The Many Faces of Manhood at The White Lotus

At the White Lotus Koh Samui, beneath the veneer of five-star luxury and Buddhist enlightenment, masculinity unravels like a poorly packed suitcase—messily, embarrassingly, and with unexpected items spilling out for all to see.

The men of White Lotus aren’t simply toxic or tender – they’re intricate concoctions of privilege, insecurity, and desire, with a tinge of existential dread.

From the finance bro who measures his worth in protein shakes and sexual conquests to the nihilist whose emotional unavailability is his only reliable currency, each man performs his particular brand of masculinity as if his life depends on it. As the season progresses and their facades crack open, we're offered a rare glimpse of what lies beneath: the terror and freedom of becoming unmoored from the very identities they've spent lifetimes constructing. This is probably where the White Lotus offers us the most exquisite pleasure of all: the unravelling of the male species.

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From Timothy’s domineering personality, to Greg's manipulativeness, here are the six shades of masculinity we’re witnessing on the White Lotus Season 3.

Timothy Ratliff – The Crumbling Patriarch

Timothy embodies the sunset masculinity of the boomer business titan—outwardly authoritative but internally collapsing under the weight of his own corruption. He has built his wealth through power moves and quiet ruthlessness and carries himself with the entitlement that the world will bend to his will – until it doesn’t.

As he barks college directives at his son ("You're going to Duke") while his money-laundering scheme implodes, we witness the death throes of old-guard masculinity that equates manhood with financial dominance. His insistence that "$10 million isn't that much" reveals how thoroughly he's internalized the equation of wealth with worth. When disconnected from his phone and the markets that validate his existence, Timothy becomes a man without purpose, desperately clinging to the gym as his last bastion of control.

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He’s not the stereotypical alpha—he doesn’t explode in rage or lash out—but his unravelling is almost worse. By Episode 4, he’s pacing, rubbing his temples, whispering about plea deals. The once-imposing patriarch is reduced to a man desperately clinging to control, proving that wealth-based masculinity is only as strong as the last dollar in the bank.

Saxon Ratliff – The Toxic Alpha Bro

In a show where almost everyone is morally bankrupt, Saxon still manages to be the absolute worst. He represents hypermasculinity in its most concentrated, insufferable from – the finance bro whose personality is a Reddit thread come to life. His vocabulary is a disturbing mixtape of gym talk, sexual conquest, and pseudo-philosophy: "Buddhism is for people who want to suppress in life... getting what you want, that's happiness bro."

There’s no depth to his thinking, no self-reflection, just pure, unfiltered indulgence. The infamous massage scene cements his place as The White Lotus’s most detestable guest. The way he lingers, the way his face twists with pleasure—it’s not just about desire, it’s about power.  Most revealing is his strange sexualized interest in his own sister, suggesting his view of women is so objectified that even familial boundaries blur in his testosterone-addled mind. Saxon is what happens when male identity is constructed entirely from protein shakes and pickup artist forums.

Lochlan Ratliff – The Lost Boy

Lochlan is stuck between two worlds: the hyper-masculine bravado of his brother Saxon and the quiet, internalized doubts about his own identity. He doesn’t know where he belongs, and his family—especially his father—expects him to simply slot into the role of future Duke University finance bro.

Lochlan's lingering gaze at his naked brother suggests not just sexual confusion but a deeper questioning of which masculine archetype to emulate. His story is a slow burn. He tries to mirror Saxon’s behaviour, awkwardly flirting with girls, but it’s clear his heart isn’t in it. In one of the show’s charged moments, he finally stops pretending and admits he doesn’t want to be anything like the men in his family.

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Rick Hatchett – The Nihilist Loner

Rick is the embodiment of the damaged, emotionally unavailable man. He walks through the resort like a ghost, his face permanently etched with exhaustion, his body language screaming “get me out of here.” Chelsea, his much younger girlfriend, is eager and affectionate, but he barely engages. In episode 2, his declaration that "I'm already nothing" reveals a man who has metabolized pain into philosophical detachment.

His constant state of stress (self-rated at "8") and inability to connect with his girlfriend's optimism expose the masculine tendency to wear existential angst as armour. Rick's backstory—a drug-addicted mother and absent father—has created a man who believes disengagement is self-protection. His masculinity is defined by what he rejects rather than what he embraces, making him perhaps the most authentically damaged man at the resort.

Greg/Gary – The Predatory Chameleon

Greg—or rather, Gary, as he now calls himself—is masculinity at its most transactional. He is the ultimate con man who shapeshits his identity and has built his entire existence on leaching off women. First Tanya, now Chloe. His relationship with younger model Chloe mimics the same dynamic he created with Tanya—a calculated exchange of companionship for financial gain.

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After he notices Belinda, we see his mask slip, and he almost instinctively starts plotting his next move. But the problem with men like Greg is that they always think they’re one step ahead—until they aren’t. He's the masculine id stripped of all social constraints: desire without responsibility, power without accountability.

Gaitok: The Hopeless Romantic

Gaitok is the rare example of masculinity in The White Lotus that isn’t poisoned by power or ego. He’s protective without being overbearing, gentle without being weak. In Episode 2, when he jokingly calls Mook his “princess,” there’s a sweetness to it—it’s not a pickup line, it’s genuine affection. His pride in once saving a drowning man and his unguarded affection for Mook represent a masculinity uncontaminated by calculation. But…this could cost him. It’s worrying to see him open-eyed and dreamy, since none of White’s characters escape unscathed.