Desperate Dems Claim 'No Crisis' With Young Men—Analysts Warn of Backlash

Paul Riverbank, 11/28/2025Democrats celebrate wins but face growing backlash from young men and shifting voter loyalties.

Months ago, such a statement might’ve sounded like wishful thinking. The mood, post-2024 election, was anxious among Democrats. Young men’s support had slipped—worryingly so. Pundits recalled James Carville, with trademark candor, warning his party that hammering too hard on progressive talking points was backfiring. He’d been explicit: if you want people’s votes, you have to make it about their lives, not about slogans. Carville, never one to sugarcoat, summed up the male frustration: “Do I count? What about my life?” You could almost see some strategists wincing.

The year since those warnings has seen glimmers of hope for Democrats. Take Virginia and New York: fresh electoral victories in places where “momentum” isn’t just a talking point—it actually matters. Abigail Spanberger’s win brings to mind a moderate’s steady, dogged approach, while Zohran Mamdani’s progressive platform didn’t scare off skeptical voters. For party insiders, it was tempting to claim vindication. Martin gave credit to the Democrats’ new coalition—“we won back every major constituency that left our party last year,” he said, in what felt like a victory lap. But then, as he fielded more questions, the conversation shifted. The job market, Martin argued, not the party’s messaging, had soured young folks. Trump-era policies were blamed for stifling economic horizons.

Of course, a look under the hood tells a murkier tale. There’s this nugget, courtesy of Ezra Klein and data-minded pollster David Shor: “75-year-old White men supported Kamala Harris at a significantly higher rate than 20-year-old White men.” That’s not an everyday statistic—it raises eyebrows and, for campaign strategists, probably a few heart rates. “Young people have gone from being the most progressive generation since the Baby Boomers,” Shor said, “to potentially the most conservative generation we’ve seen in decades.” It sounded absurd until the numbers kept repeating themselves.

Scott Galloway, an NYU professor who’s spent as much time studying economics as he has sounding off on podcasts, points a finger at something more basic: “It’s the affordability crisis,” he said, describing mothers—middle-aged women—shifting to the GOP out of concern for their sons’ bleak prospects. Sometimes, pocketbook issues bulldoze right through ideological boundaries.

Meanwhile, raw nerves are visible within the party itself. There was the case of Senator Ruben Gallego—a leaked group chat, a rash complaint: “We don’t allow women to be hot... Dem women look like Dem men.” It wasn’t just about style or fashion; it felt like a flare-up of deeper, generational tension. Gallego confessed, bluntly, that Democrats resemble the “not fun party”—not just buttoned-down, but, in his words, “always telling and correcting people.” For a party that once basked in the afterglow of “sex, drugs, and rock and roll,” the vibe these days feels, to some, like someone turned the music way down and turned the lights up.

There’s another refrain, not unique to young men but audible everywhere: is this the party of joy, or just the party of scolding? Old slogans like “Yes we can” don’t get much play in barrooms or dorm rooms compared to the sharper, edgier ones that sometimes make it into headlines—“Defund the police!” or “Smash the patriarchy!” Some say the shift in tone is as much the problem as any particular policy.

Jonathan Brocklebank, writing with more nostalgia than bitterness, observed: “I am 57 going on 17. And I’d quite like that second number to stay the same.” Men, arguably people in general, don’t shrug off their younger selves. The struggle to stay relevant, to feel included, or even just to be seen instead of managed, tends to linger. You see it at family dinners, at tailgates, even on the campaign trail—adolescence shadows adulthood in a way politics has long underestimated.

So where does that leave the Democrats? The party’s got wins to celebrate, no doubt. But there’s still a low rumble of anxiety, not just from their young male voters, but from the families who watch those young men try to carve out lives in a world that feels, to many, a little less forgiving than before. Policy and branding can only do so much. The real challenge might be carving out space for honest conversations—about work and wages, sure, but also about feeling blown adrift in a party that lately seems to recoil from messiness and contradiction.

Ken Martin and his colleagues may have good reason to be optimistic, at least for now. But American politics rarely gives anyone the last word. Every victory contains the seeds of tomorrow’s uncertainty. The question of who gets seen, who belongs, and what it even means to be “young” or “male” in today’s political landscape—isn’t going away. If anything, it’s just getting started.

It’s rare to see a party chair step up to a bank of microphones with the air of someone who’s heard enough—but Ken Martin, head of the DNC, did just that this week. “I don’t want to hear again that the Democratic Party has a problem with young men,” he declared, letting his words hang in the room. His confidence radiated, perhaps a touch theatrical, but also inescapably real in that moment.Months ago, such a statement might’ve sounded like wishful thinking. The mood, post-2024 election, was anxious among Democrats. Young men’s support had slipped—worryingly so. Pundits recalled James Carville, with trademark candor, warning his party that hammering too hard on progressive talking points was backfiring. He’d been explicit: if you want people’s votes, you have to make it about their lives, not about slogans. Carville, never one to sugarcoat, summed up the male frustration: “Do I count? What about my life?” You could almost see some strategists wincing.The year since those warnings has seen glimmers of hope for Democrats. Take Virginia and New York: fresh electoral victories in places where “momentum” isn’t just a talking point—it actually matters. Abigail Spanberger’s win brings to mind a moderate’s steady, dogged approach, while Zohran Mamdani’s progressive platform didn’t scare off skeptical voters. For party insiders, it was tempting to claim vindication. Martin gave credit to the Democrats’ new coalition—“we won back every major constituency that left our party last year,” he said, in what felt like a victory lap. But then, as he fielded more questions, the conversation shifted. The job market, Martin argued, not the party’s messaging, had soured young folks. Trump-era policies were blamed for stifling economic horizons.Of course, a look under the hood tells a murkier tale. There’s this nugget, courtesy of Ezra Klein and data-minded pollster David Shor: “75-year-old White men supported Kamala Harris at a significantly higher rate than 20-year-old White men.” That’s not an everyday statistic—it raises eyebrows and, for campaign strategists, probably a few heart rates. “Young people have gone from being the most progressive generation since the Baby Boomers,” Shor said, “to potentially the most conservative generation we’ve seen in decades.” It sounded absurd until the numbers kept repeating themselves.Scott Galloway, an NYU professor who’s spent as much time studying economics as he has sounding off on podcasts, points a finger at something more basic: “It’s the affordability crisis,” he said, describing mothers—middle-aged women—shifting to the GOP out of concern for their sons’ bleak prospects. Sometimes, pocketbook issues bulldoze right through ideological boundaries.Meanwhile, raw nerves are visible within the party itself. There was the case of Senator Ruben Gallego—a leaked group chat, a rash complaint: “We don’t allow women to be hot... Dem women look like Dem men.” It wasn’t just about style or fashion; it felt like a flare-up of deeper, generational tension. Gallego confessed, bluntly, that Democrats resemble the “not fun party”—not just buttoned-down, but, in his words, “always telling and correcting people.” For a party that once basked in the afterglow of “sex, drugs, and rock and roll,” the vibe these days feels, to some, like someone turned the music way down and turned the lights up.There’s another refrain, not unique to young men but audible everywhere: is this the party of joy, or just the party of scolding? Old slogans like “Yes we can” don’t get much play in barrooms or dorm rooms compared to the sharper, edgier ones that sometimes make it into headlines—“Defund the police!” or “Smash the patriarchy!” Some say the shift in tone is as much the problem as any particular policy.Jonathan Brocklebank, writing with more nostalgia than bitterness, observed: “I am 57 going on 17. And I’d quite like that second number to stay the same.” Men, arguably people in general, don’t shrug off their younger selves. The struggle to stay relevant, to feel included, or even just to be seen instead of managed, tends to linger. You see it at family dinners, at tailgates, even on the campaign trail—adolescence shadows adulthood in a way politics has long underestimated.So where does that leave the Democrats? The party’s got wins to celebrate, no doubt. But there’s still a low rumble of anxiety, not just from their young male voters, but from the families who watch those young men try to carve out lives in a world that feels, to many, a little less forgiving than before. Policy and branding can only do so much. The real challenge might be carving out space for honest conversations—about work and wages, sure, but also about feeling blown adrift in a party that lately seems to recoil from messiness and contradiction.Ken Martin and his colleagues may have good reason to be optimistic, at least for now. But American politics rarely gives anyone the last word. Every victory contains the seeds of tomorrow’s uncertainty. The question of who gets seen, who belongs, and what it even means to be “young” or “male” in today’s political landscape—isn’t going away. If anything, it’s just getting started.