The Aesthetic of Fatherhood vs. the Reality of Showing Up
There’s a growing number of men who are enamored with the aesthetic of family—being seen as the head of the house, receiving “grootman” nods in the street for having kids, and projecting the image of the perfect father. But when you peel back the Instagram filters and Father’s Day captions, the reality often tells a different story.
It’s one thing to post pictures with your child; it’s another to actually raise them.
Ask some of these men to change a nappy and they’ll act as if it’s beneath them—“gross,” they’ll say, pulling a face. Ask them to buy the right baby formula, a specific brand of ointment, or allergy medicine, and they’ll come back with the wrong item, chuckling about how “the mom should’ve done it anyway” because that’s “her department.”
Potty training? Too weird. Bath time? Too complicated. But this child is his bloodline, right?
Suggest that he take the child to a doctor’s appointment, and you’ll get a dozen phone calls: “What are their allergies again?” “Which clinic is it?” “What’s their date of birth?” Basic information—a blank.
He doesn’t know his child’s handwriting, their best friend’s name, or what subjects they love at school. He hasn’t helped plan a birthday party and couldn’t tell you if the theme should be dinosaurs or unicorns. Yet he still proudly declares, “I’m present. I didn’t run away like the others.”
And that’s the problem: the bar is in hell.
Because in a world full of absentee fathers, simply staying is seen as a badge of honor. But presence without participation is not parenting—it’s performance. You can take a thousand selfies with your child and still not know them. You can live under the same roof and still be a stranger to their inner world.
Trash can come wrapped in pretty colours. Just because a man didn’t walk away doesn’t mean he showed up.
The aesthetic of fatherhood is easy. The reality? That takes effort, humility, and heart. And it’s about time we stopped applauding men for doing the bare minimum.
I love my son with my whole heart.
For months before he was born I prepared it for him. I dropped bad habits. I watched videos with my wife and took courses, went with her to appointments, tried to understand what she was going through..
I had no expectations for what was to come. It radically changed me.
I was in the room when my son was born. I didn’t look away, because I wanted to experience what was happening, to see it with my own two eyes, to know when the going got tough what my wife did to bring this baby into our world, what her body went through. It was brutal. He was born. I held my breath until he was crying in her arms and then became a puddle.
About a week after he was born, my wife came down with an infection, and I had to watch my newborn son for three days on my own. I was terrified, but we made it through. I will never forget this, what it meant to me to be both of this child’s parents, to be there for my wife and give her space to heal. It was everything.
We grew closer. We distributed the work. We gave each other breaks. We learned. We screwed up. We made adjustments. We kept going. It was so beautiful.
I’ve learned so much, about myself, my wife, my son. I can do it all by myself if I need to. We can share the load.
For men not to have this experience, I pity them. It’s made me what I am, and I love my family so goddamn much as a result. I love my wife for all the prep work, for all she gave for my son to be here in our lives. The performative dads that pretend, while their wives do literally all the heavy lifting, are children. It’s a shame they cannot break the generational patterns that led to what they think being a man, being a father is.
We’re breaking the patterns, and my son will grow up with a dad who loves him and is not grossed out or afraid to be with him and love him in all aspects of his life.
Valid point but it raises good argument.