There is a suggestion some from representatives of the Donald Trump administration influenced the decision of Romanian authorities to let the Tates leave the country. On the flip side, they are also facing a criminal probe in Florida.

There will certainly be discussion of the overlaps between Trump's policy positions and the views that Tate promotes. There is an unmistakable alignment of their shared penchant for right-wing populism, anti-immigration outlooks, the revival of “strong man” masculinity hierarchies and sensationalized digital culture warfare.

It has become almost instinctive to assume that the young men drawn to Andrew Tate and the broader manosphere are primarily from working class or economically disadvantaged backgrounds.

This narrative, often pushed by well-intentioned commentators, suggests economic hardship explains the appeal of these hyper-masculine spaces.

It also assumes that threats from gender equity and feminism are perceived exclusively by men within these communities, despite the power to resist social progress located among men of significant social and economic capital at the helm of large organizations or in government roles.

The Australian artist Tim Minchin, for example, has pointed to how financial struggle can leave young men vulnerable to promises of wealth and status offered by figures like Tate.

But while economic context plays a role, this explanation is incomplete and, frankly, risks misdirecting the focus from the key endgame and the central “promise” of the manosphere.

First, there is the glaring contradiction, the persistent stream of news stories about boys from elite schools and prestigious universities engaging in misogynistic behavior.

Recent cases from top private schools in Australia and the United Kingdom as well as Ivy League higher education institutions in the US demonstrate that the attraction of manosphere messaging is not confined to those who aspire to economic mobility.

Wealthy young men, who already possess significant social capital, are just as susceptible. If the primary lure were financial, why would those already ensconced in privilege be drawn to it? Clearly, there is something deeper at play.

This narrative also reduces the manosphere's influence to a simplistic get-rich-quick scheme.

The manosphere is, at its heart, a revival and reinforcement of patriarchal power structures. It promises young men not just financial success, but a return to a world where male authority goes unchallenged, a world where women's roles are subordinate and clearly defined.

Interestingly, this economic hardship narrative comes from voices across the political spectrum. On the left, figures such as Tim Minchin and Owen Jones have discussed the allure of the manosphere in terms of economic disempowerment, framing it as a reaction to neoliberal failures and economic inequality.

While these perspectives highlight valid concerns about social mobility, they risk sidelining the central role of gender ideology. The manosphere's appeal is not solely a response to material conditions; it is also a powerful reaffirmation of traditional gender hierarchies.

On the right, commentators such as Piers Morgan and Jordan Peterson offer similar explanations, but from different ideological angles. Morgan has framed the issue as a response to male disempowerment in a tough job market, while Peterson often points to the lack of purpose among young men facing economic stagnation.

How such hostile economic conditions affect young women, their reactions to such conditions rarely, if ever, get a look in.

And anyway, despite their differing worldviews, these analyses converge on an economic rationale that overlooks how the manosphere strategically exploits gendered notions of power and dominance.

This misunderstanding has serious consequences. A focus predominantly on economic factors risks underestimating how deeply gender norms influence behavior.

It can also overlook how sexism and misogyny flourish in elite spaces where economic anxiety is minimal in relative terms.

The reality is that the manosphere's promises of restored power resonate because they offer a clear, if toxic, script for reasserting male dominance in a world where traditional gender hierarchies are being challenged.

In tackling the influence of the manosphere, it is essential to move beyond the narrative that it is solely a product of economic hardship.

It is not without irony that these very feelings are stoked by very wealthy men who are in different ways complicit in, or take advantage of, growing economic hardship.

But these feelings are obviously shared by many middle-class and/or moderately wealthy men who, emboldened by Tate and other manosphere figures, contribute to a resurgent and unapologetic sexism in contemporary times.

Failure to recognize this risks leaving the core of the problem unaddressed, and leaving young men vulnerable to a seductive but ultimately harmful ideology that is dangerous for women, girls and gender-diverse people, and to boys and men themselves.

This focus on economic drivers of extremist sexism also works to make it justifiable, based on real or perceived challenges to stability and livelihood.

This fails to recognize that women and gender-diverse people harmed by manosphere ideologies are discarded as collateral in men's struggle to survive in challenging economic landscapes, a precarity not exclusively experienced by men of any particular class background.

As disheartened as many of are about any prospective lack of just process for Tate's accusers, this moment also offers an opportunity to underscore that the revival of gender power and the sexism that ensues is led and perpetrated by elite, wealthy men who whip up disaffection to bring less-advantaged men with them.

It is time to shift the narrative and confront this head-on, in schools, in workplaces, in policy discussions and in the media.

To stop excusing extremist sexism as an understandable response to hardship and start recognizing it as the calculated, well-funded backlash that it is. Society cannot let the wealthier instigators off the hook and leave women, girls and gender-diverse people exposed to real harm.

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Steven Roberts is a professor of education and social justice and Head of the School of Education, Culture and Society at Monash University, where Stephanie Wescott is a feminist researcher and lecturer in humanities and social sciences in the School of Education, Culture and Society. The article is republished under a Creative Commons license.