O que o Superman nos diz sobre o estado dos homens americanos?

The latest Superman iteration, this one directed by James Gunn, went up on streaming platforms over the weekend, so I finally had a chance to sit down and watch. Prior to watching the film, I heard all sorts of buzz online about the portrayal of healthy masculinity in the film.

Gunn’s Superman follows Clark Kent juggling life as a Daily Planet reporter – alongside an early-stage romance with colleague Lois Lane. At the same time, a controversial overseas intervention turns public opinion against his superhero alter ego. His nemesis, Lex Luthor, seizes the moment, orchestrating a tech-and-media scheme that paints Superman as a global threat as metahuman and extradimensional chaos (and the occasional cameo of his dog, Kypto) spills into the fictional city of Metropolis. The story resolves with Superman exposing Luthor’s manipulation and saving the city; Luthor is brought down, and a credits stinger hints that the damage he set in motion may have consequences yet to come.

So, what does Superman tell us about the Estado dos Homens Americanos? My honest read: Not too much. Superman is a journalist who comes from humble origins yet somehow lives in a luxury high-rise. A very different reality from the difficult job market and the pending recession that is plaguing most Americans. However, the film did offer me a glimmer of hope as to how we portray fatherhood in the mainstream media.

Superman and the Estado dos Homens Americanos

I read loads of articles, blogs, and discussion posts about the portrayal of masculinity in the latest Superman flick – everything from how he channels power to protect – not perform – machismo to whether the story frames masculinity as accountability, tenderness with boundaries, equitable partnership with Lois, and non-violent problem-solving. I found little that distinguishes this Superman from past versions or even other superheroes who exhibit similar traits. Spider-Man and Captain America, for example, run on similar fuel: self-restraint, “help the little guy,” accountability after mistakes, and a bias toward de-escalation before force – the classic “with great power comes great responsibility.” This isn’t a dig at the movie itself; it’s limited in social commentary because of the genre constraints of being a superhero movie. A two-hour myth can’t possibly carry the weight of real men’s anxieties about work, purpose, and belonging. If we want a snapshot of those realities, we need data.

What our Data Says About the Estado dos Homens Americanos

 

Provider pressure is the headline.

In our most recent biennial report, the Estado dos Homens Americanos 2025, we found that 86 percent of men, and 77 percent of women, say “being a provider” is the top trait of manhood today (page 10). That’s a huge load to carry, especially when the “American Dream” feels out of reach and many men say their jobs don’t confer status or reputation (page 12). Superman himself performs an idealized, maximal version of provision – shouldering everyone’s burdens, all the time. It’s moving on screen; it’s crushing as a daily expectation. Is that really the pressure we want to raise our sons with?

 

Economic anxiety bites hard and shows up in mental health.

On-screen, Clark seems to have it all – the dream job, a bright high-rise apartment in Metropolis, and a steady, growing relationship with Lois. That clean arc is miles from what’s pushing distress for many men right now. Economic anxieties are very real and have profound impacts on mental health: Among men facing financial instability, the odds of recent suicidal thoughts jump 16.3× (for women, 7.3×), with the link strongest for Asian, then Black, then White, then Hispanic men. For men 25+, being off-track in one’s career correlates with a lower sense of meaning and purpose. In other words, Superman’s stability (career, housing, partner, clear mission) is out of reach for most and not reflective of the real struggles facing men and women in 2025.

 

Restrictive masculinity is edging up, and it’s costly.

The old script is getting louder: agreement with “Caixa de Homem” beliefs has risen since 2017. Men who buy into the Man Box are 6.3× more likely to report recent suicidal ideation, and men with high economic anxiety are 1.8× more likely to be in that box. Most men – 63 percent – say they wish they were “more masculine,” especially Gen Z; economic anxiety doubles that wish.

This is where the film’s limits in the masculinity discussion show: a noble speech won’t loosen a vise made of bills, job insecurity, and status loss – but a different model of purpose and meaning, grounded in care, can nudge the norms that make that vise feel inevitable.

 

Here’s the hopeful pivot: care and fatherhood.

On screen, the center of gravity isn’t “healthy masculinity” in the abstract – it’s caregiving made ordinary. Jonathan Kent, Clark’s adopted father, sets guardrails (power as responsibility), Martha Kent, makes compassion routine (check on your neighbor, clean up your mess), and Clark tries to live that script in public – sharing credit with Lois, apologizing when he overreaches, just generally trying his best and learning from his mistakes. That ethic maps to what we see off-screen: care doesn’t erase hardship, but it does anchor meaning. Fathers are 1.3× more likely to report a sense of purpose than men without children, and audiences seem ready to resource the kind of caregiving the Kents model – 61 percent support paid parental leave, 64 percent support child tax credits, 64 percent support subsidized child/elder care. If we cheer for the Kents’ style of parenting, the next step is obvious: build the policies that let more families be present – time, flexibility, and affordable care.

 

The Not-So-Secret Source of the New Superman’s Power: Caring Parenthood

Strip away the cape and you’ve got a kid who learned – early on – that strength is for service and being of service is a strength. Gunn’s movie gives the Kents a gentle beat later on: a moment in the town Clark grew up in, Smallville, that grounds Superman after the noise, with his parents tending to him at the farm. Martha’s steady presence was as much a reset as any pep talk. His dad doesn’t do speeches so much as habits: show up, tell the truth, do the work no one sees. Boundaries, too – power without restraint isn’t heroism; it’s ego. And when Clark messes up (because kids do), Dad models repair: apologize, fix what you can, try again tomorrow.

Martha makes it stick. She’s the everyday cadence – the check-ins, the casserole, the “are you taking care of yourself?” – that keeps all that strength pointed toward people. (If you’re listening to it, the film is full of domestic beats – quiet care amid spectacle.)

That’s the engine of the myth. Caring parenthood teaches Superman empathy and purpose. It tracks with what we see off-screen as well: parenthood isn’t a job; it’s a practice that gives children a script for care and gives men and boys a reason to use their power well. In other words, Superman isn’t Superman despite being someone’s son. He’s Superman because, just like every other boy, he was born to care – and was also cared for, cared about, and taught to exercise his care muscles.