What makes for the ideal start to your morning? Is it the gentle embrace of a stretch, sipping coffee while still in bed, or perhaps a brisk walk under the sun? Maybe it’s enjoying a hearty breakfast or successfully staying away from your phone for the first 20 minutes of the day, before inevitably scrolling through Instagram. Recently, it seems this question has been tangled up with the notion of productivity.
The concept of the “perfect” morning routine has become almost legendary among young adults, heavily promoted by fitness influencers who boast about their pre-dawn routines starting as early as 5:30 AM. They claim to conquer weight training, consume meals rich in macronutrients, and blitz through emails all before many of us hear our first alarm, suggesting that if we just had the discipline to rise early, our lives would vastly improve.
This growing trend reaches new heights of inadequacy thanks to US fitness influencer, Ashton Hall. Last month, he went viral with his extreme morning routine. The video portrays Hall waking up at 3:52 AM, immersing his face in ice baths, following a unique skincare regimen involving banana peels, meditating, journaling, and engaging in several workouts to maintain his chiseled physique. Female assistants flutter in the background, preparing towels, serving breakfast, and presenting branded Saratoga glass water bottles—often seen only by their hands. In his TikTok and Instagram post, Hall credits this routine for transforming his life, warning against the perils of the night by asserting that avoiding late-night pitfalls and practicing his rigorous schedule for the first four hours of the day is the answer to weak minds, poor decisions, or lackluster productivity. If you’re plugged into social media, chances are you’ve seen the clip—it’s already amassed over 900 million views at the time of writing.
The video has ignited a storm of discussions. People are questioning whether it was made seriously or is simply a clever content strategy by Hall, who is known to create buzz for a living. Even deeper, it has sparked debates around modern masculinity. Activist Matt Bernstein pointed out on social media that “15 years ago this routine might’ve been labeled as ‘gay’ or ‘metrosexual,’ but today it’s considered the epitome of alpha male behavior. Something’s definitely shifted.”
These last few years have been rife with conversations about the disturbing rise of hyper-macho figures like Andrew Tate, whose brand of misogyny promotes outdated gender norms, celebrates domestic violence, and openly dismisses women’s rights. In contrast, Hall’s viral video follows amid a public discourse on curbing these negative ideologies spreading through social media. Fueled by the Netflix series Adolescence, which argues against the susceptibility of all young men to violent misogynistic thoughts, the video seems to mark a corner of harmless male self-optimization, a departure from what we expect of alpha influencers.
Yet, Hall’s video highlights the ridiculousness within hustle culture. But is that its only takeaway about contemporary men? It may appear humorous, and Hall might come off as kinder and more polite than others like Tate, often thanking the women involved in his video. However, it’s part of a once-fringe discussion space now hitting the mainstream. This platform gradually adjusts and evolves, attracting a growing number of young men drawn to a conservative gender ideology. Hall finds himself peddling a slightly less toxic version of the same alpha ethos.
While some men might reject the blatant extremism of Tate, it doesn’t mean they aren’t drawn to a world characterized by masculine dominance. Content here feeds into an individualistic, ego-driven male fantasy that glorifies immaculate physiques and instigates a relentless pursuit towards austere, success-fueled individualism.
Additionally, Hall promotes a puritanical Christian lifestyle, not only in his content but also through a paid mentorship scheme. Through this, he advises men to forsake casual encounters and refrain from seeking to impress women, advocating for life changes that primarily serve oneself and divine principles. As cultural podcaster Beth McColl pointed out, “You have to live a clean life in service to God – but you’re nearly divine yourself, for all perfection serves you as well.”
While Hall’s content doesn’t scream overt misogyny, it pushes regressive notions of masculinity. It reinforces the conservative streak seen among Gen-Z men, portraying a universe where men are worshipped and served by compliant, secondary women. Yet, unlike material directly supporting patriarchal structures, these videos present a benign appearance—making them more potent in spreading the understated implication that happiness and success for both genders depend on archaic roles.
A concerning number of young men align with the radical viewpoints of figures like Tate. However, alone, Tate and his ilk can’t instigate broader cultural shifts. That’s achieved through subtler, more acceptable versions like what Hall presents—an incremental tilt toward patriarchy subtly cloaked in benign motivations, feeding into many newly evolved misogynistic channels.
We shouldn’t blame Ashton Hall for the gender rift we face today, yet we must recognize the issues his content represents. Ignoring such influences under the guise of dismissing them as harmless equates to allowing detrimental ideologies to spread unchecked, which forecasts a bleaker future for us all.
Sarah Manavis shares these perspectives as a US writer and critic residing in the UK.
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