Romance novels for men?

What would make romance novels appeal more men? And should we even go there?

My mom recently suggested that we start making romance novels for men. She is not the first or the last person to have this idea, but I couldn’t help but wonder: what would a romance novel for men even be like? 

Our heroes already strut through the pages in the manliest muscled bodies, with full heads of hair and all of their teeth (despite historical dentistry). They all display amazing sexual prowess, even the rare virgin hero. More often than not, they have all the money, status and sex appeal a person could want. There is action, adventure, baddies to conquer, bromance and beautiful women. Their story and journey often gets equal weight to that of their partner. 

Plus, they get to be emotional and vulnerable and still get to be considered the most masculine man around. 

I think the desire for “romance novels for men” is because women want men to read romance novels and to be more like our heroes. Not for the abs, the hair, the teeth. Not even for the titles and the money. But for the way they care for the heroine, pay attention to her and demonstrate a sexual prowess that comes from a desire to please that particular heroine. It’s the way the heroes show vulnerability and “do the work” and show up for their partners. 

If this is unrealistic, then the problem is reality not the books. 

However, as romance historian Steve Ammidown said in a previous XO interview, “I think we need to avoid the mentality of ‘men should read romance, they might learn something!’ Romance novels are not medicine. They’re fantasies that everyone should be able to enjoy without being made to feel like they ought to be taking notes.” 

Men are already reading romance. According to the most recent statistics available (2017) from Romance Writers of America, 18% of romance readers identify as men. Which is a fairly significant percentage and I’m sure these days, the number is much higher. 

So I think the question to ask is: should romance novels try to appeal to men more than they do? 

Which to me brings up two other questions and one comment… 

Should we ditch the pink covers? 

Almost everyone loves to hate on romance novel covers, whether it’s the dreamy clinches of brawny men and swoony ladies or the cute illustrated rom com covers. The funny thing about those original romance covers is that they were allegedly designed to appeal to the male buyers in bookstores—hence the big strong men and and the women who simple cannot keep their dresses on despite IRL women not actually having this problem. And yet, they sell. 

Even the contemporary cute illustrated covers—allegedly designed to appeal to Indie bookstore buyers and readers who think they don’t like romance—spark strong opinions. And yet, they sell. 

A question I can’t find the answer to is whether more men picked up romance novels in the Fifty Shades of Grey heyday because those books had the dark, broody, abstract covers. This might yield some insight. 

But is it insight we need? 

Because here we go into a trap of masculine and feminine that is hard to get out of. And it’s beyond the job of romance cover designers. My daughter somehow learned that sparkly stuff is for girls, not boys, despite me taking her to Drag Queen Story Hour, multiple pride parades, reading stories that gently refuse to perpetuate gender stereotypes and me relentlessly declaring sparkles are for everyone and all ages. 

These covers—the clinch, the cute illustrated ones—get the job done. They catch your eye from across the room. They make a promise and they deliver. 

Whoever wants that promise is going to learn the code and get the book. 

What we can all do is reserve judgement and mockery. 

Should we stop saying romance novels are by women, about women, for women? 

Yes. I think we should retire this phrase. Not to make the boys like us, but to respect that gender not always a binary and that romance can and should be for everyone. That doesn’t mean giving up what it is, has been, or denying the feminine point of view. Readers come for that and we should keep delivering it. 

Historically, I think it is true that romance was by women, about women, for women and it was tremendously empowering for authors and readers to see women claim space for themselves and find power from it. We needed a space where we could safely explore our desires and discuss what joy and happy ever after look like for us. But I think we can open up the circle and still do that. 

As I’ve written about in the new edition of Dangerous Books For Girls, I have come to understand that the romance genre isn’t just empowering to women; it is empowering to any marginalized group in the same way. It does so by giving them authority over their stories, visibility on their terms, nuanced and empathetic depictions of characters, unapologetic joy on the page and the happy ever after. The genre provides a framework—a formula if you will—to tell stories that empower. 

If love is love is love (and it is and should be) then we shouldn’t be afraid to let it be so in our stories and in the way we talk about our stories.

We can do more for our representation of heroes. 

These days, heroines come in all shapes, sizes, colors. And heroes…do not. Overall, they tend to have amazing abs and forearms that can make a woman swoon just by rolling up his sleeves. This is despite mostly stomping around ancestral estates being lordly, or running some billion dollar enterprise, or whatever it is heroes do all day. 

Meanwhile, the requirements for heroes can be even more demanding and impossible to achieve than six pack abs. The hero should also be extremely confident and adept at all times, especially in bed. He should also be rich, perhaps titled, and he should probably be white even if the romance features a heroine of color.  

I’m afraid what we are conveying is that romance is only for rich, white men. What this means is that a lot of men aren’t able to see themselves in the pages of the novels. No wonder the novels don’t entirely appeal to a lot of men. 

We can say “well, it’s women’s fantasy and they should be able to write whatever they want” which is absolutely true. But I will also tell this true story: In my first novel, I originally wrote the hero as a blonde. But I was asked by a publisher to rewrite him with brown hair because cover artists preferred it. I wanted to sell, so I did. I was a new author and didn’t know how much I could put my foot down. 

I have a hard time believing that all women who buy romance novels can only ever fall for one type of guy. We are more imaginative than that! It’s up to authors to push the boundaries and we need to know readers are with us. Then maybe traditional publishing will follow. 

In conclusion(ish)…

I used to belong to the all female workspace, The Wing. It imploded for a variety of reasons including horrible and racist treatment of the team members before being finished off by Covid. 

But before all that, I have to confess that I loved it. I loved the decor in a “feminine” color palette. I loved the furniture sized for women. I loved the menu of salads and cocktails. I loved the considerations for women: the nap room, the pumping room, the pads and tampons, the hair things, the on site childcare (!!!!!). I adored the vibe of women being their best true selves while they got shit done. Most of all, I loved the sense of safety. No one was going to interrupt my work to hit on me and I could leave my things when I had to go to the bathroom. 

Comfort. Safety. A lot of what we come to romance for. 

Before Covid, there was a lawsuit pending about whether it was legal for The Wing to be “for women only.” No one asked me, but I tried to rationalize why it was okay to have a women-only club in the year 2020 even though had it been the other way around, I would be the first person at the protest. I could only acknowledge the truth: it was wrong, but it felt good to be on the inside. This is what men must have felt for centuries.

We never got to see what it felt like when the menfolk came in. I encountered one or two visiting boyfriends (ugh annoying) before Covid shut everything down. But I wonder if the good parts of the female vibe and values were imprinted strongly enough to hold up. I wonder if would have remained so unapologetically feminine and if the sense of comfort and safety would have endured.

This is a long way of saying I don’t know to answer the question of romance novels for men. I believe it’s always best to be as inclusive as possible. Whether menfolk come in droves or not, become more visible or not, I would hate to lose the feminine point of view, the sense of comfort, and safety that romance provides to women. But maybe men want that too.