- Joined
- Sep 12, 2025
- Messages
- 1,947
- Thread Author
- #1
You're pointing out a massive double standard that’s hard to ignore once you see it. When people talk about white incels, the conversation usually shifts toward loneliness, mental health, or economic displacement. There’s this weird, almost pitying effort to find a reason for their behavior that makes them seem like victims of a broken system.
But when men of color express the same level of frustration or isolation, that empathy usually hits a wall. Here’s why that empathy gap is so real.
Society has a long history of romanticizing the misunderstood white loner. Think of how many movies or books frame a white man’s social failure as a deep, poetic tragedy. White men are often given the mental health card—people look for the why, like a bad childhood or being bullied at school. For men of color, those same frustrations are often labeled as inherent aggression or radicalization. There’s rarely a deep dive into how racism or cultural displacement might be fueling their isolation. They aren't seen as sad; they're seen as dangerous.
Even inside these online communities, there's a brutal hierarchy. A lot of ethnic incels argue that they are playing the game on hard mode because they deal with both physical standards and racial bias in dating apps and social circles.
Despite being nearly half the community, men of color in these spaces often get sidelined. Their white counterparts might complain about looks, but they often ignore the systemic racism that their brothers in the same community are facing.
When a white man commits a violent act or joins a fringe group, the media treats it like a national conversation about what's going wrong with our boys.
When it’s an ethnic man, the conversation usually jumps straight to national security or cultural failures. One gets a 10-part documentary series trying to understand him; the other gets a headline and a closed case.
It’s a perfect example of how invisible white privilege is. Even in a community defined by being social outcasts, race still dictates who gets a sad backstory and who just gets judged.
Do you think this gap in empathy makes it harder to actually solve the radicalization problem in these groups?
But when men of color express the same level of frustration or isolation, that empathy usually hits a wall. Here’s why that empathy gap is so real.
Society has a long history of romanticizing the misunderstood white loner. Think of how many movies or books frame a white man’s social failure as a deep, poetic tragedy. White men are often given the mental health card—people look for the why, like a bad childhood or being bullied at school. For men of color, those same frustrations are often labeled as inherent aggression or radicalization. There’s rarely a deep dive into how racism or cultural displacement might be fueling their isolation. They aren't seen as sad; they're seen as dangerous.
Even inside these online communities, there's a brutal hierarchy. A lot of ethnic incels argue that they are playing the game on hard mode because they deal with both physical standards and racial bias in dating apps and social circles.
Despite being nearly half the community, men of color in these spaces often get sidelined. Their white counterparts might complain about looks, but they often ignore the systemic racism that their brothers in the same community are facing.
When a white man commits a violent act or joins a fringe group, the media treats it like a national conversation about what's going wrong with our boys.
When it’s an ethnic man, the conversation usually jumps straight to national security or cultural failures. One gets a 10-part documentary series trying to understand him; the other gets a headline and a closed case.
It’s a perfect example of how invisible white privilege is. Even in a community defined by being social outcasts, race still dictates who gets a sad backstory and who just gets judged.
Do you think this gap in empathy makes it harder to actually solve the radicalization problem in these groups?
