The Street’s Embrace: Masculinity and Caring in the Shadows of Crime and Marginalization

Abstract

This article investigates masculinity as a flexible and often contradictory performance, based on eight months of ethnographic fieldwork with 40 young men embedded in a hypermasculine street culture in Oslo, Norway. By examining three distinct forms of caring practices that address tangible, emotional and social needs, the study reveals how violence and toughness coexist alongside meaningful acts of care that strengthen group solidarity. The article calls for a more nuanced understanding of masculinity – one that moves beyond fixed or ideal-type models to recognize masculinity as context-dependent, fluid and internally complex. In doing so, it offers important contributions to both criminological and broader sociological discussions about masculine identity performances.

Introduction

Masculinity is not a biological given but a shifting social construct, shaped through cultural norms, power relations and the contingencies of time and place. This makes it more appropriate to speak of masculinities (Connell, 2005). However, as several scholars have pointed out (e.g. Beasley, 2012; Wojnicka and de Boise, 2025: 346) there is a tendency to generate endless typologies by adding qualifiers to the term masculinity/ies (e.g. Connell, 2005; Elliott, 2016; Messerschmidt, 1993). This poses significant problems to understanding masculinity performances because it lends a sense of stability to what are fluid and shifting social processes.

This article seeks to challenge the Weberian tradition of ideal-type sociology by investigating the flexible nature of masculinity performances, using criminal street culture as an empirical case. In previous literature, homosocial criminal street environments are often understood and caricatured as hypermasculine spaces shaped by brutal and patriarchal logics (e.g. Bakkali and Chigbo, 2023; Bourgois, 2003), where the perceived inability of men to express or receive care frequently is framed as a gendered deficit (Elliott, 2016). Street culture has therefore often been understood as environments that reproduce a kind of distilled or pure form of masculinity. As such, it provides a compelling entry point into the complex and often contradictory ways men perform care and masculinity.

To capture these ambiguities, I draw from the conceptual framework of ‘caring masculinities’ (Elliott, 2016), which emphasizes masculinities that reject domination over others and embrace care towards others. However, while this concept holds promise for expanding our understanding of how masculinities can be enacted differently, its application in criminal street contexts reveals both limitations and potentials. Above all, these spaces expose how caring practices coexist with, and are shaped by, domination and inequality, and so they push us to rethink care not only as a moral virtue or emotional disposition but as a social practice entangled in structural constraints. I therefore move beyond static models of masculinities, instead attending to the relational, uneven and local ways in which care is practised, withheld or demanded.

To be clear, the men involved in this study are frequently engaged in violence, carry weapons, have multiple incarcerations and live under ongoing pressures that expose them both to harm and to harming others. Exploring care as an important part of their relationships is not an attempt to diminish the destructive aspects of this community. Rather, by systematically focusing on three forms of caring practices that meet tangible, emotional and social needs, the article offers a more nuanced account of masculinity as a fluid and often contradictory performance. As the article will show, friendship love runs particularly strong in marginalized street environments, and beneath the hardened exterior of street life lie emotional undercurrents marked by deep yearnings for care, love and compassion (see also Bakkali, 2019). To grasp these dynamics, it is essential to move past tendencies to overemphasize the alignment of identities with specific practices and instead engage with the tensions and complexities that define human life.

Masculinities, Caring and Street Culture

Masculinity can be understood as a dynamic and socially situated process shaped through the continuing practice of ‘doing gender’ (West and Zimmerman, 1987), or more specifically doing masculinity. This means that the forms and meanings that masculine performances take on are diverse, and as a result, considerable theoretical attention has been devoted to unpacking the complexities of masculinities.

For example, Connell’s (2005) influential theory of hegemonic masculinity describes a dominant form of masculinity that sustains power over both women and subordinated or marginalized masculinities. One response to social exclusion from this dominance is what Connell (2005) terms protest masculinity – an exaggerated, hyper-performative response to social exclusion that seeks to claim power in the absence of actual resources. Pertaining to this, and central to the current study, Messerschmidt (1993) shows that men who are marginalized along different axes, like ethnicity and class, may adopt a specific form of protest masculinity, which he calls street masculinity. Within this he argues that ‘crime by men is a form of social practice invoked as a resource, when other resources are unavailable, for accomplishing masculinity’ (Messerschmidt, 1993: 85). Seeing that these dominant masculinities may adjust to changing social conditions, Demetriou (2001) conceptualizes hybrid masculinity to explain how dominant forms evolve through the strategic incorporation of traits from marginalized masculinities, or femininities, maintaining hegemony not through overt control, but through selective appropriation that may appear progressive while covertly reinforcing the hegemonic ‘masculine bloc’ through more culturally acceptable performances (Demetriou, 2001; see also Messerschmidt, 2010; Prattes, 2022).

As a counterpoint to these traditional hegemonic models that associate masculinity with domination, emotional restriction and power, Hanlon (2012: 66) suggests that masculinities and values such as care and emotionality are intertwined, but in ways that require critical reflection. Building on this, Elliott (2016: 240) defines caring masculinities as ‘masculine identities that reject domination and its associated traits and embrace values of care such as positive emotion, interdependence, and relationality’. This has gained a lot of traction, especially within critical studies on men and masculinities (CSMM), where scholars have expanded the conversation to highlight how masculinities can be reshaped through caring (Hanlon, 2012). When we shift our lens to criminal street contexts, however, the framework of caring masculinities becomes both compelling and challenging.

On the one hand, Elliott’s (2016) emphasis on caring masculinities as grounded in a commitment to care is convincing. Although criminal street life typically is associated with hypermasculinity, violence and risk-taking – and while boys and men in these contexts often are portrayed as emotionally detached, competitive and incapable or unwilling to care for themselves or others – several studies have pointed to moments of care within street contexts, even if such practices are rarely the main focus of analysis. For example, Bourgois (2003) describes how crack dealers in East Harlem make concerted efforts to help friends overcome destructive drug use (pp. 81, 87) and offer support to those who are suffering (pp. 108, 173). Similarly, Lalander’s (2009) work on street culture in Sweden illustrates how men help each other navigate everyday hardships (p. 20), provide reassurance (pp. 75, 85, 99, 154) and create a sense of belonging (pp. 78, 84). Other studies have also shown how older members of street groups take responsibility for guiding younger peers away from crime (e.g. Bucerius, 2014), and that street-oriented men may gain respect not only through displays of toughness, but also through kindness and charisma (Kalkan, 2024: 422–423). This further links to Sandøy’s (2015) argument, that in street environments marked by scarce resources, acts of care not only carry significant costs but also inculcate a strong sense of group solidarity, which can act as a social barrier to desistance. Together, these studies complicate dominant understandings of care and responsibility within street life and can therefore be connected to broader discussions about men’s masculinities and commitments to care.

On the other hand, Elliott’s (2016) emphasis on the rejection of domination, often seen as giving up the use of male privileges or one’s power (Wojnicka and de Boise, 2025), is not equally convincing. One key limitation is the implicit assumption that emotions are internal states, when they in fact are culturally mediated and shaped by context-specific expectations around gender, ethnicity, class and so forth. Strictly adhering to Elliott’s (2016) concept of caring masculinities, where not rejecting dominance is seen as tarnishing commitments to care, may thus risk obscuring situational expressions of masculinity in street culture, which can include ‘other-centred dispositions’ (Hanlon, 2012: 31) like caring, love and compassion. Indeed, as mentioned above, ethnographic research increasingly reveals that marginalized men embedded in close-knit criminal networks engage in caring practices, but that these remain under-theorized, and may not neatly align with normative understandings of caring. But even if expressions of care may be coded as a weakness in criminalized settings, they do persist – sometimes covertly, sometimes defiantly. What emerges is therefore not always a full-fledged embrace of non-dominant masculinities, but rather a tense negotiation of caring impulses within environments where violence, loyalty and respect often are seen to determine one’s survival. Care in such contexts may therefore be seen as both constrained and made urgent by the very structures that marginalize – a paradox that perhaps is best captured by Bakkali and Chigbo’s (2023) notion of tainted love that describes how structural violence, social exclusion and systemic racism complicate the capacity to give, receive and experience love and care.

So, while the caring masculinities framework offers valuable insights into how masculine identities might be reconfigured through practices of care, its application within the context of criminalized street culture reveals both conceptual limitations and critical openings. These environments underscore that care does not operate in isolation from power but is deeply embedded within, and shaped by, hierarchies of domination, structural marginalization and inequalities. Such spaces compel us to rethink care as a socially situated practice that is negotiated through embodied experiences and conditioned by symbolic and material constraints. To capture the flexibility of masculinity performances in these contexts, I will move beyond dichotomous models that oppose hegemonic and alternative masculinities, and instead focus on relational, uneven and local manifestations of caring – looking at how care is practised, withheld or expected in everyday interactions. Through this approach I seek to offer a more grounded and humanizing account of how masculinity and care are co-constructed among men living in the shadows of crime and marginalization.

Data and Methods

This analysis is based on data gathered in Oslo, Norway over eight months across two periods in 2023 and 2024. An ethnographic approach – deemed the most effective way to connect with the men, observe their practices and understand their daily lives – has resulted in hundreds of hours of interactions with about 40 men who are directly involved in a criminal street milieu, predominantly by dealing cocaine. The men’s particularly sociable lifestyle is further reflected in the fieldwork, which typically unfolded in parks or other public places like bars, nightclubs and restaurants, at home in their apartments or music studios and in cars either just cruising or during drug dealing activities.

While their relationships with one another probably are best described as consisting of overlapping friendship groups, most of them knew each other well and had been friends since childhood. When I encountered them, they were in their mid to late 20s, and with just a few exceptions they had minority backgrounds – the largest group consisting of individuals of Somali descent, followed by participants with roots in other African countries, Latin America, Asia and other parts of Europe. While being an ethnic minority obviously relates to their status as marginalized, the men seldom emphasized their diverse national backgrounds. Instead, they tended to point out other commonalities, like growing up together, experiences of social exclusion and particularly their criminal expertise as most of them had drug dealing as their main and often only income. About half of the men also had police records, and many had been incarcerated multiple times, typically for violence and drug dealing.

Given that it is particularly difficult to establish a rapport with people in these types of environments, ethnographers often rely on organizational gatekeepers. However, groups who are actively engaged in crime tend to be sceptical of people affiliated with certain organizations like prison, youth services or just outsiders in general (Sandberg, 2010). As such this approach may impose biases or restricted access (see Bucerius, 2013). In contrast, having gatekeepers who are full members themselves can offer advantages not easily replicated through organizational intermediaries. In this study, I approached the field through personal connections from my own youth (for a similar approach see Kalkan, 2021), which allowed for a more organic trust-building process and access to other people in the milieu.

However, as a white middle-class ethnic Norwegian woman with a high educational degree, I embody differences that obviously impose clear limitations, as there were aspects of their emotional lives and the risks they face that I could never fully grasp (see also Gross, 2023). At the same time, these differences often enabled me to probe deeper into their emotional experiences. In this respect, gender was especially significant. As a woman, I never had to compete with their masculine standards and the men also appeared to find it easier to accept my interest in topics like emotions and struggles. Still, the men often shared traumatic experiences – like being shot and stabbed, drug addiction, attempting suicide and having friends who had been killed or taken their own lives. Some of these conversations were particularly challenging and meant that I had to offer a calm and non-judgemental space for them to share their stories while simultaneously managing my own emotions.

This indicates some of the unique difficulties with researching young drug dealers who not only experience multiple marginality (Vigil, 2020), but also cause significant harm to other people and themselves. Pertaining to this, I have made concerted efforts to respect the participants’ autonomy by making sure to obtain active informed consent at various times, discussing what their involvement entailed, their right to control the information they shared and their ability to withdraw at any point without further explanation. To ensure confidentiality, any identifying details have also been altered in the following analysis.

Navigating Care and Masculinity: Three Modes of Practice in Street Culture

The men who have participated in this project are all part of a masculine street culture that emphasizes making money and demonstrating ruthlessness and violent capability. Many of their social problems, however, seem to emerge from their lack of relationships outside of this milieu, such as their weak ties to the labour market and education, their tenuous connections to their own families and their usually short-lived relationships with girlfriends. Consequently, they generally find little support outside of their tight-knit circles, where they display a habit of constructing strong friendships that serve multiple roles.

This analysis specifically explores one of these roles; that of caring. I have identified that the men organize their caring practices through three modes that meet tangible, emotional and social needs. However, they also find themselves in ‘binds of hypermasculine performativity’ (Bakkali and Chigbo, 2023: 40), which stand in stark contrast to their acts of caring. As such, their caring practices highlight a tension about what is at stake in the men’s emotional expressions. On one hand, the culture valorizes violence, toughness and stoicism while on the other fostering deep emotional ties that may challenge those ideals. So, alongside the harsh milieu and its subcultural norms tarring emotional vulnerability as a weakness, these men’s relationships seem to offer a strong sense of group solidarity that is difficult for them to find elsewhere. In this way, the streets become especially attractive because they provide a sanctuary where marginalized young men can feel valued and connected, even as they continue to cultivate and perform masculinities capable of handling the struggles of their lifestyles.

Tangible Caring: Meeting Practical Needs

One afternoon, I found myself lounging in a park with a group of guys who were swapping stories, sharing laughs, drinking alcohol, doing drugs and enjoying the chance to unwind together. As per usual their goal was to have fun, and the group was already buzzing with energy when Ibrahim and Jaali strolled up. Ibrahim, who wore a big smile across his face as if he was about to unveil a surprise, gestured towards Jaali, his voice rising playfully, ‘Check him out! Isn’t he handsome?’ All eyes turned to Jaali, who was wearing a crisp, short-sleeve shirt, loose-fitting jeans and a pair of spotless white sneakers. Around his neck hung a thick, gleaming gold chain. He stood tall and did a spin, laughing as he displayed his new ‘get-up’. The guys erupted with cheers, moving in to give him handshakes, hugs and compliments. Their gestures seemed celebratory, almost making the moment feel ceremonial.

To my outsider’s eyes, this interaction first seemed like a display of friends hyping each other up; the kind of camaraderie that arises effortlessly in close friendship groups. However, later that evening, I learned there was more to this scene than met the eye. Apparently, Jaali had been going through a difficult period – he had withdrawn from the group, his drug use had escalated and his friends had not seen or heard from him for weeks. Ibrahim, understanding what Jaali was grappling with, had gone out of his way to boost his confidence by buying Jaali the new outfit and lending him his own custom-made – and very expensive – gold chain, which he himself only wore on special occasions. It was then it became clear that Ibrahim’s gesture signalled an unspoken encouragement for Jaali to rejoin the group; the boys were heading out for the night and Ibrahim wanted Jaali to feel confident enough to tag along – and maybe even get a girl.

While these efforts may not neatly align with conventional notions of caring, they reflect what Hanlon (2012: 203) refers to as ‘other-centred sensibilities’, and are rooted in Ibrahim’s genuine concern for his friend Jaali. Rather than acting purely out of self-interest – such as seeking status or recognition within the group – Ibrahim’s care for Jaali emerges from a sense of interconnectedness where his own well-being is tied to that of his friend (see Held, 2006: 12). While previous street ethnographies have shown such relationships based in reciprocity, I argue that they are not solely driven by obligation. Instead, they stem from a deeper recognition of shared suffering, where one’s own pain resonates with that of another (see Quinney, 1991: 9). As such, this moment serves as a powerful reminder of how these men support one another in times of hardship. By gifting Jaali his new look, Ibrahim not only provided a tangible gesture of care but also restored a sense of belonging and connection for his friend.

Another situation provides additional insights into how the men care for each other by meeting tangible needs. Seated outdoors on some benches, Tariq, John and I were waiting for the others to arrive. The atmosphere was light at first but quickly grew serious when they began sharing stories about mutual friends who were ‘not doing so well’. The conversation grew particularly intense when discussing one friend who had not responded to any texts or calls in a long time. Tariq and John were worried about him; they frowned and exchanged anxious glances, their voices rising in frustration as they described the numerous times they had tried reaching out only to be met with silence. After recounting their many failed attempts, they began planning how they would check up on him.

Two weeks later, I followed up on this conversation. They told me they had gone to his apartment, knocked repeatedly, but received no answer. Undeterred, they continued their search, heading to his former workplace, where they learned he had not been seen in a long while. After several attempts to reach him, they finally found him at home. Tariq recounted the visit with a mix of relief and frustration, ‘We tried to talk some sense into him, but he’s depressed you know. He doesn’t want to do anything or meet anyone.’ He looked down, his hands briefly covering his face before looking back at me with a resolved expression and quiet determination adding, ‘I still send him snaps and messages though, inviting him out. Just got to keep doing that so he doesn’t lose all grip on the outside world.’

These actions – texting, driving over, checking a friend’s workplace – are part of a larger cycle of care that Tariq and John practise almost instinctively, embodying an other-centredness descriptive of a deeply relational form of care that pours forth from shared emotional spaces (see also hooks, 2001). These efforts reflect a commitment to pulling each other back into the fold whenever someone drifts away, thus showing that caring within this community is not merely a response to crisis but an enduring practice that creates a safety net for those who may otherwise slip through the cracks. At the same time, this might make it more difficult for those who want to leave the criminal lifestyle behind, given that it furnishes a fertile ground for feelings of belonging to the street milieu (see also Sandøy, 2015).

While the lack of alternative social bonds may limit care towards this group, it seems their shared experience of social exclusion combined with the notion that care arises from recognizing commonalities (Williams, 2008) also fosters a connection that drives their desire to alleviate each other’s pain. This affirms that care and love persist among male friends in marginalized spaces, even if ‘tainted’ by complex histories and ongoing experiences of structural violence (Bakkali and Chigbo, 2023). Within this, tangible caring manifests as practical and observable acts of caring that address immediate physical or material needs. The men often offered food, clothes, money or a place to stay to friends in need – acts that embody a focus on another’s vulnerability. This other-centredness (Hanlon, 2012) highlights a genuine desire to help friends out, and thus transcends self-interest or status-seeking behaviours. By prioritizing practical solutions to immediate challenges, these men demonstrate a form of care rooted in concern for the well-being of their peers, where meeting tangible needs becomes a fundamental dimension of ‘doing friendship’.

Emotional Caring: Nurturing the Well-Being of Friends

It was a sunny day, and I was hanging out with Tahiil who had brought me down to the harbour to eat prawns at a sort of classy restaurant he liked, when a friend of his called. Tahiil hung up the phone and told me we had to see his friend Kwame who had spent the night in lock-up after hitting a man in the head with a whisky bottle – a rather usual occurrence for the men in this group. When we met Kwame, he was displaying a hypermasculine persona, speaking aggressively and loudly about how he had been mistreated by eight policemen. He shouted, ‘fuck the police!’ and that he would beat them up if he ever saw them again. Tahiil asked him to calm down, but Kwame was upset and kept shouting about how the police had stripped him naked and held him down on the floor with one knee in his back and one knee on each arm and leg, while a nurse tried to take a blood sample. Kwame had resisted, and his arm was full of bruises from all the failed injections.

It seemed that Tahiil was both a bit embarrassed by Kwame’s loud presence – perhaps because I was there – and simultaneously empathized with his suffering (see Quinney, 1991). He suggested that we go to the park to smoke a joint and Kwame’s eyes lit up. As they smoked, Tahiil started talking about other similar incidents that had happened to him and other mutual friends. Kwame’s mood gradually altered from being aggressive to calm. He eventually thanked Tahiil for the joint, then they shook hands, hugged and he left us. About an hour later, Tahiil got a text from Kwame who thanked him for ‘being a brother’.

This interaction illustrates how Kwame struggled to express his vulnerability about feeling abused by the police and instead displayed anger, which is a generally accepted masculine emotional expression. But even though he was restricting the display of his vulnerability, the interaction between the two friends also indicates that Tahiil understood Kwame’s suffering without him having to explicitly state it. By talking about other people’s similar experiences, Tahiil was able to comfort Kwame and remind him that he was not alone. Having these shared experiences thus seemed to fuel the bond between them.

Still, this interaction underscores the importance of performing masculinities that does not reject domination but rather comes with expectations of strength. As such, it hints at how interpersonal situations in these contexts typically offer little room for men to express or process emotions like for example grief (see also Kenney, 2003; Zinner, 2000). This was particularly noticeable in the men’s reaction after the murder of a close friend in 2023.

The murder came up in conversation as we were standing in a circle in a park – some passing a joint around, others drinking beer. While standing in this larger group of about nine guys, they showed few signs of emotions like grief. Although they acknowledged that it was a tragic event, their conversations focused on their dead friend’s life just before he died and on the person who killed him, rather than their feelings about losing their friend. However, in later, more private conversations with just a few of the men, it became clear that their expression of grief was carefully managed in the larger group setting. During the more intimate encounters, several of the men expressed their sadness more openly, revealing aspects of their personal pain that they typically kept hidden.

During one of these conversations, Farhan offered insights into the way these men manage their emotions. Rather than openly discussing personal tragedies, he explained, conversations often skirt around the heart of the matter, ‘Everyone understands, in a way, how awful it is, but no one really wants to discuss and delve into “what do you really feel about it?”’ Farhan explained that, ‘People just bury it deeper and deeper. . . and get colder and colder’, suggesting an emotional distance that not only numbs them but, in some instances, ‘also motivates people to do more terrible things. The more terrible things you experience, the colder you become.’

These reflections reveal how the hypermasculine performances young men engage in within these contexts can also distance them from their own fundamental need for care, love and compassion (see Bakkali and Chigbo, 2023). The cultural norm of controlling or suppressing emotions that are considered weak is thus an emotional management that influences group dynamics by rarely allowing vulnerabilities to surface. That said, these cultural constraints do not completely prevent expressions of suffering. Not only does care and compassion flourish when we recognize shared experiences (Hanlon, 2012; Williams, 2008), but as Elliott (2016: 255) notes, ‘Care begets care.’ In street culture, a shared sense of complex suffering thus seems to play a crucial part in shaping emotional caring practices, albeit in context-specific ways – a dynamic perfectly articulated by Ahmed, ‘I trust my friends because of the care they give, the way they talk, and that we don’t just talk superficially, but about life and give each other advice and set boundaries for each other.’

Hence, the moments when the men do open up to one another are pivotal to the strength of their relationships. Because they often lack alternative emotional outlets, the act of emotional caring also takes on heightened importance. By offering emotional support, creating safe spaces for peers to express their feelings and helping them navigate challenges, emotional caring strengthens their bonds to the group. While such care is constrained by norms that reinforce a hypermasculine street identity often defined by toughness and emotional restraint, it also reveals the tension between these norms and the men’s emotional needs. Crucially, emotional caring demonstrates a particularly important style through which these men find ways to nurture each other’s well-being amid the rough realities of street life.

Social Caring: Providing Community

On a warm late-summer’s day, Carlos, Marcus, Kien and I were sitting in a dark basement rap studio, listening to their old songs and reflecting on their past through the lyrics. In this intimate setting, the beats and rhymes became more than just music; they were vessels of shared memories and solace. Laughter mingled with serious discussions as they dissected the nuances in the lyrics, revealing how deeply these songs resonated with their lives.

Kien, who had left the group years ago and was currently struggling with drug addiction, requested to hear the tracks he once rapped on. Carlos, sitting by the decks, patiently played all of them. Some of these songs were deeply emotional – a common trait in Hip-hop and especially Gangsta rap, which was the first form of popular culture to actively celebrate life in the ghetto (Perry, 2004: 89). For example, one of the songs told the story of a friend who was brutally murdered, a tragic event that left a lasting impact on the group. Before playing this track, Carlos warned me, ‘This one is terribly sad.’ But for some reason, Kien wanted to listen to this particular song repeatedly, and at one point he quietly welled up, as the rest of us sat silent. After a brief moment, Marcus then gently squeezed Kien’s shoulder to signal that he was not alone in his sorrow.

Although this interaction was rooted in grief over a lost friend who died a terrible death, it also shows the interconnectedness between Kien, Marcus and Carlos and the specific ethical obligations that arise from their relationships. Within the backstage confines of the rap studio, Carlos and Marcus instinctively scaled down their emotional expressions to align with Kien’s needs and feelings, thus allowing him to express his emotions more freely. This could be seen as creating a sort of bridge of mutual understanding and involvement, a sense of shared suffering (see Hanlon, 2012; Quinney, 1991), or what Goffman (1982: 116–117) might call a ‘spark’ – a moment of genuine connection that transcends conventional notions of caring. Through this ‘spark’, Carlos and Marcus provided Kien with the space and attention he needed, demonstrating a profound sense of connection that goes beyond words.

Another evening, when I was at a bar with a group of guys, brought this even more into focus. As we stepped outside for a smoke, I asked about their plans. Khalid’s enthusiastic declaration of their intention to ‘turn up’ epitomized the group’s shared camaraderie. Even without set plans, they generated an energetic atmosphere fuelled by the simple fact of being together. While such positive emotions in psychological terms often are attributed to individual experiences, the contagious build-up of joy and humour during this interaction highlights the transformative power of community. However, it is also built up as the result of a need to be together. This was explained to me later that same night by Chris and Jamal who reflected on how social caring defines their relationships. In the dimly lit bar, Chris leaned in with a grin on his face, and spoke with a sense of pride:

Chris: Our group, at least, is really good. The thing about our guys is that when we’re together, there’s a sense of balance, and we stick close together. For example, if we go to a club and someone forgets their ID and can’t get in, 20 guys will leave that place, so no one has to be left outside.

Jamal: Yes, or if someone is short on money, and four others want something, everyone chips in for that last person. It’s like no one should be left out, regardless. So, we take care of each other; we have a good environment around each other that way.

Chris: Also, we love to treat the rest, you know. Like, some of us have a lot of money, others don’t. Some also use it to, you know, treat girls and whatever, but mostly it’s about giving the other guys a good time. All of us being together.

As I listened, it seemed clear that their community was partly sustained by such acts of generosity; based on a shared commitment to ensuring no one feels left out, but also an impenetrable need for community. Maybe this can be seen as part of what Bakkali and Chigbo (2023) describe as ‘tainted love’ – a form of love that perseveres yet is shaped and strained by the complex entanglements of structural violence often experienced by those living in the margins (see also Elliott and Roberts, 2022). Nevertheless, these spaces reveal how caring practices coexist with, and are shaped by, dynamics of domination and inequality, and as such, social caring above all embodies a collective commitment to looking out for each other – what Yusuf explained as, ‘[There is a] strength in being together. And we hang out a lot because none of us are in a good place; so that’s what we have, we have each other’, indicating that group solidarity is paramount, and that everyone plays a role in maintaining its balance.

Most importantly, social caring emphasizes connection and mutual support and involves fostering relationships that create a sense of belonging, by for example spending time with those who are isolating themselves and thus creating opportunities for group bonding. This emerges as a particularly significant form of caring because these groups often find themselves disconnected from mainstream culture. Hence, standing together in their struggles allows them to create inclusive spaces. Not only does this reinforce trust, it also anchors their relationships within the group. The strength of community lies not in a rejection of domination (Elliott, 2016) per se, but in the interconnectedness and interdependence between friends, which creates commitments to care and an ethos of looking out for each other by ensuring that no one faces their burdens alone.

Discussion

This article has explored the flexibility in masculinity performances by looking at the caring practices among men embedded in a violent, hypermasculine street culture. I have identified that the men care for each other through three interconnected modes of practice, which I have called tangible, emotional and social caring. Where tangible caring involves direct, material support; emotional caring centres on verbal and therapeutic exchanges; and social caring focuses on fostering a sense of community. Although each practice serves distinct needs, they may operate within the same situations and reinforce one another in ways that amplify their collective impact. For example, emotional support can lead to tangible aid, as in Tahiil and Kwame’s post-lockup exchange, while shared spaces like the rap studio blend emotional and social care. Similarly, moments like Chris and Jamal’s bar conversation and Ibrahim’s support for Jaali illustrate how acts of social care often carry tangible meaning, revealing how these forms of care interweave to sustain connection in marginalized lives.

These findings highlight how the relationship between caring practices and masculinity performances in street culture is ambiguous. Similar to what Scholz et al. (2025) observed in the care experiences of adolescent boys, the caring practices in this study did not involve a clear rejection of dominant masculine norms or structures of domination (Elliott, 2016). Nor do they fit neatly within Demetriou’s (2001) notion of hybrid masculinity, where selective borrowing from other subordinate masculinities masks hegemonic traits (see also Prattes, 2022). Instead, care emerged alongside – rather than in opposition to – hypermasculine performances (see Messerschmidt, 1993), suggesting that these practices are not mutually exclusive but coexisting and flexible.

While Messerschmidt (1993) and others rightly emphasize that individuals actively construct their gender identities through everyday choices, much of the theoretical literature still tends to organize masculinities into rigid binaries – hegemonic versus subordinated, caring versus dominating. Even frameworks that aim to capture dynamism (e.g. street or caring masculinity), risk reifying what are in practice fluid, messy and contextually contingent performances. The tendency to conceptualize masculinities as ideal-type-like constructs may thus obscure the nuanced and contradictory ways in which men navigate gendered expectations, perhaps particularly in conditions of structural constraint or marginalization.

Although recent critiques within masculinities studies have called for greater attention precisely to marginality (e.g. Bridges, 2019; Ratele, 2020), empirical work within the caring masculinities literature has predominantly focused on men marginalized along a single axis – such as having working-class status (Roberts and Elliott, 2020) or being migrant care workers (Prattes, 2022). While these contributions have advanced the field, they tend to overlook men who occupy more complex and layered positions of social exclusion, and they rarely address how care is enacted outside the home (but see Elliott and Roberts, 2022). While important, this focus risks reducing care to biological or familial ties and fails to consider the wider range of relational and emotional practices, as well as spaces, through which men express care. This study therefore contributes to filling that gap by centring the lived experiences of men who face intersecting forms of exclusion – racialization, poverty, criminalization and spatial marginalization (see Vigil, 2020) – and by exploring how care is practised within male peer networks. In doing so, it shifts the focus from care within the home to care among friends, where emotional solidarity, protection and affection circulate in environments typically defined by danger, detachment and hypermasculinity.

Moreover, in much of the existing literature on street culture, emotional dynamics like care and compassion are largely subsumed under instrumental logics of status-seeking or obligation. Hence, relationships in these contexts are often reduced to exchanges of favours and reciprocal protections, typically framed in transactional terms: ‘If I back you now, you back me later’ (e.g. Anderson, 1999; Bourgois and Schonberg, 2009; Marsh, 2020). To be clear, the men in this study did speak to such dynamics, particularly in relation to betrayal, trust and the corrupting influence of drugs and illicit money. Still, the everyday caring practices I observed suggest a more complex picture. Although reciprocity certainly was present, it was often embedded within a deeper, enduring sense of emotional connection. Caring did not emerge as merely strategic but as affective and rooted in shared experiences of hardship.

In this way, emotional solidarity and social obligation seem to intersect. On one level, friendships involved mutual aid in times of need; on another, they were shaped by moral imperatives to maintain or repair social bonds, even in the absence of direct reciprocity or when relationships were strained. In marginalized environments where the need for love, care and belonging often is more acute, these dynamics may cultivate powerful forms of interdependence (Bakkali and Chigbo, 2023; Hanlon, 2012; hooks, 2001), where what may appear as obligation from the outside could be better understood as ethical responsibility or relational commitment – a coping mechanism, perhaps, but also the foundation of meaningful and durable friendships.

Caring, therefore, does not occur in a vacuum but is shaped and sometimes restricted by gendered and cultural expectations that link strength with stoicism and domination. These constraints illustrate that ‘rejection of domination’ (Elliott, 2016: 241) is not simply a matter of choice, perhaps specifically for marginalized men, but entails social risk and potential loss of status within their peer networks. This points to another significant barrier, which is especially applicable for marginalized groups, particularly those engaged in crime, namely that cultural narratives also judge who is ‘deserving’ of receiving care. When suffering seems self-inflicted, whether through misconduct or risky choices, compassion is often withheld (Williams, 2008). In such cases, the suffering may be viewed as deserved, possibly even as a form of ‘justice’, and if those suffering are seen as having harmed others, it can also evoke a desire for retributive suffering rather than sympathy (Williams, 2002). Consequently, street-oriented men are often perceived through frames of dubious individual character or even pathology. Yet, as Fesmire (1997: 285) reminds us, ‘[no one is] born a saint or savage’. In this light, the virtues and vices we associate with street life reflect not only personal choices but the social environments in which people are embedded. As I have tried to show, care is not absent in street culture but rather operates under different conditions and constraints – coexisting with, and shaped by, inequality and domination.

In attending to these dynamics, this study expands the lens through which street culture is analysed. Rather than viewing care as anomalous or contradictory within such environments, it should be recognized as a constitutive feature that is deeply entangled with the social, emotional and moral logics of life on the margins. This calls for a broader conceptualization of care, not as a purely moral disposition, private feeling or performance, but as a relational and context-dependent practice, shaped by structural constraints and subcultural norms. By foregrounding these practices, the article not only complicates dominant representations of masculinities but also advances masculinity studies by offering a more relational, intersectional and practice-oriented approach to care – one that recognizes how emotional expression and masculine identity are negotiated in spaces of profound structural marginalization.

In line with Elliott and Roberts (2022; see also Prattes, 2022; Roberts and Elliott, 2020) who suggest that caring masculinities are likely to emerge among marginalized or subordinated men given their positioning at the margins of society, this article further contributes to masculinities studies by illustrating the fluid nature of masculinity performances, bringing questions of marginality to the fore (Bridges, 2019; Ratele, 2020), shifting attention to men’s caring practices beyond the home and offering ethnographic insights drawn from observed practices rather than relying solely on interview-based data, which has thus far dominated research in this area. Moreover, the article adds to existing research on street culture, and desistance, by foregrounding the importance of care – a dimension that has largely been overlooked in favour of explanations emphasizing status-seeking, obligation, boredom, shame, humiliation or the thrill of deviance as key motivations for criminal behaviour (e.g. Katz, 1988; Miller, 2024; Moran, 2015; but see Bakkali, 2019). By contrast, this article highlights how care operates within these contexts.

Importantly, these dynamics are not exclusive to the criminalized or socially excluded. They reflect broader truths about masculinity, identity and relational life. A man may be a nurturing parent and an abusive partner, or he might be emotionally reserved and violent yet a deeply reliable and caring friend. Such contradictions do not cancel each other out – they coexist. In fact, similar ambivalences are visible across social contexts: many men who outwardly conform to liberal, politically correct norms might still experience impulses towards aggression when threatened, provoked or simply because they think it is fun. This does not make them ‘inauthentic’ but rather underscores the tensions that lie at the heart of navigating contemporary masculinity.

These insights challenge the common tendency in both academic and popular discourse to neatly align identities with specific practices. Instead, they call for a more nuanced, sociologically grounded understanding of how people actively navigate contradictions in their lives. Rather than treating care and violence, dominance and vulnerability, as opposites tied to fixed personality types, we must see them as part of a broader human repertoire shaped by context, social structure, emotional dynamics and individual agency. The findings from this study, then, extend beyond street life. They show that care is a deeply social practice – one that may be shaped by structural inequalities and subcultural norms, but also by universal human needs for connection, recognition and dignity. In this light, the emotional and relational complexities observed in marginalized environments are not exceptions to the norm, but intensified versions of dynamics that exist across society. Recognizing these tensions can help us better understand how masculinity and care are negotiated and intertwined in many different settings – not only among the criminalized or excluded, but across the full range of the human experience.

Conclusion

By foregrounding how caring – tangible, emotional and social – emerges not in opposition to, but alongside hypermasculine street performances, this study challenges the prevailing view of street culture as a purely violent or emotionally barren space. Instead, it offers a more complex account of how masculinities are lived and performed in real-world contexts of marginalization, shaped by structural inequality but also marked by moral striving, relational commitments and affective depth. Crucially, this analysis moves beyond static models that frame masculinity in terms of hegemonic versus subordinate forms. Rather than treating masculine identities as fixed or reducible to ideal types, it emphasizes the improvisational nature of masculinity: how men shift between modes of care, dominance, affection and control depending on context, audience and available resources. In doing so, it echoes calls within critical masculinity studies (e.g. Beasley, 2012; Wojnicka and de Boise, 2025) to decentre rigid typologies and instead focus on the everyday negotiations through which gender is performed. The implications of this therefore extend beyond criminology or masculinity studies alone. By showing how care operates as a flexible and socially situated practice, it invites a broader reconsideration of how we conceptualize relational life under conditions of structural exclusion. Hence, the streets should not be seen only as a masculine battleground for survival (Anderson, 1999) but also as a space where individuals come together, both offering and receiving care.