Can Chivalry Survive Without Gender?
A new social code is emerging thanks to trad chads and 4th wave feminists
Chivalry is having a comeback.
A recent meme about knights got the internet into lather. Turns out the Holy Roman Empire is the new Roman Empire. And when I went down the rabbit hole of medieval discourse, I discovered a new-to-me trad guy. This trad man is quoting C.S. Lewis and Ecclesiastes and George R. R. Martin. Genre of guy who discovered Arthurian poetry and the crusades, and is now writing sermons to unmarried men on how to become a “Christian warrior-nobel”.
“Holding doors open is easy, something any chump can do,” writes one Substack writer with 4K subscribers. “Contemporary chivalry is boring because it democratizes what ought to be elite and aspirational…Virtues like prowess, faith, generosity, honor, and loyalty must be restored to their proper place.”
From what I’ve gathered, this new crusader has a mix of masculine rage, Catholic virtue, and courtly manner. But this trad guy is no monolith. He ranges from the ultra-American cheering for jihad, to the Marvel fan who ranks Charlemagne among the original superheroes.
As strange as a chadly knight bench pressing for Jesus may sound, this all makes perfect sense to me. In fact, we should have seen it coming. As fourth wave feminism continues to gain cultural momentum, dissolving rigid norms around gender and sexual expression, we’ve seen a conservative swing back towards traditional values and strict gender roles.
Chivalry is having a revival because people are confused. As a cis het woman, I like chivalry. I think it’s hot. But this confuses and worries me. Is it okay to like it? Does it make me a bad feminist? Men are confused too. Should they hold the door? Offer their coat? Or do women find it offensive?
Men are craving a social code for how to act, but I'm not sure King Arthur has the answers.
What if I like chivalry?
I grew up in the South in the '90s. White men walked around with a deep woundedness. Feeling lost without a horse to ride, they collected guns and trucks trying to salvage a sense of identity, rapidly losing ground to Sex and the Cityism.
Women in New York were “having sex like men” and demanding equal pay. Meanwhile, in the Atlanta suburbs where I went to high school, I pined for a tidewater prince to introduce me at cotillion and ruin his coat in a puddle for me.
After a few women’s studies classes in college, however, I dropped that fantasy. Instead, I wanted to be Carrie Bradshaw or Christiane Amanpour. I was a journalism major, wearing a pencil in my hair, vying for Editor-in-Chief. I read The Ethical Slut. I snuck into the male dormitories. My adventures made the eyes pop on my churchy Phi Mu friends.
It all fell apart, though, when I fell in love. All the Pat Conroy and Jane Austen I’d read came rushing back. Michael rode a black motorcycle, loved Sinatra, kept a copy of The Great Gatsby in his jacket pocket. In a social milieu of salmon colored Sperrys and double popped collars, Micheal wore tailored men’s wear and dark cashmere. When we started dating, he pulled out all the stops: opening doors, pulling out chairs, taking my coat, offering his arm. Chastely kissing me on the cheek, not asking to come up. I was smitten.
I felt so cared for, my every need anticipated and accommodated. The feminist coastal elites had it wrong, I thought, chivalry is awesome. I felt respected, adored. I was his queen.
The problem was that it was an act. What I thought was respect turned out to be a kind of entrapment. His protective instinct was just a disguise for possessiveness. He interpreted my independence as defiance. [I wrote an essay about Michael in season 1 here]
He would often say, “I thought you were a sweet girl. All I wanted was a sweet girl.” “Sweet” being chivalric code for “obedient,” I guess.
Why is chivalry sexy?
Chivalry is about power.
When Michael and I went out, I could anticipate his movements, and respond gracefully in kind. I was his dancer, twirling in time with his choreography. Chivalry relies on this gendered performance of dominance and submission. Like any sex dynamic, it’s about trust and vulnerability, control and surrender.
If we remove the sub/dom dynamic, though, chivalry loses its spark. It becomes something like “mutual respect and care”—worthy, for sure, but missing a certain pop and fizz. Two equals simply being respectful and considerate to each other? I want to love it, but I have to admit the thrill is gone.
This is where my feminist conscience gets shouty: why does courtesy need to be dressed up in dominance and submission to feel exciting? Chivalry relies on inequality, which is inherently problematic! It’s not really about protecting or caring for women—it’s about maintaining a social structure where men’s strength is celebrated, and women’s fragility is idolized.
There’s pleasure in being put on a pedestal. I felt divine when I was with Michael. But that pleasure felt hollow—deceptive, even—because it rested on the assumption that I must diminish my independence to enjoy it.
“Just because it’s friendly,” blogger A. Lynn wrote, “doesn’t make it any less sexist.” Chivalry is described as “benevolent sexism” by researchers Kathleen Connelly and Martin Heesacker, “a harmful ideology that perpetuates gender inequality.” But in their survey of nearly 400 college students, they found chivalry is associated with higher life satisfaction. “The results imply that although benevolent sexism perpetuates inequality at the structural level, it might offer some benefits at the personal level.” A confusing terrain indeed.
Here is the unfortunate truth: I like chivalry, despite its inherent sexism, because it provides clarity. When a man is assertive and clear in his actions, “Please, after you” “No, allow me,” it alleviates the awkward and unsexy negotiation of who does what. It provides the framework and role play of an improvised dance.
As gender becomes more fluid, and we erase the strict female/male behaviors we’ve been socialized to perform, we need new instructions.
Our generations wield the social influence to erase harmful gender stereotypes and rewrite social codes altogether. It’s an exciting time. But as the new rules get debated and tested, trad man chivalry is proliferating because it offers clarity during the confusion.
Where chivalry comes from
Looking for answers in medieval social codes is a centuries-long tradition. Men of all ages have been distorting chivalric narratives to fit their needs.
Chivalry has existed since the 8th century. It evolved alongside Frank and Norman horsemanship (chevalerie) and medieval war technology (sturdier saddles, heavier lances). Knights—essentially feudal swords-for-hire—arose as a new warrior class.
Historian Nigel Saul describes warfare of the 10th century as “marked by savagery and brutality. Forces burned, raped, and pillaged campaigns of devastation.” Reformist churchmen, in an effort to limit the barbarism of war and lawlessness of knights in the 11th century, imposed a code of ethics promoting loyalty and mercy. The loose code decreed that knights take hostages instead of slaves, ransom the nobles instead of assassinating them, and spare women and children.
The code was later co-opted to legitimize violence in the name of Christianity during the Crusades. And again revised and expanded to persuade vassals to fight during the Hundred Years War. Hardly the aristocratic courtliness it would describe centuries later.
Literature, too, played a crucial role in mythologizing chivalry. Historian Richard Barber argues that chivalry is a result of life imitating art, not vice versa. He writes, “From troubadour love the rest of chivalry takes its cue.” King Arthur, Lancelot, and Guinevere are narrative distortions, a pastiche of Celtic myths and ancient epics, made famous by 12th century troubadours like Chrétien de Troyes. Poets largely invented the chivalric romance, Barber writes, “onto which the courtly ideas were grafted.”
Scholar Chris Benincase put it like this: “Any historical search for a legendary knightly quest inevitably brings the researcher to petty, disappointing land grabs and holy wars. Arthur himself looks to be no more than a 20th-century shadow cast upon the 14th century, a 14th upon the 12th, a 12th upon the 7th, and so until all you have is a little scribble of Welsh poetry and a mound of dubious stones in Cornwall.”
But whatever. Even if Arthur isn’t real and chivalry has evolved heavily over time, myth is still powerful stuff. For me, chivalry doesn’t need to hold up to historical scrutiny, so long as it’s good for the world. But is it good for the world?
What modern chivalry could look like
When I look at the red tribe discourse around knighthood right now, it feels pretty bleak. These Christian warrior-noble revivalists focus on hyper masculine tropes, and pull heavily from anachronistic reimaginings of knights from the Victorian era. I support virtues of “generosity, honor, and loyalty” and would love to see more men pour over C.S. Lewis essays about courtesy and respectfulness. But not if it comes at a cost of reinforcing a toxic gender binary.
If chivalry goes too far in the trad direction it becomes a rigid hierarchy, oppressing women into butter churning. Too far in the other direction, you get toe-sucking female-worship that turns men into simpy Only Fans subscribers. There’s got to be a middle ground.
Chivalry doesn’t need gender, but it will always need power. I believe chivalry can and should have a 21st century renaissance, so long as the gender roles aren’t rigid, and the power play is sexy, consensual, and flexible. Like the power dynamics of a partner dance: someone leads, the other follows.
How this looks in practice: The chivalrous person acts with assertiveness and grace. The action is not about dominance—it’s about care and connection, performed with clear direction.
For example: stop doing the awkward door thing where you either lunge in front of someone to grab the handle, or open it from a mile away and wait for them like a footman. Instead, when approaching the door, the leader should stride slightly ahead, open it confidently, and say, “After you.” Avoid saying “ladies first” unless you’re sure your companion likes that vibe.
Exiting a car? Make eye contact with your passenger and say, “Let me get the door for you,” before walking around to their side. This prevents them from jumping out while you're en route, ruining your move. Or, as you begin the movement (reaching for their coat, pulling out their chair) ask, “May I get that for you?” This leaves space for them to decline if the gesture feels unnecessary or uncomfortable. They can say, “No, really, I got it.” You would then graciously back off.
If any of that sounds awkward or unnatural, read about the social agency matrix of warm + assertive = kind, which I think are essential ingredients for courteous and chivalric behavior. As with all things, non-gendered chivalry that communicates confidence and grace will take practice.
The trad guys didn’t get everything wrong, though. Like any mythology, chivalry is adaptive. Its power lies in how we choose to interpret and use it. If chivalry is having a comeback, then let it be an opportunity to create new stories that reflect the values of our time.
As the writer of the Chivalry Guild urges us, “It is our own Camelot that’s at stake.”
Settle the score on where chivalry comes from and how it’s evolved over time. Stay tuned, a brief history of chivalry is up next.
Sources and further reading
Chivalry in Medieval England, Nigel Saul, 2011
Knight and Chivalry, Richard Barber, 1974
The Allegory of Love, A Study in Medieval Tradition, C.S. Lewis, 1936
The Chivalry Guild Letters, Substack
“Why is Benevolent Sexism Appealing?” Psychology of Women Quarterly, Kathleen Connelly and Martin Heesacker
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Good thoughts! In my experience, there's a lot of leverage in simply rearranging the subjective interpretations of power dynamics surrounding "chivalrous" actions without even much change in role-standard behaviors (although there's no shortage of room for negotiation there too).
Picking up a check could make me a chauvinistic pig, a loser simp, or just a normal guy doing a mildly decent thing before she gets the next one. Having my favorite beverage waiting in the fridge when I get off a flight to come visit can make her a subordinate homemaker, an overly domineering mother to everything within reach, or just a sweet, thoughtful woman who wanted to make sure I felt welcome.
All in the eye of the beholder; good faith goes a long way.
Great insights here, thanks!