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narutopg How the ‘Manosphere’ Became Mainstream Entertainment

Whenever Bill Belichick, the 72-year-old former head coach of the New England Patriots, goes out in public with his girlfriend, Jordon Hudson, who is exactly one-third his age, they tend to draw attention. It was no different at the 2025 N.F.L. Honors earlier this month. Everything about the red-carpet photos accentuates their Evel Knievel-size age gap: Belichick looks sedately pleased in a maroon blazer, like a car dealer at a Shriners banquet; Hudson beams in a sparkly Cirque du Soleil-style number that covers approximately 12 percent of her torso. That’s what most people seemed to notice about the pictures.

But not Dave Portnoy. The founder and owner of Barstool Sports — the Utne Reader for the light-domestic-swilling, backslapping, Zyn-packing, parlay-chasing American male — Portnoy has long been treated as an avatar for everything that elite media is not. Barstool might be considered the outermost ring of the so-called manosphere, the vast realm of male-oriented alternative media that has been credited with the rightward drift of the young male vote. Portnoy — a Trump supporter with a long history of misogynistic comments and bullying, who has been accused of nonconsensually filming women during uncomfortably rough sex — doesn’t exactly run away from that label. (He has denied the claims about sexual misconduct and filed a suit against the outlet that published them; it was dismissed.) And what he noticed about the photos of Belichick and Hudson was the clutch Hudson wore, which was shaped like a little football: “Very cool purse from BB’s girlfriend,” he posted on X. “Football girlfriend purse.”

Floor-to-ceiling windows and skylights fill large living spaces with natural light. The semi-open floor plan on the main floor allows for comfortable family living and entertaining. The house is beautifully maintained. There are bathrooms on all levels.

It’s certainly possible that Portnoy, a die-hard Patriots fan, was being ironic, conveying something like, “I refuse to see anything unusual here.” But I would bet that he genuinely did like the purse. I would make that bet because I have spent many hours watching Portnoy’s most fascinating nonsports media product, his “One Bite” pizza reviews, and I know about his softer side. He has been doing these reviews for 12 years, though I first encountered them during the pandemic. I was, at that point, ambiently aware of Portnoy, but only for all the stuff people hated about his website: the “Smokeshow of the Day” photos,66br Melhores Slots no Brasil the army of online “Stoolies” who mobbed his many critics. But if you watch the pizza videos, you’re reminded that most of the stuff these controversial media figures do is entirely normal. A lot of the time, it’s downright amusing.

Each episode of “One Bite” begins with Portnoy’s walking out the door of the business under consideration, then executing the entirety of his review right out front, sometimes practically blocking foot traffic, often with the proprietor looking on anxiously. Given all this, the concept seems almost cruel: He buys an entire pie but reviews the pizza based on one bite. “One bite,” goes the motto. “Everybody knows the rules.” The reason for this, Portnoy explained in an early video, is that the response has to be immediate, beneath the level of consciousness, like a “Rotchbloch” test. But Portnoy can never limit himself to one bite, typically finishing about half a slice of molten pizza, blowing big cheekfuls of air on it the way you would for a toddler, balancing the rest of the pie in his other hand as he tries to sort out where it belongs on his 10-point scale.

People still yearn for that trace of meanness, that disregard for niceties.

Portnoy likes pizza with char on the bottom, pizza that doesn’t flop when you hold it by the crust. He seems to have an almost childish distaste for strong flavors like oregano and Parmesan. Vinyl signs, old photos on the wall, wood paneling — he’s a sucker for the dumpy vernacular forms of the Northeastern corner joint, and he visibly struggles when a mom-and-pop shop with a charmingly old-school interior has a mediocre product. He agonizes over his scores, always insisting on their decimal places, which give them the absurd specificity of that other famous user of the decimalized 10-point scale, Pitchfork.

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