Mike Smith spent more than a decade as a US Navy fighter pilot. Then he made a sharp turn: trading deployments and jets for planting trees and building businesses focused on reforestation and sustainability. The decision traced back, he says, to a childhood memory — the Lowman fire near his home in central Idaho. As a nine-year-old he watched a forest go up in flames until a column of smoke looked like a mushroom cloud. Two decades later, returning with his wife, he found the scarred ground still black. That image stayed with him and eventually led him to found a company that plants trees after wildfires and helps other businesses cut emissions.
As he moved into the climate world, Smith noticed something striking: many of the people working on environmental issues were women. He was not imagining it. The pattern has been documented by social scientists as the “green gender gap” — women tending to express greater concern about climate change than men. Political scientist Amanda Clayton has shown that this gap tends to grow as countries become wealthier, but not because women get more worried. Instead, men’s concern drops as wealth and political polarization increase.
Why does that happen? One important factor is how climate action gets framed and politicized. In richer countries the debate frequently becomes a partisan issue. When conservative political and industry leaders promote skepticism or frame climate policies as threats to jobs, identities and traditional roles, that messaging can resonate with men who were socialized to see themselves as providers and protectors. Fears about losing well-paid jobs in male-dominated sectors like oil, gas or mining, or about being forced to give up gas-powered vehicles, can make climate action feel like an attack on masculinity. Scholars sometimes call this dynamic petro-masculinity: fossil fuels becoming wrapped up in masculine identity.
Recent research also finds a direct link between climate concern and perceived threats to masculinity. If taking climate action feels like surrendering a symbol of manhood, people may resist it not for scientific reasons but to avoid feeling emasculated.
Some practitioners are testing different approaches. Psychologist Vidar Vetterfalk works with MÄN, a Swedish organization that engages men and boys to question narrow gender norms. In group sessions he asks men to talk about what they like in nature and what worries them about its future. The point isn’t to shame; it’s to create connection. For many participants, a chance to speak about values and listen together is new and powerful. That relational space can open men to caring without attacking their identity.
Reaching men who have never engaged on these topics is harder, but there are other promising strategies. Smith says down-to-earth, blame-free conversations help. He also leans on his background: “ex-fighter pilot” gives him credibility in conversations with men who might otherwise tune out. That credibility gives him “room to maneuver” when discussing issues stereotypically coded as feminine.
Practical appeals matter too. Many men respond when climate action is framed in ways that improve their lives: saving money on fuel and energy, gaining energy independence, or using new tools and technologies. Solar panels, electric vehicles and battery systems can be sold not only as environmentally friendly but as useful, resilient, even rugged technologies. Some carmakers now market EVs as powerful workhorses that can run tools, power a camp, or act as backup generators — signals that electricity and clean tech can fit within a masculine identity.
At a deeper level, Smith and others argue that what motivates many people — men included — is purpose. Military service, for example, gives recruits a mission-driven identity. If climate work can be presented as a mission that provides purpose, status and tangible impact, it can appeal across gender lines.
The takeaway is not that masculinity must change overnight, nor that men are inherently indifferent. Rather, how climate action is communicated and the kinds of roles and identities available around it matter. Approaches that emphasize connection, shared purpose, practical benefits and credible messengers can reduce the perception that caring for the planet is unmanly. Over time, reframing and visible examples of people who combine traditional masculine traits with climate leadership — from foresters and engineers to veterans planting trees — can weaken the idea that environmental concern is gendered and help build broader support for change.