More teenage boys are talking about training, diet and physique than they were a generation ago. What used to sit at the edges of gym culture has moved into everyday school life: PE classes, group chats and short-form video feeds. For most of them, that interest is a good thing. Strength training builds confidence, routine and a sense of belonging, and a generation of boys taking their health seriously is not a problem to be solved.
The broader online trend often labelled ‘looksmaxxing’ is a loose blend of fitness, grooming and lifestyle content built around maximising appearance. At its most benign it is ordinary self-improvement. At its most extreme it pushes rapid physical change, rigid routines and relentless self-comparison.
The most visible figures are a handful of international influencers with large teenage audiences. Some focus on genuine training and performance; others court attention with punishing regimes and, in some high-profile cases, openly discuss using performance-enhancing drugs to get the look they want.
Aotearoa has fewer large-scale equivalents in this space. Our local online fitness scene leans towards coaches and athletes whose content centres on performance, health and sustainable training. But Kiwi teens still scroll the same global feeds on TikTok, Instagram and wherever else, so the content reaches them regardless. Live-streamed content on streaming platforms such as Twitch and Kick has further ethical implications.
Teen health research, including work from universities like Michigan’s, consistently link exposure to idealised male bodies with higher rates of body dissatisfaction among teenage boys. The same body of work suggests that while anabolic steroid use appears relatively stable overall in comparable countries, the use of supplements such as creatine has increased in some gym-focused youth populations. That’s one sign that some boys are thinking less about sport alone and more about ‘optimising’ how they look.
Recent research also points to a useful distinction for schools: it appears to be the type of content a boy watches, muscularity- and supplement-focused feeds, rather than screen time alone, that’s most strongly linked to harm.
That harm has a name. Muscle dysmorphia, also known as bigorexia or vigorexia, is a recognised condition in which someone sees themselves as small or underbuilt despite being visibly muscular, and trains and diets compulsively to fix a problem that isn’t there. It can be associated with anxiety, depression, disordered eating and, in some cases, steroid use.
The medical risks of anabolic steroids are well documented. Research published in the European Heart Journal has shown long-term users developing reduced heart function and structural changes to the heart muscle, with risk increasing the longer and more heavily the drugs are used. Some of that damage may not fully reverse after use stops, particularly where use begins young.
A bigger shift is in how these drugs are talked about. In some online spaces, steroids are framed less as dangerous substances and more as a shortcut to a certain physique. That change in language matters, because it can make risky behaviour feel normal. Algorithms tend to amplify high-engagement and visually extreme content. The most extreme versions move curious teens from sensible workout routines into niche communities where drug use is normalised as another fitness tool.
What schools can actually do
This is the line schools have to walk: take the harm seriously without treating every boy who lifts weights as a patient, and without making fitness itself sound shameful.
Shame tends to push boys further into the online spaces where they feel understood. A handful of practical moves help.
Know the warning signs
Be alert to training through injury, rigid or secretive eating, anxiety or irritability when a session is missed, constant mirror- or body-checking, heavy reliance on supplements, and withdrawal from family or shared meals.
Pastoral and PE staff are well placed to notice these, and to open a quiet, non-judgmental conversation rather than a confrontation.
Have a referral pathway ready
Make sure staff know where a concern goes next, whether that’s the school counsellor, the school nurse, or a GP, so a worried teacher is not left holding it alone.
Be the trusted source on training
Boys will learn about lifting somewhere; better the school than an anonymous feed. Use PE and the Health and Physical Education learning area, which already covers body image and wellbeing, to teach correct technique, sensible nutrition and realistic timeframes. Accurate information is the best inoculation against the magical thinking the feeds sell.
Teach algorithm literacy
And not just media literacy. Go beyond “don’t believe everything online”. Show students how the feed is engineered: that it rewards engagement, that much supplement and “transformation” content is paid promotion, and that the bodies they measure themselves against are often lit, filmed and sometimes chemically assisted for effect. Pulling a real fitness feed apart in class lands harder than a warning.
Offer a better script
The pull of this content is partly about identity and belonging. Sport, strength training framed around what a body can do rather than how it looks, and grounded male role models among staff give boys a version of strength that does not depend on a phone.
Bring whānau in
Parents often see the supplement tubs and the gym obsession without a frame for it. A short note or evening session on what is healthy, what the warning signs are, and how to raise it without nagging turns home into part of the support rather than another battleground.
None of this is about steering boys away from the gym. For most, training is one of the healthier things they do, and the job is to keep it that way, to make sure they can engage with fitness culture, and whatever else draws them online, in a way that builds them up rather than feeding comparison, pressure and extremes.
