FHM US

In an age where nearly every experience is curated, documented, optimized, and shared, the decision to travel alone has quietly become one of the most radical choices a man can make. What was once seen as impractical, antisocial, or even indulgent is now being reconsidered as something essential. In a world that constantly demands engagement, availability, and explanation, choosing solitude—especially in motion—feels increasingly deliberate. January 2026 opens with a noticeable shift in how American men are moving through the world. They are not chasing crowds, bargains, or bragging rights. They aren’t planning trips around content opportunities or itineraries designed for external validation. Instead, they are stepping onto planes, trains, and long highways alone, moving without an audience, without obligation, and without the familiar layers of noise that usually accompany daily…

Tell us about the moment you found out you would be featured in the magazine. What was your initial reaction? Christmas is my favorite season of the year. The warmth and joy we share with family and friends. I was elated to get the call during my family’s Christmas dinner. It made this Christmas 2025 all the more special. I had an overwhelming sense of joy and gratitude to know I’d be featured in January’s issue. What an amazing way to start the New Year of 2026. Can you share your favorite shot or spread from the magazine, and why it holds special significance for you? As a little girl, I would stay up watching old films, admiring actresses like Rita Hayworth, Elizabeth Taylor, and Ava Gardner. I wanted to…

There was a time when sports didn’t need explaining. You played because it felt good. You watched because it mattered. You learned the rules before you learned the stakes, not because someone told you to, but because curiosity demanded it. The field, the court, the diamond—these were places where attention was earned, not demanded, and meaning emerged naturally through effort, repetition, and shared experience. Sports were not content. They were lived moments. Somewhere along the way, that relationship changed. For many American men, sports drifted from participation into passive consumption, from ritual into background noise. Games stayed on screens while phones stayed in hands. Highlights replaced full matches. Opinions replaced observation. A constant scroll of hot takes, fantasy stats, betting odds, and manufactured outrage dulled what once felt sharp and…

For years, masculinity has been framed as a crisis—debated, dissected, and endlessly reframed through headlines and hashtags. Too toxic. Too fragile. Too loud. Too quiet. Too much of everything and somehow never enough of the right things. The modern American man has spent the better part of a decade being told what he should stop doing, stop wanting, stop saying, and stop being. Often, these prescriptions come from voices more interested in critique than comprehension, more invested in shaping narratives than understanding the lived experience of men navigating a rapidly changing world. Public conversation has treated masculinity as a problem to be managed rather than a force to be understood. Strength is routinely confused with aggression. Silence is mistaken for emotional illiteracy. Confidence is framed as dominance. Vulnerability is demanded…

For most of modern American history, drinking served as shorthand for masculinity. First beers with friends marked entry into manhood. Shots followed wins. Whiskeys were poured to soften losses, celebrate milestones, or simply mark the end of a long day. Alcohol wasn’t just a substance—it was a social language. It structured male bonding, lubricated conversation, and offered a culturally approved outlet for stress, emotion, and release. To drink was to participate fully in the group. To abstain was to invite questions, jokes, or suspicion. For decades, excess was quietly celebrated. Tolerance became a badge of honor. Hangovers were laughed off as proof of a night well spent. Drinking hard and often signaled resilience, toughness, and social belonging. Few men paused to ask whether it actually made their lives better; alcohol…

For decades, financial culture told men one story, and it was loud, relentless, and all-encompassing: grind harder, chase every opportunity, flaunt your success, and measure yourself against endless benchmarks. Hustle wasn’t just a tactic—it became an ideology. Early mornings and late nights were badges of honor, proof that effort equaled worth. Side hustles weren’t optional—they were mandatory, a signal that a man was willing to sacrifice sleep, health, and even social connection in pursuit of financial elevation. The rise of social media amplified this narrative to unprecedented heights. Wealth was displayed like a spectator sport, judged by the sparkle of cars, the sleek lines of penthouse apartments, the perfectly curated vacations with ideal skylines, sunsets, and cocktails in frame. Comparison became currency, envy became motivation, and noise drowned out nuance.…