Escaping the “bro” bubble: Why toxic bro culture still holds teams back

Because no one should feel like an outsider in their own meeting.

Not long ago, I sat through a meeting that had all the ingredients for a productive team session: smart people, good intentions, and clear objectives. But instead of focus, what I got was a cringe-inducing display of “bro culture”—two guys dominating the room with inside jokes, sports chatter, and borderline offensive comments. And yes, I’m also a guy. But even I felt like an outsider in that moment.

That experience stuck with me. Because it wasn’t just immature—it was unprofessional. It derailed the conversation, alienated team members, and created an environment where not everyone felt like they belonged. And it reminded me of something uncomfortable: I’ve been on the other side of that dynamic before.

Years ago, I was part of an all-male leadership team. I was younger, less aware, and if I’m being honest, more than a little complicit. We weren’t trying to be exclusionary. But we were definitely benefiting from a culture that worked in our favor. And like a lot of people in that position, I didn’t question it. I didn’t have to.

These days, I notice those dynamics more—especially as someone who, in certain rooms, doesn’t always fit the mold. I’ve been in spaces where I’ve had to downplay parts of who I am just to get through the meeting. That changes you. It makes you hyper-aware of what inclusion actually feels like—and what it looks like when it’s missing.

What is “bro culture,” really?

Bro culture isn’t always loud or aggressive. Sometimes it’s subtle. It’s the unspoken social code that prioritizes bonding over belonging. That rewards confidence over curiosity. That values being “one of the guys” over being an inclusive teammate.

It shows up in small ways:

• Inside jokes that create invisible walls.
• After-hours drinks that aren’t really optional.
• Side conversations that edge into cliquishness.
• A tone that says “we’re here to win” more than “we’re here to work together.”

The problem isn’t just the behavior—it’s the environment that allows it. A culture that treats these things as harmless quirks instead of what they are: barriers.

I’ve seen it. I’ve lived it. And I’m committed to not letting it shape the way I work now.

Why bro culture quietly kills collaboration

If you want creativity, collaboration, and real innovation, you need diversity—of thought, identity, background, and lived experience. That doesn’t happen in a culture that rewards sameness and sidelines difference.

The best teams aren’t built on constant agreement. They’re built on psychological safety. That means people feel safe enough to show up fully, share ideas, challenge assumptions, and ask questions without needing to decode locker-room humor or navigate cliques.

Inclusion doesn’t mean making everyone comfortable. It means making space for everyone, even when it’s uncomfortable.

What I’m doing to keep bro culture out of my work

No team or leader is perfect—including me. But these are the commitments I’ve made—and continue to refine—to build a more inclusive, respectful work culture:

1. I watch my language—and my jokes

Even casual remarks can land wrong. And honestly? I love a sharp, sarcastic comment. I like to play with boundaries and push the edge with humor. But over the years, I’ve realized: a team meeting isn’t the place to test your standup set.

In my world—creative, collaborative, occasionally chaotic—we push the boundaries of “professionalism” all the time. That doesn’t give us license to be immature. It means we have to be even more mindful of how we show up. I’m not saying I’ve turned into my dad, but I do pay attention to how my words land. Not because I’m afraid to speak—but because I care how others feel when I do.

2. I invite voices, not just opinions

You don’t get better outcomes by only listening to the loudest person in the room. You get them by making space for people who might not jump in right away—but have the insight you actually need.

As a white guy who’s been in leadership roles for a long time, I’ve learned to step back more often. I ask for input. I don’t default to taking the lead in conversations that don’t need me front and center. It’s not about checking a box. It’s about letting others flourish—especially those who’ve been conditioned to think their voice doesn’t carry weight.

3. I shut down exclusivity

Inside jokes? Sidebars that leave people out? Not interested.

In the meeting I mentioned earlier—the one hijacked by bro-y banter—I tried to redirect the conversation back to the topic. A few times, actually. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t. But I’ve learned that even a subtle “let’s bring it back” can shift the tone. Staying focused and respectful doesn’t make you boring. It makes you someone people want to work with.

4. I welcome feedback—even the awkward kind

It’s scary. It can sting. But it’s also the fastest way to grow.

If I’ve made someone uncomfortable—or just missed the mark—I want to know. One of the most helpful pieces of feedback I’ve gotten recently was about some language I used in my book. It wasn’t bro-y, but it wasn’t current, either. That single conversation pushed me to start working on a second edition. Not because I had to, but because I could do better—and I wanted to.

5. I build diverse teams on purpose

Not for optics. Not for trendiness. For better work. Period.

When you have people from different backgrounds, identities, and experiences at the table, you get stronger ideas, sharper decisions, and work that resonates with a wider world. It’s not just a moral imperative—it’s a creative and strategic one.

I know what it looks like when everyone in the room thinks the same way. And I know how much more powerful it is when they don’t.

We all have blind spots. What matters is what we do once we see them.

I’ve been part of work cultures that unintentionally excluded people. I’ve seen how easy it is to fall into old habits or let things slide in the name of “just having fun.” I’ve also seen how quickly trust breaks down when people feel like they don’t belong.

I’m not perfect. No one is. But I’m intentional now—in how I lead, how I show up, and how I design spaces where people can do their best work without needing to conform to some outdated mold.

The future of work isn’t about who fits in—it’s about who feels like they can fully show up.

Let’s leave bro culture where it belongs: in the past.

TL;DR:
Bro culture isn’t just cringey—it’s exclusion in disguise. I’ve been part of it, I’ve benefited from it, and I’ve worked hard to unlearn it. This piece unpacks what bro culture actually looks like at work, why it quietly kills collaboration, and how I’m shifting the way I lead to create space for everyone—especially the ones who don’t fit the mold. Because professionalism isn’t about being buttoned-up. It’s about making sure no one feels like an outsider in the room.