I Want to Be Scott Galloway’s Friend

An antidote to the poison of the Manosphere

In a media landscape that feels increasingly wired for attention, division, monetization, and outrage, the question isn’t “who should I listen to?” The real question is “who can I trust?” Trust is expensive, and getting it wrong can cost you plenty.

So, who do I trust today? In short, his name is Professor Scott Galloway.

Scott Galloway. Professor of Marketing, NYU Stern & Serial Entrepreneur.

I first heard about Scott when a close friend got into NYU Stern and called me like she’d just met a new boyfriend. She was even a bit giddy when she said: “Joey, I have a new favorite professor… he’s hilarious, and he’s the best storyteller I’ve ever heard, and his name is Scott Galloway.” And then she added one more detail: “Everyone loves him! Not just me, everyone… even the guys!” That’s when I knew there was something different about this dude. My friend Deb was in love, but not with a new boyfriend.

​​Over the next couple of decades, I followed Scott’s work as a marketing professor in the way someone in the business of advertising does, half curious, half skeptical. But I never really paid attention to him as anything other than a storied academic with a big brain. Over the past few years, however, I’ve been a regular listener to his many podcasts, Prof G, Raging Moderates, and Pivot, and I recently read his new book on masculinity, Notes on Being a Man. And now I understand why he resonates with so many people, including my dear friend Deb. He’s real.

Scott doesn’t feel manufactured. He doesn’t speak in carefully crafted language. He’s just himself: hilarious, profane, occasionally ridiculous, wicked smart, and then, unexpectedly, deeply thoughtful and caring in a way that catches you off guard. He’s a man who seems to know who he is while also being openly curious about who he’s becoming. And this combination of confidence and ongoing self-examination is shockingly rare.

I’ve always believed that trust can be built through humor. And Scott is consistently funny. And not in a polished or rehearsed kind of way, like a seasoned comedian. His humor feels more like a byproduct of introspection. He studies himself, he studies human behavior, and then he shares the absurdity of both. Many of his jokes fall flat. And when they do, he doesn’t retreat. He laughs at himself. He acknowledges the gaffe and keeps going. And there’s something disarming about watching a public figure fail without trying to hide his mistakes. It builds a kind of credibility that no amount of media training can ever match.

Of course, some folks take issue with his style. Scott can be crude. His humor doesn’t work for everyone, and candidly, there are more “dick jokes” than most people would consider necessary in a business or political podcast. “My nickname was tripod in college,” But to me, his authenticity is part of his appeal. And in his defense, if I had a dick worth crowing about, I’m not sure I would even own pants. But I digress. And Scott’s candor signals that he’s not trying to be universally liked. He’s just trying to be himself. And in a world where so many public figures are overly engineered to avoid offending, his childlike honesty is welcome.

I don’t believe Scott because he’s right about everything. He’s not. It’s that I believe he believes what he’s saying when he says it. He’s not shaping his opinions to suck up to an audience or align with a specific tribe. He’s merely thinking out loud and occasionally admitting something most of us find hard to accept… that constructive criticism can be valid. As he notes in his book, “If an outside assessment throws you off balance… It’s usually a telltale sign.” That level of self-awareness is a gut punch to absorb, but it’s also where real growth begins. I recognize this simple truth in myself, both personally and professionally, and it’s not a place you visit casually. It’s an internal admittance that you limp into and sit within, until it dissipates, slowly and painfully.

And his book, focused on masculinity, resonated with me because it avoids the bombastic extremes that dominate today's conversation. He frames masculinity not as a set of rights or privileges, but as a set of responsibilities: To “provide, protect, and procreate,” a set of criteria that’s had plenty of pushback, specifically from political progressives. But, in true Scott fashion, he then pushes back even harder, arguing that none of this matters without structure. You don’t wake up one day and become a man. You build a code. You develop discipline. You accept the reality that time is finite. As he puts it, “There is no such thing as balance, only tradeoffs.” It’s a simple idea, but it cuts through a lot of the bullshit. You can do many good things in life, just not all at the same time.

Scott’s practicality shows up in his advice to younger men as well. It’s not glamorous. It’s not inspirational in any sense, but it’s fundamental. He shares axioms like “Do hard things,” “Show up early,” “Have good manners,” “Develop a firm handshake,” and “Stand up when a woman enters a room.” Old school. The basics. These are not the kind of insights that go viral, but they are the kind that help transform boys into men. They require consistency, not intensity. And consistency, as it turns out, is where most men fall short.

Where Scott’s vulnerability deepens is in his discussion of scarcity. He describes growing up in poverty as both a financial thing and a psychological thing, like being followed around by a vicious little voice that tells you that you’re not enough. As he writes, “Growing up without money shrinks your sense of what’s within reach.” That sentiment captures something fundamental about how poverty perpetuates itself, and not just through a lack of resources, but through low expectations.

A story he shares about losing a winter jacket illustrates this idea perfectly. His mother buys him a new coat at Sears that’s slightly too big, so it will last longer, a very practical decision driven by her empty bank account. Two weeks later, Scott loses his jacket. On the surface, it’s a typical boyhood mistake. But underneath, it represented something much larger for him: the gravity of sacrifice and the quiet understanding that your mistakes have consequences beyond yourself, even when you’re only twelve years old. When Scott told his mom that he had lost his new jacket from Sears, she burst into tears. It changed him forever. And I know what this level of shame feels like. I, too, grew up poor, and it’s the kind of thing that breaks your brain. It frames how you think about responsibility, money, and even human dignity.

Scott’s reflections on being a dad also hit a soft spot in my heart because, like Scott, I’m a father of two boys. He describes having children as a kind of “mercy killing” of your former hedonistic self, a brutal but accurate way of saying that becoming a father isn’t simply a small change in your life. The person you were before becomes a memory. As he wrote, “It wasn’t about me anymore.” And that statement, simple as it sounds, is the foundation of being a good parent. It’s the difference between being a father and a dad.

He also emphasizes what he calls “garbage time”, the so-called “unremarkable” moments that end up mattering the most. Like the car rides back and forth to school, or to soccer practice, where your son shares his new favorite song or video game, or talks about a girl he likes. These moments don’t occur inside our calendars or on some Google Doc. They happen because you’re there, sitting next to your child, listening, and allowing them to share their inner world with you, even if only for a moment.

And perhaps Scott’s most poignant idea on parenting was his warning that “Parents who infect their kids with their own trauma are superspreaders.” It’s a stinging way of stating the obvious, but it’s highly effective. He reframed his idea of parenting as not just about providing, protecting, and being present, but also about managing yourself and your emotions so you don’t pass down unchecked chaos to your children. He also reinforces the importance of accountability, of apologizing when you make mistakes, and of modeling the behavior you seek in your own kids. Of being real.

Even his emphasis on manners, something that can feel outdated or overly rigid lately, lands differently in this context. For Scott, manners aren’t about etiquette or appearances; they’re about respect and social competence. Manners are small signals that shape how you treat the world around you and how you make others feel while in their presence. Those things matter.

On relationships, Scott’s perspective is similarly grounded. He argues that kindness, something often dismissed as secondary, is actually central. “The secret sauce of mating is kindness.” It’s not a sexy idea, but it aligns with observable reality. Strong relationships tend to make people better, more disciplined, more thoughtful, more stable, more everything. I know my own marriage did. And while this idea may not fit neatly into more traditional narratives about masculinity, it reflects a deeper truth about how people grow as adults.

I recently watched a documentary called The Manosphere with Louis Theroux, and it only reinforced something I’ve been feeling for some time now: Scott is the antidote to a lot of the poison coming out of that crazy world. Louis’ film did a brilliant job of exposing how masculinity built on grievance, insecurity, and macho nonsense will harm us all. And it was impossible to watch this movie without thinking, this is NOT it. What Scott offers, both in his book and how he shows up in public life, feels like a much-needed counterweight. He’s proving through his actions and behaviors that you can be both kind and formidable, self-aware and ambitious, that strength doesn’t require cruelty, and true masculinity is the exact opposite of the Red Pilled monsters featured in The Manosphere.

And all of this leads back to why I want to be Scott Galloway’s friend. It’s not because he has all the answers. It’s not because he’s always right. It’s not because of his dick jokes. It’s because he’s trying, objectively and demonstrably, to be a better man. He has said himself that he didn’t really become a man until his forties, and that kind of admission carries weight. It acknowledges that manhood is not automatic; it doesn’t just show up on your eighteenth birthday. Manhood is earned, often later than we expect, and usually through a series of uncomfortable realizations and palpable tragedies.

In a media culture where many men are now focused on appearing powerful or “alpha”, there’s something super cool about someone who is focused on becoming more human and more trustworthy. It’s quieter and less performative. And it’s needed today more than ever.

And lastly, Scott repeatedly tells his readers and listeners to “Find impressive men, and befriend them.“

So, Scott, let’s grab a drink (or three) next time you’re in San Francisco.