What We Get Wrong About The Soft Boy Scam
Why vulnerability isn’t the same as emotional honesty.
At first I thought I was crazy. When the door to the coffee shop closed behind me and I stepped toward the counter, I swore to myself that I was imagining things.
It was a warm-ish Vermont day in March and I was having a bad week. Well, a stressful one at least. I’d come here to fight my way through emails. But then I caught sight of the two women looking at me from their table by the window.
They exchanged a quick glance, huddled closer together, and simultaneously returned their attention to the counter where I was ordering. Ok, strange—yes. However, at this point I was 98% sure that I knew who one of them was. Which would make things less strange, but still completely ridiculous.
Here’s why.
Isobel and I’d matched on Hinge. And after a few messages back and forth, she’d disappeared. But as luck would have it, a few weeks later she’d resurfaced. It was then that we’d started to connect. So I’d asked her out on a date, to which she’d excitedly said yes, and we picked a day.
Well, that day was this day—tonight, actually—like, in a few hours at a restaurant in a completely different town. But I was prettyyy sure it was she and her friend at this very coffee shop who were watching me while I ordered. So, coffee in hand, I made my way to an open table. The umm… the one right next to them seemed like a good choice.
A couple of interesting things happened. I didn’t actually get through much of my inbox. But Isobel, her friend Jenny, and I started chatting. Then kept going until the coffee shop closed.
We’d connected on real topics, jumping past the superficial stuff.
We’d accidentally conducted the “best-friend test” before the first date.
Yes, of course I was nervous. Did you see what I just said? We’d just met for the first time while she was with her best friend. Which, obviously made me wonder if there would still be a date.
Well… there would.
And it would end up going spectacularly well.
People approach control differently because of what they learn about acceptance—and it differs based on their gender.
Later in our relationship, Isobel asked me if I’d have gone up to her in that coffee shop if we hadn’t met on Hinge ahead of time.
This is where things get interesting.
I told her that, no, I probably wouldn’t have. I’d have wanted to, but likely would’ve opted for giving her space to spend the time with her friend, uninterrupted. It wasn’t a confidence thing, it was an imposition thing.
Don’t get me wrong, I’d have been nervous—she’s stunningly beautiful. Her eyes radiate the quiet confidence of someone who knows exactly who they are, no matter which room she walks into. Intimidating? Sure. But also very playfully disarming. So, I’m almost certain I’d have been drawn to her without having matched on the apps ahead of time. And I’d want to talk to her, but wouldn’t want to impose.
Well, what Isobel said in response broke my brain.
“Would you have been rude or would you have been curious to learn about me?”
While my brain short circuited, I processed what she’d really said: are you a conquerer or collaborator?
After telling her that of course I’d have been curious, she explained that she’d have been just as curious. And that she’d have wanted me to introduce myself—even though she was with her friend.
You should have seen my face. I’m pretty sure my jaw was hanging open and I probably mumbled something completely inaudible.
So why had my default become one where I assumed I’d be an imposition? I’m not alone in this way of thinking, either. I even asked some of my male-identifying friends, who’d said they shared similar thought processes.
Men learn that effort is required to earn approval, validation, and love.
They learn that acceptance requires validation. That it’s contingent on the effort we put forth. So we learn that control is the way we get acceptance. Which is why we start trying to control everyone and everything. How lovely.
But it doesn’t stop there.
Because men aren’t just taught control as a means of being accepted, it gets embedded in how they build self-esteem. It’s spread across their time in school, during their careers, and throughout their relationships.
Their education determines the tools they can use to sustain themselves in life.
Their occupation determines how they can be compensated for use of their tools.
Their relationships determine their potential romantic and social prospects.
I’ve written about the masked destruction of male loneliness before. This is different, but it does share some crossover.
They both stem from a norm of telling people which emotions they’re allowed to feel. And, one of ridiculing those same people for talking about the emotions they’re not allowed to feel. These silly stereotypes of things that men do and that women do only exist because we enforce them. We form those expectations the moment we learn a child’s biological sex during pregnancy.
But behavior doesn’t have a gender… Masculinity includes vulnerability, just like femininity includes bravado. Anybody can be aggressive, empathetic, manipulative, or emotionally intelligent.
Dr. Gabor Maté agrees that it’s not a gender issue, it’s a cultural issue:
“Who is programmed to look after the emotional needs of others? Taking responsibility for other peoples’ feelings, historically, has been assigned to female-identifying members of our society.”
For the sake of simplicity and consistency, I refer to behavior as male or female here. It’s important to note that this describes existing, taught behavior— which means it can be unlearned and even taught differently.
I hope it will.
But let’s back up...
There’s a growing trend of men using psychological buzzwords to disarm and “win over” women.
I recently learned about something that explains a lot. I hate it, but it paints the missing parts of this picture.
It’s called the Soft Boy Scam.
This refers to a form of manipulation. Mostly, it’s used in dating or romantic contexts where guys present themselves as sensitive, emotional, and/or progressive as a way to ward off skepticism of toxic masculinity. But it’s a deception technique. And it’s especially insidious because the majority of the time they don’t realize they’re performing.
“What do you mean, you just said it was manipulation??”
Great catch. Here’s the big problem: they think they’re the hero of the story, and the hyper-masculine fuckboys are the villains. They don’t realize they’re doing the same shitty thing.
Honestly, I get it. I’ve known many of these soft boy scammers. I’m embarrassed to admit I’ve been one myself at an earlier point in life.
But that’s the problem.
Learning to build self-esteem is critical for people of any gender—but its absence is especially problematic for those who identify as male.
Without a strong foundation for building self-esteem, feelings of insecurity lead men to bolder bids for control. It’s when those efforts repeatedly fail to produce self-esteem that men withdraw and isolate. This comes from a lack of effective coping skills for handling feelings of rejection.
And you’re absolutely right—why should it be women’s problem? I’m not saying it is, and I fully see the irony. Power-playing others is a sign of underdeveloped emotional intelligence. And for the unsuspecting recipients of these games, they’re what… supposed to educate the perpetrators on the error of their ways?
No. But understanding what’s really happening here might help everyone put down their swords. Because “men are pigs” may feel true, but throwing our hands up and saying “boys will be boys” doesn’t fix anything. And stopping there perpetuates the type of society I don’t want to be a part of.
You have every right to be upset with someone who uses psychologically-safe sounding language to skew the truth or create leverage against you. For men who grew up believing that effort deserves an outcome, they mistakenly interpret romantic rejection as an indictment of their worthiness.
Guys, we have to stop that. Seriously, it’s exhausting.
And people don’t always know that’s what they’re doing. It’s a confusing realization to face. This is the very lesson that Ted Mosby is confronted with across all 9 seasons of the popular American sitcom, How I Met Your Mother.
The real problem is making someone else responsible for your emotional wellbeing without their consent.
Meeting Isobel unlocked a lot for me. But I also needed to be ready for that or things wouldn’t have worked between us.
I had done so much to reclaim my autonomy. I’d worked through confronting my insecurities while getting sober (still am). And have stayed focused on stacking reps of the small things over time. Like using better boundaries and divorcing my self-esteem from external factors.
That’s what led to not needing control of situations—or the people in them—to feel safe. Suddenly, after years of working on it, I felt comfortable enough with providing my own sense of security through a built confidence in my ability to respond.
It created a fierce independence, actually. And Isobel helped me hold up the mirror to see the potential pitfalls of over-indexing on that, too.
A few months into dating, Isobel and I had a chat that changed the trajectory of our entire relationship. It was a check-in on how things were going for us, from each of our perspectives. We’d agreed from the start to be fully transparent with one another. Open to what could happen, but not beholden to the niceties of fibbing if we felt things weren’t working.
Like our accidental first date before the date, I was nervous. As we sat next to each other at her house, I realized a couple things:
This might end
I didn’t want it to
Previous relationships had taught me that trying to convince someone to choose a relationship with you can only end horribly. It’s impossible—but also, even if you “win” you lose in that scenario.
No, I’d finally reached a place where I confidently knew I only wanted to be with someone who wanted to be with me. And I told Isobel so.
We’d arrived at an inflection point: spending enough time together that it was getting harder to not call it a relationship, but still early enough in dating that we could opt out if a relationship wasn’t what we’d wanted.
“I’m not trying to convince you—it’s ok if this isn’t what you want”
I meant it. And so did she.
Because we were being honest, and deliberately trying not to be persuasive. It wasn’t an ultimatum, it was a conversation-starter. One that opened the door a bit wider for us to talk about what we needed from a partner. So we could decide if they were things we were able to give to a relationship. And if we were able, did we want to? With each other?
When I left her house that day I was unsure what they future would look like for us. Not in a bad way. Just an honest one where uncertainty is part of the experience. But we’d chosen to keep moving through it together, and to keep checking in along the way.
That conversation was truly wonderful.
It was open, raw, expressive, communicative, and supportive. We each took leaps to share vulnerable truths with the other, hoping they’d be met with grace and not defensive confrontation. We’ve grown considerably in the time since that chat—and we wouldn’t be where we are now without it.
We’ve both done a lot of work to understand and heal our past wounds. We’re well versed in all the healthy buzzwords. But one thing I’m really proud of is that we use them to describe ourselves and not each other. There’s no diagnostic accusations, or prescriptive changes being threatened here. We don’t pathologize each other’s thoughts or behavior.
Our partnership is collaborative. I’m so glad we can talk openly about what supportive contribution looks like with each other. We make time to check in, with a want to understand one another. And we’re each other’s biggest cheerleaders.
We need to teach people that collaboration earns approval instead of teaching them that conquering does.
Men learn early that effort is required to earn approval, validation, and love. If we can normalize non-transactional vulnerability, we’ll help folks build self-esteem that doesn’t require someone else to maintain it.
After all, everyone wants to love and be loved.
And, love is something you contribute.
Not something you conquer.
onward.
Welcome back or welcome to Becoming Unobstructed.
I’m Derek, a former outdoor guide climbing my way through the tech world. Every week I write essays like this one. If stories on personal growth, leadership, and building mental wealth are your thing, consider subscribing.
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Great post. It’s a miracle that any of us are in relationships at all, given all the bullsh*t social programming we’ve been subjected to.