*I don’t think I’ve spoiled anything, but in case it really matters to you, you might not want to read this until you’ve finished Season Three of The Bear*
Season Three of FX’s The Bear was released this past Thursday, and with it has come a new swell of (thirsty) discourse around the cast. The series centers around Carmen “Carmy” Berzatto (played by Jeremy Allen White), an exceptional chef who has returned to his family’s struggling restaurant following the death of his brother. Since the show's first season, released in 2022, Jeremy Allen White has become a kind of sex symbol for his performance as Carmy and the character’s specific brand of gritty and bruting masculinity. As a scholar of gender and sexuality (and a woman with well-functioning eyes), I see the appeal of White and the working class coded characters he plays. However, I also see that our focus on White, his artfully disheveled hair, and the tattoos that peep out of his tight white t-shirts has distracted us from the actual heartthrob on The Bear, Marcus, the kitchen pastry chef, played by Lionel Boyce.
The Bear is a fun text to think with when it comes to masculinity because it is technically a workplace and family “comedy.” Work and family are the main realms where masculinity is shaped, disciplined, and expressed. The basic language of capitalism – competition, production, and individualism – are all gendered terms that orient us toward a masculine idea where men are fierce and determined leaders who want nothing except to be the best at whatever it is they do. And that’s a pretty understandable goal when considering that historically, men's work is linked to the way we understand their relationship to family. Because men are typically expected to be the primary or only financial provider, the work they do and especially the wages they earn reflect the kind of life they can give their families. We admire high earners because we believe and know that money is connected to a sense of safety, making way for prosperity and longevity. But that also puts men in a really unfortunate bind where so much of their sense of self is tied up with work that they often don’t get to develop deeper relationships with family or themselves. That’s what The Bear is fundamentally about – it’s the story of a man navigating his relationship with work and family and struggling to define a sense of self-worth because of the expectations he faces or puts on himself.
I say all this because when we apply this framework to Carmy and Marcus, we begin to see the stark differences between the characters.
Carmy is in a position of authority and leadership. He’s hard-working and determined. He loves and is committed to his family (both his biological and chosen/kitchen family), and he wants to do right by them. But he’s also a mess. He’s self-involved and unwilling to compromise or trust those he works with. His hyperfocus on perfection over excellence makes him insufferable and mentally unwell. He’s convinced he knows best, so he ignores his family’s attempts to help him or communicate their needs. Of course, the show is aware of these faults and quite successfully works to make him a sympathetic character. He’s a guy with the best of intentions and a misguided sense of how to act on them. And that has its appeal, specifically for women, who are tempted and/or conditioned to think, “I can fix him,” when presented with an emotionally stunted and still very attractive man such as Carmy.
Marcus, however, is different. He’s not in a position of authority, but he does have a strong sense of authority over his craft. He’s the only pastry chef, and he comes up with ideas for his menu section, which I think are gestures toward a level of creativity and self-possession. From seasons two and three, we learn about his relationship with his mother and how much family and caretaking mean to him. And even within his kitchen family, it’s clear that Marcus is beloved, and for good reason – he’s reliable, he’s a good teammate, and he doesn’t cause any issues.
Again, the show is aware of this and, in its way, leverages how good Marcus is as a kind of foil to Carmy, reminding the audience and Carmy that you can be a great guy without being an asshole. The best example of this dynamic is a scene from this most recent season.
Marcus is sitting in Carmy’s office looking through one of his notebooks, when he sees a photo of elite chefs pasted in the middle of the page. Below it, Carmy has written, “legacy.” Marcus admires the collection of chefs before saying to Carmy, “I bet these guys pushed each other.” Carmy nods before saying, “They talked a lot about legacy” – another masculine gendered term connected to work and family – before describing how, in a restaurant setting, a legacy is about who works where and what they go on to do, “all these parts of an original restaurant would end up at a new restaurant.” “It’s like a family tree,” Marcus says back to him, giving us a more familiar way to think about lineage and heritage. As he says this, Sydney (Ayo Edebiri) comes into the conversation, asking them what they think about legacy. “I try to avoid it,” Carmy says before thinking aloud, “If I were to leave something behind I would want it to be panic-less. Anxiety free. And I think in order to do that, I would have to be square with everything. And everybody.” His gaze is down in a soft focus, as if all the ways he needs to correct himself are laid on the floor in front of him like puzzle pieces. “Like to make it good,” he continues, “I’d have to filter out the bad.” He nods, taking in his own words, before looking up at Marcus and asking, “What about you?”
Marcus sits for a beat, carefully crafting his answer. “I think I would want my legacy to be…I kept my chin up, listened and learned,” he starts slowly at first, but then the ideas start to flow, “I did honest work. Fun to be around.” Carmy chuckles and looks up at him with wide eyes, admiring how pure Marcus’s goals are and knowing full well he’s already achieved them. “And…. and excellent emergency contact,” Marcus says, rounding out his list. “That sounds legendary, pal,” Carmy declares excitedly as if Marcus has reinvigorated his sense of drive and purpose.
From this scene, we get a clearer sense of how Carmy and Marcus are different, even though they share somewhat similar goals around work and family. To me, what is most striking is the way they frame their growth and evolution. The “filter” process Carmy describes implies that there is an end-point or peak level of refinement, which in turn suggests that anything beneath that standard isn’t good enough. And if the standard is perfection, which, based on everything we know about Carmy, we know that perfection is indeed the standard, then Carmy is left perpetually striving and never satisfied. That’s a hard way to live, and it’s a hard thing to watch. Marcus, though, seems to have a more flexible approach. He wants to have “listened and learned,” demonstrating an awareness of his humanity – he can’t know or be everything but can try, adapt, and grow. There’s no final endpoint, but rather, just a continuous process of change that feels more enjoyable and sustainable. There’s humility in understanding you can’t be perfect. And that humility is ultimately what leads to understanding and empathy for others.
A few years back, Shea Serrano released a collection of essays called Conference Room, Five Minutes – Ten Illustrated Essays About the Office. The last essay, “Is Jim Halpert Hot?” is an email chain between Serrano and his wife, Larami, where they debate the titular question. Larami is arguing that Jim is not hot, and to make her case, she provides a nearly perfect rubric:
“A hot guy should have the following: He should have a warm smile that he uses accurately and like a weapon when needed, not a big one that he just throws around all willy nilly. A hot guy should have a “look.” It doesn’t have to be dressy or trendy, just something identifiable and something that says, “I wore this on purpose.” A hot guy can be rough and tumble but, at his center, he should be kind-hearted and vulnerable (but not overly sensitive, which I think I could successfully argue that Jim was). A hot guy should have a solid smolder. The smolder is important. And a hot guy should be able to make me feel like, should I happen to need it, he could protect me.”
If we hold this rubric up against Carmy, he ticks every box. And similarly, so does Marcus. They are both hot. But I think the thing missing from this rubric - and what makes Marcus hotter - is that a Hot Guy shouldn’t be so needy or overwhelming that there isn’t space for you. This is not to say that they are completely needless or should have small personalities, but instead that they aren’t so self-involved that they become incapable of servicing others when needed and desired. That’s Carmy’s downfall and Marcus’s greatest strength. And not for nothing, but the difference between them is in their relationships to work and family. There’s no room for Claire (his childhood crush and Season Two girlfriend) in Carmy’s pursuit of perfection. Though we have yet to see Marcus’s romantic life fully develop, I suspect his more relaxed relationship with work and mature feelings about family will serve him well.