Incel culture in Ireland uncovered by RTÉ Documentary On One

Paul – not his real name – is in his thirties, and he has never had a sexual or romantic relationship. He goes to work and gets on with his colleagues but nobody knows the life of quiet despair that he lives. Nobody knows he's an 'incel'...

Creating a documentary about incel culture in Ireland has been one of the most complex and thought-provoking projects I've worked on to date. Incel communities, groups of men who identify as "involuntary celibates", are infamous for their secrecy and resistance to outside scrutiny, especially from the media. They exist in the darkest corners of the internet, where they build echo chambers around their feelings of rejection, loneliness, and sometimes deep-seated hatred toward women.

When I began researching them, I knew it was going to be challenging to gain access to these groups, and I was fully aware of the backlash that might come with it. However, I was driven by a simple but crucial question, who are the men behind the screens?

The project began with months of quiet research. I spent countless hours in front of my laptop, visiting incel forums, reading their threads, trying to make sense of their world. What I saw was both disturbing and heartbreaking. It’s a world steeped in isolation, where men bond over shared misery, often encouraging each other down darker paths of hatred and violence. On these forums, I came across videos of women being harassed or assaulted, graphic violent content, and horrifyingly cavalier jokes about rape and murder. Gallows humour, as they call it, was rampant, making it all the more unsettling. The atmosphere was one of hopelessness and nihilism, but there was also a dangerous undercurrent of anger usually directed at women.

During our conversations, what struck me most was how many of them saw themselves not as perpetrators of harm, but as victims, victims of women, of society, and of their own circumstances.

Despite the disturbing nature of this online content, I realised early on that to create an honest and meaningful documentary, I couldn’t just rely on what was written in these forums. I needed to hear from the men behind the usernames. I knew this wouldn’t be easy, as incels are typically resistant to speaking out, let alone appearing in the media. They’ve cultivated a deep mistrust of journalists, viewing them as part of the broader society that marginalises and ridicules them. But after months of careful outreach, we managed to secure interviews with several Irish incels, an achievement that still surprises me!

These interviews were conducted anonymously, of course. The men we spoke to insisted on hiding their identities, unwilling to expose themselves to the judgment they feared would follow if they were publicly associated with the incel label. During our conversations, what struck me most was how many of them saw themselves not as perpetrators of harm, but as victims, victims of women, of society, and of their own circumstances. They felt overlooked, unattractive, and socially inept, and for them, the incel community was a place where they could share these experiences without fear of being mocked or dismissed. The vulnerability was real, but the danger lay in how easily their pain morphed into anger and, for some, hatred toward women, who they blamed for their loneliness.

In the documentary, we also included the perspective of an anonymous Irish female journalist, a woman who lives in perpetual fear of being attacked in real life. She spoke to us about the online harassment she’s endured, the rape and death threats, and the toxic and misogynistic rhetoric that incels often direct toward women in her position. Her story is an important reminder of the real-world implications of this online culture. It’s not just a group of disenfranchised men venting their frustrations; it’s a community where some members are actively plotting harm, whether through harassment or, in extreme cases, violent attacks.

Balancing empathy with accountability was one of the hardest parts of making this documentary. On one hand, it’s impossible to ignore the very real mental health issues that many incels face. I spoke extensively with William Costello, an Irishman doing ground-breaking research into incel culture. His research focuses on the link between incel culture and mental health, particularly loneliness and social isolation. William helped me understand that at the core of incel ideology is a deep sense of rejection, both social and romantic, that for many of these men spirals into depression and despair. Their feelings of hopelessness are real, and it’s important to acknowledge that many of them are struggling with serious emotional and psychological issues. However, that empathy must also be tempered with a clear-eyed understanding of the harm incels can cause, both to themselves and others.

Throughout the documentary, we wrestled with how to portray this balance. How do you show the genuine suffering of these men without excusing the violence, both verbal and physical, that some incels either fantasise about or, in extreme cases, carry out? The truth is, there is no easy answer. The challenge was to make sure we were giving a voice to those who felt voiceless, but also to hold them accountable for the darker, more dangerous aspects of their beliefs.

While the subject matter was difficult to confront, I worked with Nicoline Greer as my producer on this project. Together, Nicoline and I navigated the logistical and ethical challenges of making this documentary. From the technical difficulties of setting up anonymous interviews to the emotional toll of spending months immersed in violent and graphic content, this was a documentary that pushed both of us. But I believe it was a story worth telling, because incel culture, while often dismissed as a fringe issue, has very real consequences. Its effects have spilled out from the internet into the real world in tragic and violent ways, most notably in attacks carried out by self-identified incels in the US, Canada, and the UK.

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While Ireland has so far been spared from such extremes, speaking to Detective Bryan Murphy in Cork about an incel he charged with coercion, I became sharply aware that the growing presence of incel communities here is a warning sign that we cannot afford to ignore.

One of the unexpected joys of making this programme, despite its heavy subject matter, was the conversations it sparked with those around me. I spoke at length with friends, colleagues, and even my family about what I was learning. My father, who is of a different generation, was shocked to hear about the extent of this online culture. Yet, he also recognised some of the broader issues at play, the loneliness, the feelings of inadequacy, that have existed for generations, though they have now found a dangerous new outlet in the internet age.

As I look back on the months spent making this documentary, I’m struck by how much I’ve learned, not just about incel culture but about the broader issues of mental health, masculinity, and the digital age. Incel culture may be hidden, but its effects are real and far-reaching. My hope is that this documentary will shed light on this often-overlooked issue and spark a conversation about how we can address the root causes, before they lead to more harm.