In a world that once admired the Stoic virtues of Marcus Aurelius and Epictetus, we now find ourselves swimming in the shallow waters of broicism—a toxic cocktail of bravado, entitlement, and chest-thumping ignorance.
Stoicism, once a philosophy of inner strength and resilience, has been morphed into a gym-rat mantra where biceps speak louder than wisdom.
How did we get here? Besides Trump, I mean.
The original Stoics believed in controlling what you can, accepting what you can’t, and acting with virtue regardless of the outcome. They preached self-discipline, emotional restraint, and integrity. It was about conquering oneself, not the world.
But somewhere along the way, this message of inner mastery was hijacked by the “grindset” culture. And in its place, we got broicism—an ideology that says, “Just lift, bro, everything else is for suckers.”
Broicism takes the language of Stoicism—phrases like “stay hard” or “embrace the suck”—and uses them as a shallow veneer for performing masculinity. It reduces the deep, reflective nature of Stoic wisdom to a hollow focus on endurance for endurance’s sake.
The old Stoic would ask, “What is the best way to live?” The bro asks, “How much can you bench?”
In the realm of broicism, suffering is glorified, but not in the way Stoicism intended. Where the Stoic philosopher would see suffering as something to be transcended with dignity, the bro sees it as a badge of honor, proof of his toughness. He mistakes being numb for being strong.
One of the saddest aspects of this shift is that we now live in a society that mistakes loudness for strength and ego for wisdom. Don’t believe it? Check any political poll.We’ve traded the quiet discipline of a philosopher for the performative bravado of a bro, where vulnerability is weakness and shouting the loudest makes you the most right.
In the gym of life, broicism tells us we need to bulk up, max out, and push past all limits, forgetting that limits are what make us human. It turns reflection into repression and empathy into apathy.
The Stoic knew that living a good life required deep introspection, a careful study of what it means to be virtuous, and an acceptance that we are all fallible.
But the bro can’t admit he’s wrong. That would mean showing weakness. And weakness is the ultimate bro sin.
We’ve replaced philosophers with influencers, and deep thought with viral soundbites. You can’t box Stoicism into an Instagram post and slap a hashtag on it.
Stoicism requires quiet reflection, careful study, and the humility to know how little control we actually have. Broicism, on the other hand, wants you to believe you’re in control of everything, that your abs and your hustle are enough to ward off the chaos of life.
I sing the body electric— not the polished, shining thing, but the rough, the raw, the dirt under the fingernails, the sweat on the brow.
In these streets, each footfall echoing with the pulse of the city— man and woman, child and elder, lovers and strangers all woven into the same thrum of breath and beat and bone.
Who am I but this dust clinging to skin? Who are you but the same flesh and sinew, tender, aching, wrapped in your own story?
O! celebrate the ordinary, the sacred sprawl of the everyday— the hammer striking the nail, the laugh, sudden and free, the silent, steady gaze of the sun as it dips behind buildings that tremble with the weight of us all.
Let me stand in the middle of it— arms wide, mouth full of names we forget to say, heart open to every step, every breath, every broken thing that makes this life so utterly alive.
