Every so often, a television drama comes along that has the power to change things. Last year, it was ITV’s Mr Bates vs The Post Office, in which the plight of subpostmasters was rendered with such success that it actually hastened in real-world legislation to compensate them.

And now we have Netflix’s Adolescence, which looks at the online radicalisation of young boys by men’s rights activists (MRAs) such as Andrew Tate. Last week, Keir Starmer told the Commons he had been watching the series with his family and that it portrayed an “emerging and growing problem” that needed to be tackled. Now MPs are examining ideas to address the issue with greater urgency.

It probably shouldn’t work like this. Policy decisions would ideally not hinge on the quality of an actor’s performance (Adolescence had some spectacular ones, which explains its success), and whether politicians manage to catch the latest Netflix series. It makes us look a little emotionally incontinent, as a country, when the decisions of TV drama commissioners weigh quite so heavily in our politics. But the fickle spotlight of political attention has landed here, for now.

The issue of rising misogyny among young boys, fuelled by online influencers, has long been troubling. If we are approaching a point that action might be taken, that is a good thing. But what should that action be? There are, roughly, two lines of thought.

One is that the problem stems from an unfulfilled need among these young men – a lack of guidance, or self-esteem or of other men on which to model themselves. That was the central contention of Gareth Southgate’s Dimbleby lecture last week. He talked of an “epidemic of fatherlessness” and the fact that boys are spending less time at youth centres and sports events where they might have met the kinds of aspirational figures Southgate looked up to: coaches, youth workers and teachers. Without this, he said, boys are driven on to the internet “searching for direction”, where they stumble on role models who “do not have their best interests at heart”.

The other argument is that the poison starts and ends with the influencers themselves: these men are so compelling they can radicalise boys who are otherwise well looked after and have plenty to do. This is the thesis at the heart of Adolescence. Its central character is a boy drawn into MRA culture, which eventually persuades him to kill – but he also comes from an ordinary family, with a loving father and many male role models around him. There is no trauma in his life, no abuse. As the writer, Jack Thorne, puts it: “He comes from a good background, like me; he’s a bright boy, like I was. The key difference between us? He had the internet to read at night whereas I had Terry Pratchett and Judy Blume.”

Proponents of the first idea want investment in youth centres and mentoring programmes, and to encourage more men into teaching. These notions have much merit, and would of course be good on their own terms. But as a solution to the problem of misogyny among radicalised schoolboys, I lean more towards the ideas offered by the second school of thought: getting them away from their smartphones.

Here’s one indication that youth clubs may not be the answer: online culture is not merely compensating for the real world, but outcompeting it. As tech geniuses devote all their brainpower to keeping people engaged, algorithms are getting smarter, and online life more exciting. I’ve previously written about the similarities between social media and casino slot machines: both use league tables, points, lucky streaks and rewards to get the dopamine pumping and keep us hooked. A survey last week of 14- to 17-year-olds found 40% spent at least six hours a day online – the equivalent of a school day. This is not just about a lack of other options. These platforms take the stimulus to socialise – recognition, inclusion, approval – and gamify it to an addictive level. Why spend time with your friends or go to community centres when online culture is more rewarding?

There’s an argument, too, that spending large chunks of your life online itself creates the preconditions for the kind of radicalisation offered by the “manosphere”. A central trait of MRA culture, for example, is that followers are obsessed with their status. But that fixation is also fuelled by social media platforms themselves, which revolve around improving your social standing and projecting it to others. That is one difference with real-world socialising, where overconfidence tends to be kept in check.

In the offline world, a dent to your ego can be laughed off; online it can be devastating, and longer lasting. This makes people brittle and insecure. No wonder there is an exploding online market for self-improvement and self-help, which MRA influencers tap into – promising young men routes to status and approval.

Add to this the fact that the internet is a grievance machine, feeding users content that will enrage them and opinions that match their own. And now enter Tate and his ilk, with a package of promises: status, female attention and a target for resentment. You can see why this might be hard to resist.

Is it time for the government to restrict teenage access to social media? A bill that campaigners hoped would ban addictive smartphone algorithms aimed at young teenagers was watered down earlier this month; that may have been a mistake. France, Norway and Australia are experimenting with smartphone and social media bans for children and teenagers. It may be time for us to do the same.

• Martha Gill is an Observer columnist

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