -- it's not about willpower, it's about putting yourself in the right situations.

"Keep Your Options Open"

This sounds wise. It sounds like freedom. It sounds like you're being strategic and flexible and open-minded. In practice, it usually means you're being indecisive, noncommittal, and paralyzed by the fear of choosing wrong.

I kept my options open in my twenties. I didn't commit to a career path because what if something better came along? I didn't commit to a city because what if I wanted to move? I didn't commit to relationships because what if the next person was more compatible? I was so busy keeping doors open that I never walked through any of them.

The paradox of choice is real. The more options you have, the less satisfied you are with any individual choice, and the more likely you are to choose nothing at all. The guys I know who seem happiest and most successful aren't the ones with the most options -- they're the ones who picked something, committed, and went deep.

What to do instead: Make a choice. Commit for a defined period. Give it everything you've got. If it doesn't work out after a genuine effort, you'll know from experience rather than speculation. A year of full commitment to the wrong thing teaches you more than five years of half-hearted dabbling in ten things. Close some doors. It's the only way to find out what's behind the ones you walk through.

"Sleep When You're Dead"

The hustle culture motto. The battle cry of every entrepreneur who posts on LinkedIn at 3 AM. The idea that sleep is optional, that rest is for the lazy, and that success requires grinding every waking moment until you either achieve your goals or collapse.

I tried this in my mid-twenties. I averaged about five hours of sleep a night for about eighteen months, filling the extra hours with "productivity" -- working, networking, side-hustling, optimizing. I felt terrible but I thought that was the price of ambition. I was wrong. It was the price of being stupid.

Sleep deprivation impairs cognitive function, decision-making, emotional regulation, immune response, and basically every system in your body. Operating on five hours of sleep is cognitively equivalent to being legally drunk. I was making decisions about my career and finances with the mental acuity of a guy who'd had four beers. I wasn't being productive in those extra hours -- I was being sloppy over more hours.

What to do instead: Sleep seven to nine hours. Seriously. It's not lazy. It's not a luxury. Doing nothing, including sleeping, isn't lazy -- it's necessary maintenance for the machine that does everything else. The most productive, successful people I know protect their sleep like it's sacred, because it is.

"Never Show Weakness"

Close cousin of "man up," this gem suggests that vulnerability is a strategic error. That showing uncertainty, admitting mistakes, or asking for help will cause people to lose respect for you. That leadership means projecting omniscience and infallibility at all times.

Every great leader I've ever worked for did the opposite. They said "I don't know" when they didn't know. They said "I was wrong" when they were wrong. They asked "What do you think?" because they genuinely wanted input, not because they were testing people. And far from losing respect, they gained it, because authenticity is magnetic and pretending to be perfect is exhausting for everyone involved.

What to do instead: Be honest about what you know and what you don't. Ask for help when you need it. Admit mistakes quickly and fix them. People don't respect perfection -- they respect integrity. And integrity requires the occasional admission that you're a human being who doesn't have all the answers.

The Common Thread

Bad advice for men usually shares one trait: it prioritizes the appearance of strength over the reality of it. Look tough. Look busy. Look confident. Look passionate. Never look uncertain, sad, tired, or confused.

Real strength is quieter than that. It's knowing yourself, being honest about it, building systems that work for your actual life, and having the courage to ignore advice that sounds right but feels wrong.

Including, possibly, some of this advice. Question everything. Even me. Especially me. I'm just a guy on the internet.