Abstract
Testosterone: An Unauthorized Biography is an outstanding addition to canonical works at the intersection of sociology and biology. The book’s aim is to critique the idea that testosterone imbues men with masculinity. This is the hormone’s “authorized” biography. Jordan-Young and Karkazis demonstrate that it is not only incorrect but also naturalizes some men’s supremacy over women and other men. Throughout the book, they show that this authorized biography is pervasive in pop culture, but is also the dominant paradigm informing scientific inquiry and policy decisions.
Their “unauthorized” biography tells not only a more accurate story about testosterone but also an infinitely more interesting one. To start, they undermine any simple understanding of what testosterone is and how it influences the body. Sometimes the structure is free-floating, sometimes bound to various proteins, and sometimes in the process of morphing into “downstream” steroids. Scientists must decide which of these to measure, with implications for interpretation. Even with a clear measure of bioavailable testosterone, the measurements are difficult to interpret. Our testosterone levels vary seasonally and throughout the day. They respond nimbly to our daily experiences. People with wildly varying amounts have the same reaction, and we are more responsive to changes in levels than the levels themselves. Meanwhile, the cells in different parts of our bodies have more or fewer receptors for testosterone, such that our brain and muscles may respond more strongly than our bones and skin, or our legs may respond more strongly than our arms, and so on.
There is the puzzle, too, that is the dependent variable. Most scientific research investigating testosterone tests its role in producing “masculinity.” And what is that? Operationalized as sex drive, athleticism, or aggression, the dependent variable is a social construct, yet scientists proceed as if the thing they are predicting is not at least as slippery as testosterone itself. Meanwhile, scientists are largely failing to study the known and yet unknown relationships between testosterone and outcomes we do not define as masculine—thereby furthering the illusion that testosterone is a “male hormone.”
As an example, Jordan-Young and Karkazis consider the role of testosterone in ovulation. The hormone is a critical ingredient in prompting primordial follicles to begin the process that involves releasing fertilizable ova. The idea that the quintessential “male hormone” would be necessary for reproductive success in female bodies, however, simply did not occur to scientists, who also resisted early evidence. Jordan-Young and Karkazis trace the convoluted pathway to the discovery, showing how hard it is to penetrate testosterone’s mythology.
The following chapters make similar interventions. Using compelling and often familiar stories illustrating testosterone’s authorized biography, they ask whether science supports the idea that the hormone is cleanly responsible for violence, risk-taking, bad parenting, athleticism, and power-seeking. The answer is always no. Along the way, we learn the scientific missteps that have led many of us to think otherwise: p-hacking, fishing, deceptive citation practices, and tolerance for generally sloppy research methods.
Jordan-Young and Karkazis argue that this is not just bad science; it is science in service to cultural hegemony. The idea that the hormone is a potent force in producing and legitimizing gender inequality is clear in their pages, but they show that testosterone is manipulated to tell stories about race, class, and culture, too. Assumptions regarding “too much” or “too little” testosterone are used to validate class and race hierarchies as well as judge some people to be more “civilized” than others. These studies identify an “ideal biocitizen” who is White, Western, class privileged, and, yes, male, while also erasing the stratifying effects of social structures (219).
The exciting part is that there is still so much to learn. If we liberate ourselves from the idea that there is a “male hormone,” we can embrace what the data are really telling us: that testosterone is a “transcendent, multipurpose hormone that has been adapted for a huge array of uses in virtually all bodies” (206). It is a beautiful mystery just waiting to be solved. And in the unraveling of this mystery, sociologists have an absolutely central role to play. Testosterone is a “social molecule” (223). It is highly responsive to social interaction, serving as a biochemical facilitator of what is genuinely sociological territory. Without us, the science will fail.
Testosterone is an excellent book. It is compelling, well-written, and accessible. It is a genuine contribution to biosocial thinking, research, and critique. It would enrich courses in gender and sexuality, social stratification, and the sociology of the body. Because it so seamlessly combines a sociological paradigm with careful critiques of scientific studies, it could also be put to productive use in research methods courses. It is a fantastic contribution to our collective endeavor as sociologists.