Not just a ‘girl issue’

For a long time, poor body image has been framed as a ‘girl issue’, often linked to self-worth, beauty standards and societal pressures. But this assumption overlooks a crucial reality: men struggle too.

In fact, while adolescence is a high point of self-worth struggles for all genders, body acceptance can be especially challenging for men in their thirties – a decade marked by shifting priorities, slowing metabolisms and the lingering weight of childhood wounds.

David* can barely remember a time when his relationship with food wasn’t complicated. “I was bigger than the other kids and I felt that difference from a very young age.”

At home, he was encouraged to eat, enjoying the big spreads over which his Mizrachi family connected.

But at his Jewish school in Sydney, David was the target of body shaming, both over his size and his complexion, darker than his Ashkenazi peers. Even his friends took part in the ridicule at times, although David believes “this was done jokingly without an understanding of its impact”.

In high school, David took up running and enjoyed the benefits of improved cardio, some changes to his shape and the confidence to finally approach girls. But looking back, David realises that his motivation was unhealthy— and that the exercise was often punitive and obsessive.

David never considered seeking help from a mental health professional. “It wasn’t on my radar back then, I just kept pushing through on my own, focusing on exercise as a way to fix things.” David now realises that he could have benefited from talking more openly about his struggles. He regrets internalising the insults that were thrown his way.

Now in his mid-30s and happily married, David continues to battle his body image and currently engages in the intermittent fasting diet. “It’s a way for me to have control over something that’s felt out of my control for so long.”

He still carries the weight of his childhood shame. It shows up in ways he doesn’t always expect, like avoiding being topless at the beach with friends.

*Name has been changed to protect privacy.

Doron Chester, 31, remembers many of his male friends grappling with insecurities about their weight, height and skin as teenagers.

As early as bar mitzvah, his curly-haired male Jewish friends had a weekly ritual of standing in front of a mirror, agonising about how to style their hair. The goal back then was to flatten the curls.

Doron feels lucky that he was one of the more confident kids and credits his youth movement Hineni with cultivating healthy self-esteem. He recalls being encouraged to dance and dress to express his individuality, which fostered a space for Doron to explore his quirks.

Doron was short, with what some might have considered “nerdy” glasses and braces, but he felt happy in his own skin.

After school, Doron studied musical theater. The openness of this environment helped Doron embrace his uniqueness even more, like his naturally curly hair. Today, Doron proudly uses his natural features to define his look. As a fellow cast member once told him, “we need to use your curls to your advantage”.

Doron isn’t immune to the comments made about male height — often framed as a punchline — but he’s also been called a “short king”, which helped reframe the narrative.

Having worked for many years in the entertainment industry, surrounded by unrealistic beauty ideals, Doron did struggle to fully embrace his “schnoz” (nose). Yet, with time, he’s learned to view it as “interesting rather than flawed”.

A few years ago, a close family member commented on Doron’s fleeting weight gain. While Doron could see that the remark came from a place of concern, it was nevertheless hurtful. “If they were concerned about my wellbeing and wanted to start a conversation, that’s not a productive way to do it.”

Once rare in his male friendship circles, vulnerable conversations about body image and self-perception are now encouraged. Doron is heartened to see a cultural shift “where men especially are being more open about their struggles.” The simple act of sharing can transform insecurity into connection and understanding.

Yosi Nacach, 38, never really thought much about body image. As a child raised in a Sephardi Mexican community, he lived off quesadillas and sugar without worrying about gaining weight. He was also “naturally sporty, strong… I was ripped”.

Yosi’s identity was closely tied to being "the sporty guy", the one who excelled in athletics and swimming, and effortlessly looked the part. As he grew older, Yosi’s transition from team sports to weight training was less about necessity and more about pride. “I enjoyed the confidence of looking in the mirror and seeing a strong, defined body.”

But becoming a father changed everything. Suddenly, Yosi’s priorities were no longer centered around the gym. His metabolism also naturally slowed down and he couldn’t rely on his body’s natural bounce-back-ability anymore: “I got a dad bod”.

Yosi admits there was definitely a period of grief over letting go of the easy, carefree days when being ‘ripped’ came naturally. “I struggled with accepting that looking good would now require greater effort and more stringent discipline.”

How does Yosi feel when friends or family members point out that he’s put on weight? "I actually like it – it pushes me into action," he says. "They’re like ‘Bro, get that shit together’. So I do.”

While the honesty might sting, he finds it refreshing: “It’s motivating".

For Yosi, these comments are less about criticism and more about accountability. “Everyone is too woke these days. I want my mates to tell me when I’ve let myself go.” And these days, it is more about fitness than aesthetics. “I care more about health, longevity and being a good role model for my kids than I do about being ripped.”