As a man who has always been surrounded by books, a question has followed me for years, becoming more perplexing with time: Why do so many of my male friends, colleagues, and peers seem to have a natural aversion to reading? I know countless sharp, intelligent men who can dissect a complex film or a business problem with ease, but have no desire to pick up a book.

It’s not just a feeling; the statistics are stark. Studies and sales figures consistently show that women buy the vast majority of books—close to 80%, by some estimates. Look at book clubs, at library check-out rates, at literary event attendance; the numbers lean heavily female.

This isn't a judgment, but an honest observation that leads back to the original, nagging question: Why? Is it a matter of time, interest, or knowing what to read? As I’ve looked for answers, I’ve realized it’s a tapestry woven from threads of social expectation, competing worlds, and a deep-seated debate about what is considered a “useful” way for a man to spend his time.

The Blueprint of Manhood: Usefulness Over Empathy?

One of the most common threads I’ve found is the idea of utility. A man I spoke with, reflecting on his ex-husband’s habits, put it plainly: his friend group recommended non-fiction because those books were seen as more "useful." Fiction was frivolous. If you’re going to invest hours in a book, it should provide a tangible return: a business strategy, a productivity hack, a new way to understand the stock market.

This ties into a deeper, more ingrained social script. As one person eloquently put it, every boy learns what a man should be: "Stoic. Tough. No crying. Rich... Basically 007." In this model of masculinity, there is little room for the core engine of fiction: empathy.

Fiction, at its best, demands that we view the world through someone else's eyes, to feel their joy, their sorrow, their confusion. This journey into another’s emotional landscape can be deeply rewarding, but it stands in direct opposition to the stoic ideal. As one commenter theorized, "The first time a young boy read a book that made him cry, he probably decided then and there not to read anymore, because it 'turned him into a pussy.'" This single, powerful image captures how a culture that discourages emotional expression in men might inadvertently build a world where they don't read fiction.

This idea is echoed in sociological theories about “bedroom culture.” From a young age, girls are often encouraged in quieter, indoor activities—reading, writing, talking with friends—that foster storytelling and emotional exchange. Boys, on the other hand, are often pushed outside to play sports, where the focus is on action and competition, not introspection or narrative. The very toys we buy—dollhouses for girls, tractors for boys—subtly reinforce these separate worlds.

The New Campfire: When Games Tell the Story

Of course, it’s not just about what men are pushed away from, but also what they are pulled towards.

An older gentleman in his sixties shared a fascinating perspective. In his youth, the primary alternative to reading was sports. But for his sons, now in their late 30s and 40s, it’s video games. He noted that while his sons don’t read fiction, they are deeply engaged in storytelling. He wrote, "Video gaming remains the primary way they socialize... they're doing a dungeon crawl, fighting an evil space empire, or building a civilization... If you think about what literature accomplishes, it allows the reader to immerse themself in a different world, enjoy different experiences, and learn about other people. As gaming has evolved, it checks a LOT of literature's boxes on the fun side."

He’s right. Modern video games offer deeply immersive narratives, complex characters, and moral dilemmas. But they add two crucial elements: agency and, most importantly, social connection. For many men, gaming isn’t a solitary act; it’s the modern-day equivalent of playing a round of golf or shooting some hoops. It’s how they connect with their friends. In a world where men's friendships are often built around shared activities rather than shared feelings, participatory storytelling can be a more comfortable fit than the quiet, solitary empathy of reading.

The Unspoken Cost and the Path Forward

So, we have a culture that often devalues the emotional work of fiction and a technology that offers a compelling, social alternative. Does it matter?

Author Neil Gaiman makes a powerful case that it does. In his book Art Matters, he draws a direct line between childhood literacy, the development of empathy through reading stories, and even adult outcomes like incarceration. He argues that reading fiction is not a frivolous luxury but an immense social good—a tool that "allows us to open, broaden, deepen and awaken our feelings."

This leaves us with a profound sense of conflict. We have men who feel the pull of a good story, but get their "diet" from movies and games. We have men who see the value in learning, but gravitate only towards non-fiction that feels "useful." And we have a generation of men who may have the desire to engage with the powerful ideas locked in books, but are simply too overwhelmed and time-poor to start.

This is where we need to build a bridge.

For many, the biggest barrier isn't a lack of desire, but a lack of time and an easy entry point. This is precisely the problem we're trying to solve at Nookix. We understand that for a busy professional, committing to a 10-hour audiobook or a 400-page non-fiction book feels like an impossible task.

That's why we distill the key insights from the world's best non-fiction books into 15-minute, podcast-style audio episodes. We focus on the "useful" books that men are already drawn to—business, technology, science, productivity, and leadership. We make it effortless to turn a commute, a workout, or a lunch break into a moment of powerful learning.

Nookix can be a gateway. It helps build the habit of learning and consuming book-based ideas in a format that fits a modern man's life. By making it easy to engage with the world of non-fiction, we hope to rekindle the spark of curiosity that might, one day, lead back to a love of all reading—fiction included.

Ultimately, the question of why men don't read has no single answer. It’s a complex mix of how we raise our boys, the stories we value, and the worlds we build to escape into. But perhaps the path to bringing more men back to books isn't about forcing a change, but about meeting them where they are—with ideas that feel useful, in a format that respects their time.

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Why do the majority of men NOT read?