Voyeuristic Cuckoldry and the Boy Who Was Picked Last

By Josh Fingerhut, LMFT

Becoming a therapist was never on my bingo card.

Neither was becoming an IV meth addict who nearly died from a flesh-eating infection. Even my high school classmates missed the mark when they voted me “Most Likely to Be in a Boy Band.” Sure, I had frosted tips and some Backstreet swagger, but what nobody could see back then, not even me, was the storm of insecurity I carried.

I had friends. I had dates. I was in the popular crowd. But the stress of trying to “be someone” in the late 90s and early 2000s pulled me far from who I really was.

Fast forward 25 years: I’ve survived a 15-year addiction, a failed acting career, and all the chaos in between. I’ve been clean for over seven years. Now I work as a therapist helping young men navigate the insecurities that once ruled my life.

But something has changed.

Back then, insecurity was just part of growing up. Now, it’s weaponized by technology. Jonathan Haidt calls it the “superstimulus” of smartphones, high speed internet, and, yes, porn.

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Why This Topic Matters

I never imagined I’d be writing a blog on pornography. I grew up in a liberal, sex positive household where echoes of the 60s “free love” movement still lingered. What consenting adults do on or off camera doesn’t offend me. I have no moral objection to sexual expression, even when it’s loud, wild, or weird.

And yet, I can’t ignore what I’m seeing in my practice.

The harm is real. It’s affecting young men in ways that are subtle at first but devastating over time.

If you grew up before smartphones, when you shared a crumpled Playboy or squinted at a scrambled Spice Channel, you can’t fully grasp what today’s boys face. They don’t need to be resourceful or bold. They just open a browser.

They’re rewiring their brains through voyeuristic repetition. The result? Shame, social paralysis, and a deep fear of real intimacy.

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What I See in My Office

People like Scott Galloway and Richard Reeves have been ringing the alarm on the crisis of young men. As someone who sits with these guys every week, I can tell you: the alarm is real.

Much of the anxiety, depression, and rage I see is rooted in a quiet, chronic sense of inadequacy.

Picture this:

A 12-year-old watches professional-level porn stars perform acrobatic sex acts daily. He also hears that women only want men with six-pack abs, private jets, and luxury cars. He internalizes this before he even learns how to flirt or talk to someone he likes.

Now add isolation, anxiety, and uncertainty about who he is. That mix creates shame. And shame often turns outward as anger.

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What Can We Do

We need to act on multiple fronts. Here’s where I suggest starting:

1. Limit the dopamine drip

Read The Anxious Generation by Jonathan Haidt. If you’re a parent or caregiver, start cutting back on screen time. The phone is the gateway drug. It opens the door to endless comparison and cheap dopamine.

2. Introduce “expensive” dopamine

The brain is wired to seek pleasure and avoid pain. We can’t change that, but we can choose different kinds of pleasure, ones that require effort, creativity, and connection.

Examples include:

• Team sports

• Building something with your hands

• Having vulnerable conversations

• Failing and learning from it

When we pursue meaning instead of pleasure, we feel more satisfied.

3. Support emotional insight

Young men struggle with reflection. It doesn’t come naturally. But we can guide them there. Ask real questions. Be curious. Don’t lecture. Help them name what they’re feeling even if they resist.

4. Challenge them with real goals

Most young men thrive with a hard goal, not a guaranteed win but a challenge. Something that tests them and forces growth.

Life won’t get easier. But they can get stronger.

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To the Young Men Reading This on the Toilet

You are not broken. But the world you’re growing up in isn’t built to make you strong. You have to build that for yourself.

You’ll be tempted to avoid pain, to numb out, to compare, to scroll. Don’t.

Wake up. Fail. Get bruised. Feel all of it. Keep going.

Strength isn’t found in watching others live boldly. It’s built by stepping into the arena yourself.