Tortoise and the Heir
I recently became a fan of Tortoise Media. I was tipped off about an event they were running about masculinity by one of my PhD supervisors because of its relevance to my research. I signed up for a free student membership and emailed Tortoise to secure a ticket to the in-person event at their offices in London. It was pitched as a discussion about modern masculinity with visiting speakers Sam Delaney, sports journalist and author of a no-nonsense self-help book called Sort Your Head Out, and teacher/author Ashley Hickson-Lovence. Headlining though were the celebrity comics Tom Allen and Richard Herring who are both known also for dealing with masculinity-at-the-margins in their popular TV work and books. The event was to be an interactive one, recorded live for broadcast with the guests being interviewed by staff from Tortoise and also taking questions from the audience.
Watch the Tortoise Media Masculinities Think-in Late: Part 2, Fathers and Sons with Tom Allen
Watch the Tortoise Media Masculinities Think-in Late: Part 3, The Tortoise Interview with Richard Herring
With a couple of weeks to go before the event, I had time to listen to some of the excellent podcasts from Tortoise media, specifically those about the complex and tragic story of the Tavistock clinic and its patients, the all-too-popular misogynist Andrew Tate and the curious case of ephemeral, digital currency in the Real Money series. It was clear that this was “real” journalism. The integrity with which the thorny subject of the Tavistock Clinic in particular was reported being exemplary. It gave me confidence for the event I had booked to attend, and I was looking forward to what I hoped would be an illuminating discussion dealing with the pressing issues of masculinity through a contemporary lens of understanding.
Having arranged to leave work a little early, my journey from Cambridge North station to Kings Cross was only an hour, with 20 minutes on the Victoria Line to Oxford Circus then a five-minute walk to the Tortoise offices on Berners Street. I used the time on the train to draft a few questions. I wanted to be prepared should the discussion not prompt me to make a spontaneous contribution and prepared one for Sam/Ashley and one each for Tom Allen and Richard Herring respectively:
Do you think it is possible as a society to properly dismantle toxic masculinity (where it expresses) in private individuals within our patriarchal and neo-liberal capitalist society?
What do you see as the role of a father and if you were to become a father, do you think that your relationship and past experiences with your our own would affect your approach?
To what extent do you think your body and your embodied experience defines your own sense of your gender?
I arrived a little early, the weather was damp, and I wanted to ensure I had found the venue, rather than kill time with a coffee then risk being late so headed straight to Berners Street. The shared office building was appropriately trendy for a young, Noho media company just off Oxford Street and I was greeted and seated in a smart communal coffee lounge area and offered free coffee/tea etc. There was an open kitchen area with a small island abutted by bar stools and laden with large flat baskets of modestly sized baguette sandwiches with an egalitarian range of fillings. The Swedish/mid-century design influenced kitchenette had open shelves displaying Kilner-style jars brimming with tea bags, herbal infusions and biscuits.
Sitting and enjoying a coffee, writing a management report for the community centre I work at, the buzz of the workers in the adjacent open-plan office and conversations on nearby tables provided a pleasant ambient, aural backdrop. A couple of the events staff darted around making last-minute preparations. Shortly after I’d finished my coffee it was announced the doors were open and I queued to have my double-barrelled name checked against the guest list.
Entering the event space which, by day was the Tortoise Media office, it was again clear that the design was totally on-brand, feeling like an uber-hip bar or café. The no-doubt hot-desks had been cleared and the low-lit room fitted out with a few-dozen chairs, tables and a couple of sofas arced around a low temporary stage with a wall of book laden shelves behind. Three empty chairs occupied the stage, one on audience left, two on the right all pregnant with potential as is always the case with a performance space in the moments before the beginning. Tables to one side of the stage housed the free bar, with beer, wine and soft drinks on offer. Placed on the small tables accompanying the chairs and sofas were Yorkie chocolate bars. Although, looking around at the audience I couldn’t help but wonder how many were old enough to understand the reference to the eighties advertising campaign which pitched the too-chunky chocolate bars as exclusively masculine.
Attending on my own, wanting a clear view of the stage and being old and weary enough to need comfort, I scanned the room for an appropriate seat. Grabbing a glass of red wine, I sat on one end of the plush sofa that was positioned centrally, just a metre or so in front of the stage. I pulled out my laptop and quickly drafted and sent an email to the trustees of the charity which employs me attaching the report I’d finished a few minutes earlier, ready to enjoy the discussion. Again, the buzz of conversation between the groups and couples attending provided a comforting audio back-drop as I read through my questions to ensure I was happy with them should they be needed.
An older gent, perhaps mid-to-late seventies took the other end of the sofa, leaving an appropriately British space between us we could be confident would not be filled. He’d also brought a glass of red wine with him and a few of the Lilliputian baguette sandwiches cradled in a paper napkin. This prompted me to get up and fetch a few of the tasty morsels myself, the baskets having been brought in from the kitchen and placed on the bar-height counter by the room’s entrance. Returning with my own napkin parcel I commented to my sofa-mate “They’re looking after us all right aren’t they”. I don’t think we ever exchanged names, but I’d invent one anyway for anonymity. ‘Bill’ replied “I wasn’t going to come to this one because I thought I was too old, but a friend persuaded me” This struck me as a little sad, if not particularly surprising. “No, the subject is important for all of us, and I’m sure you have some insights with your experience.” And just like that we had begun a conversation that was indeed insightful, and perhaps the richest part of the event for me.
Bill went on to explain to me that his son who had ‘come out’ as gay as an adult, had died of COVID in two thousand and twenty. He’d been close to his son and his husband, closer to them than his wife who was Swedish but contrary to my internalised stereotype, quite conservative and traditional, as she hadn’t approved of their marriage even though she “accepted” their relationship. I found it interesting, if not surprising that Bill recounted how he only really got to know his grown-up son after he came out. It was heart-breaking to hear that the relationship was cut short too soon after realising authenticity. It was clear that one of the ways in which Bill and his son-in-law dealt with their grief was by maintaining their familial relationship and the mutual love of the lost son and husband. It seemed all I could do to express that at least he’d had an authentic relationship with his son before losing him, as I expected when (Bill) was that age, it would have been much harder to be openly gay with genuine fears of not only social derision, but perhaps also familial rejection. Bill concurred in word I don’t recall but what I remember is the love that was present in his face when speaking of his son and son-in-law. It seemed as if he was almost revelling in having discovered a rare treasure. And who’s to say he hadn’t, I certainly felt fortunate that it was he that I had ended up sharing a sofa with and that it was his story I had heard in spontaneous conversation.
Liz Moseley, an Editor at Tortoise then arrived on stage and called the audience to hush, and the babble of conversations receded to quiet, as it always does, incrementally. A few last voices finished sentences suddenly audible if not quite discernible with the competing noises quelled.
Having left promptly at the end so as to get home to my partner Nicole, I sat on the underground train and ruminated on my disappointment with the event. Once on the train from Kings Cross and Cambridge bound, I began writing down my thoughts which I will recount to you now.
Ironically, the two male hosts James Harding (Editor and Founder) and Events Manager Mark St Andrew were, if anything too ‘masculine’ seeming very fond of their own voices and their own jokes. Liz Moseley, the one female host, was more inclusive of the audience but almost as laddish as her colleagues sadly. Despite the event being sold as a thought-provoking discussion on the problems of, and issues surrounding masculinity, instead it was the usual unimaginative and superficial banter that has sadly become synonymous with the public debate on masculinity. Clear attempts at diverse representation had been made with a middle-aged, straight, white working-class sports journalist paired with a black male educator and author, but only to barely scratch the surface of masculinity, as eloquent and interesting as they were. In the two ‘star’ personalities we had a straight white middle-aged comic and a slightly younger, gay white comedian. Despite Tom Allen presenting as the opposite with his signature sartorial perfection he was, we learned, from humble beginnings whereas the apparent everyman Richard Herring with his jeans and long hair could be considered more middle-class being the offspring of at least two generations of teachers.
Each of the guests spoke very well on masculinity in their different ways and often seemed to have a much more sophisticated understanding of the subject matter than the hosts which was a major source of my disappointment. The Tortoise Media staff seemed more concerned often with indulging their reverence for the speakers rather than drawing out of them the most salient points with which to enliven the discussion. Being fair to Liz Mosely this was much less the case with her treatment of Sam Delaney and Ashley Hickson-Lovence. However, the overwhelming feeling I was left with was one of having sat through a number of book promotions as there were frequent reminders about the copies of each of the guests books available to purchase in the interval and afterward. Having served my sentence in the cut-and-thrust of the commercial world, I understand the need to offer this value to the guests, however with the two male hosts especially seeming so sycophantic and also self-satisfied, it all ended up feeling less like a discourse and rather more like a distraction. I can only imagine that Tortoise set the bar low, believing this was the way to fill the seats with paying guests, but based on the quality of their journalism and other productions it’s hard not to feel they could and should have done better. It won’t stop me being a fan of their journalism though and I would heartily recommend their content to anyone who appreciates their media slow but thorough.
Oh, and I did get to ask a question but not one I’d prepared. If you’re interested, it’s in the above video, Part one at approximately 38 mins in.