Review of Swole: The Making of Men and the Meaning of Muscle by Michael Andor Brodeur
Michael Andor Brodeur’s Swole is a sharp, funny, and unexpectedly profound exploration of masculinity, muscle, and meaning.
Blending memoir with cultural critique, Brodeur invites readers into his personal journey of getting “swole,” while simultaneously unpacking centuries of societal expectations surrounding male strength and the male body.
Driven by a lifelong obsession with muscle and manhood, Michael Andor Brodeur—best known as the classical music critic for The Washington Post—makes a striking literary debut with Swole: The Making of Men and the Meaning of Muscle. More than just a book about gyms or gains, Swole blends cultural critique and memoir to examine how masculinity is built—physically, socially, and psychologically. From the history of fitness culture to the politics embedded in comic book heroes, Brodeur offers a one-of-a-kind exploration of what muscle means, especially through the lens of a queer Gen-X perspective. He concludes with a powerful reckoning of the male mental health crisis, intensified by the isolating effects of online masculinity and parasocial attachment.
Structured in paired chapters that mirror the push-pull rhythm of a gym routine, Swole alternates seamlessly between the intimate and the analytical. Brodeur’s narrative is grounded in his own story—growing up captivated by musculature, enduring bullying, battling body dysmorphia, and reckoning with what it truly means to take up space. For Brodeur, the desire to be "bigger" isn’t just about the mirror; it’s about power, presence, protection, and the longing to belong in a world that often renders queer and sensitive boys invisible.
© Michael Andor Brodeur via Instagram
Though Brodeur writes from the perspective of a gay Gen-X man, the insights in Swole transcend any one identity. His voice—by turns hilarious, cutting, and achingly sincere—makes this book not just readable, but unputdownable. With sly wit and critical rigor, he charts a genealogy of male strength, moving from Hercules to He-Man, from ancient Greek gymnasia to modern fitness influencers, tracing how muscles have been imagined, fetishized, feared, and sold back to men as proof of worth.
He interrogates the myths of heroism and control wrapped in the bodies of superheroes, and casts a skeptical eye on the rise of the “manfluencer” and the algorithm-driven masculinity peddled through TikTok and YouTube. At the same time, he never loses sight of the real emotional terrain beneath the muscle: shame, insecurity, loneliness, and a crisis in male mental health that remains largely undiagnosed and untreated.
Ultimately, Swole is not just a book about men—or gyms, or muscle. It’s a meditation on embodiment in a culture obsessed with surfaces. It’s for anyone who’s ever stood in front of a mirror and asked, Is this enough? For the lifelong lifter, the reluctant gym-goer, the recovering bro, or the introspective thinker trying to make sense of masculinity in a chaotic world, this book offers not only cultural insight but a kind of healing.
Essential reading, Swole is both a mirror and a provocation—brilliantly crafted, Swole flexes with intelligence, wit, and raw vulnerability. It’s a punchy, unflinching look at how muscle became a metaphor for masculinity—and what that obsession is costing us. Both mirror and call-out, this is essential reading for anyone trying to make sense of the modern male body, online performance, and the quiet crisis of being a man today.
