The Golden Girls and the Representation of Male Vulnerability: What It Taught Me About Being a Man in a Changing World.
This is the final essay in a full series of essays on The Golden Girls.
Growing up, I never saw many examples of men being emotionally open. Typically it was the opposite. Even in the best of circumstances. Mr. Rogers was the given holdout, but even with his popularity back then, he was still considered Children’s Programming, and not given much thought by grown men in a society dominated by hyper-masculinity, counter culture, and the Patriotic Exceptionalism that was so rife during Reagan’s ‘Morning in America.’ And that just wasn’t how things worked — not only in Altoona, or Felixstowe, England, but throughout the world I was expected to navigate. Boys were told to toughen up, to push things down, to keep moving forward without letting anything crack the exterior. Vulnerability wasn’t just discouraged; it was foreign. It wasn’t a conversation to be had, it was something to be ridiculed. Whether you had either too little like Richard Simmons, or too much like Arnold Schwarzenegger and Stallone.
As a kid spending time in Altoona, I was often under the care of my grandparents. My grandmother, in particular, shaped the way I viewed relationships, aging, and human connection. Later, I found myself in Felixstowe, England on what felt like a way-too-early-coming-of-age Walkabout. The kind I’ve written about in books elsewhere. But as an outsider, one of the only Americans in a small Victorian seaside town, or at least the only one my own age, it was confusing and difficult. And life then was very different.
Even though the Golden Girls had launched in the United States at roughly the same time as Miami Vice on TV, it took a little longer for programming to share both shows. So while boys of that era were being influenced by the hit show about masculinity, drugs and shootouts. Cheesecake, coffee and conversation would need a season or two to catch up on the BBC.
Thus, the Golden Girls later became an extension of that. The show wasn’t just about four older women navigating life together. The show was about people allowing themselves to be seen and even understood, albeit with a laugh-track and a one-liner. Their friendships were a space where emotions weren’t shut down but explored, where even the hardest conversations were softened by understanding. And, perhaps most importantly for me, it was one of the first places I saw men who were flawed, unsure, occasionally ridiculous, being vulnerable in ways that felt real, or what I realized was fully absent in the small world I navigated.
Male Vulnerability in a Culture That Fears It:
Growing up in Altoona, Pennsylvania, a rusting old train town that time had forgotten, masculinity was defined by a particular set of unspoken rules. Men were expected to be strong, self-sufficient, and unemotional. And America was still reeling and dealing with their broken boys from Vietnam who either never returned physically, or never returned mentally and emotionally.
And the Golden Girls spoke about this, and challenged it. It didn’t portray men as stoic figures who had everything figured out. Instead, it showed them as uncertain, struggling with loss, love, and identity in ways that felt deeply human.
One of the most powerful examples of this is “Dorothy’s Prized Pupil” (Season 2, Episode 21), where Dorothy mentors Mario, a bright young student who dreams of a better life. When Mario faces deportation, Dorothy is devastated. She fights for him, tries to protect him, but ultimately, she loses. What struck me was how raw her pain was. She doesn’t brush it off or pretend it doesn’t hurt. She grieves openly. And in doing so, she models something that was rarely shown in male-centric narratives at the time: the strength in admitting when something has broken you. She was playing Brando or Bogart. And those who recognized it, knew. I was a teenager, and I knew it.
This was a lesson I would carry with me.
Being a man didn’t mean shutting down. It meant being brave enough to feel.
Fathers, Sons, and the Struggle for Connection:
If there was one relationship that mirrored my own struggles with male vulnerability, it was the dynamic between Stan and Dorothy. Stan, Dorothy’s ex-husband, is a man trapped in the expectations of traditional masculinity. He hides behind arrogance, money, and charm, but underneath it all, he is deeply insecure. He needs validation, but he doesn’t know how to ask for it.
His character was frustrating, but also familiar. He was a reminder of how often men, raised in a culture that discourages emotional openness, struggle to express their needs and even their own individuality. And Dorothy being the sharp-tongued, no-nonsense co-lead was the counterbalance. She didn’t indulge his avoidance, but she also never shut him out completely. Their dynamic was filled with unspoken wounds, but there were also moments of genuine honesty. She often made the fool whole, even if he was unable to commit to such high-minded things, and Stan couldn’t.
In “Stan Takes a Wife” (Season 5, Episode 2), Stan, a very unlikable character, remarries and tries to present himself as having moved on completely. But in a rare moment of openness, he admits to Dorothy that he will always love her. It’s a fleeting scene, but it stuck with me. Vulnerability, when it does appear in male characters, is often framed as weakness. But here, it felt like growth which made watching Stan’s appearances on the show far more bearable.
I thought about this often when reflecting on my own upbringing. The way any of the male parental or father figures in my life, whether in Altoona or Felixstowe, struggled to say the things they truly felt, or even be honest enough with me to share something valuable. Most men might tell similar stories about the lack of compassion, derth of both warmth and honesty from other male adults in their life was fully absent as a daily norm.
And so, the possibility of real connection was often buried under layers of pride and expectation. Watching The Golden Girls, I saw the alternative — a space where those feelings were allowed to surface, even if imperfectly.
Learning to Embrace Emotion:
Felixstowe, England was often a lonely place for an American kid. I stood out in ways I couldn’t control, and the sense of disconnect was constant. I was in a place so isolated and remote that being accepted into that local fabric was unlikely to ever happen. And if it ever did, whether I knew it or not, I would always be seen as an oddity or outsider, despite all my efforts. During that time, I relied heavily on my years in Pennsylvania, of the time spent with my grandparents. My grandmother’s laughter, her humour and quiet wisdom. Those days of Central Pennsylvania were the good things I had to think about and they grounded me as much as they could ground a 12 year old boy.
But years later, well into my twenties, in the moments when those memories felt distant, and I was even further from that solace of my grandparents, The Golden Girls was another anchor. It was proof to me that relationships, real and meaningful ones, could be built not just on silence and stoicism. They were also built on honesty, on sharing fears, and on allowing yourself to be seen.
Dorothy Zbornak:
It would be a sin to write up any amount of thoughtful content about the Golden Girls without disclosing to the reader “who the author sees in their own perspective as the Golden Girl they most identify with.” It’s easy to love Rose as she’s usually a lot of people’s default first. Have a few conversations about the Golden Girls and you’ll hear a lot about Rose Nyland’s naïve charm and on-going optimism to no end. I also agree with anything good said about the lasting positivity and curiosity of Rose as a way forward.
For me, Dorothy’s on-going facial expressions were an absolute stand-out behaviour that became quickly modeled and brought into my own practices, years ago. It was probably the first thing I actually adopted from the show when it was on the air. Her quick-wittedness, eagerness to stand-up to injustice and intolerance, and the way she could both be angry and well-spoken at the same time was really the most fascinating aspect of her character that, as a man, fascinated me to no end. In this world, it’s not always good to ‘drop anger’ and acquiesce to every difficult encounter, but how do you maintain those feelings and yet be eloquent and gifted enough to still communicate effectively? There’s barely an education for that anywhere. Dorothy Zbornak is a character archetype all of her own and a portrait study for the ages that most men would benefit from closer study. We should all aspire to be that wonderfully ascerbic, endearing, and disapproving of shenaniganizing — while engaging in shenanignas in our personal lives.
Final thoughts: A Different Kind of Strength:
Masculinity, as it was traditionally taught, was about control. About never letting emotions dictate actions. But The Golden Girls presented a different vision. One where strength wasn’t about suppression, but expression.
The show didn’t just teach me about friendship or aging. It taught me about what it meant to be human. It showed me men who were uncertain, flawed, and afraid, but who still allowed themselves to feel. It reinforced what my grandparents had modeled for me in Pennsylvania: that vulnerability isn’t weakness. It’s what makes real connections possible, even as they themselves struggled with these issues in their own way.
In a world that still struggles with these same ideas, I maintain that lesson. Being a man doesn’t mean never feeling lost. It doesn’t mean pretending not to hurt. It means showing up, being present, and, when necessary, sitting down at a kitchen table with the people who see you for who you truly are and participating. Even when everything hurts. You just need to be strong enough and patient enough to talk about it in a way that you not only are heard but in ways that you’re able to hear the response.
. . .
This is the final essay on The Golden Girls. The others are as follows:
1. Lessons in Aging: How The Golden Girls Shaped My Perspective on Growing Older with Purpose
2. The Golden Girls and the Psychology of Found Family: A Model for Overcoming Abandonment
3. Grief, Loss, and Moving Forward: The Golden Girls as a Blueprint for Navigating Life’s Goodbyes
5. The Golden Girls in the Time of COVID-19: Finding Solace, Connection, and Meaning in Isolation.
