Men, I mean. After all, they are the ones who define themselves in relation to us: to be a man is to be whatever is not to be a woman.
If women are graceful, then to be graceful is feminine. A graceful man is effeminate. A real man is not graceful. He’s not necessarily clumsy, he’s just not-graceful.
If women like flowers, then men do not.
If women like pink and orange and mauve, then men do not.
And when women change their abilities, their desires, the men also change. For example, as soon as women became banktellers, suddenly men (real men) did not become banktellers. As soon as women were typists, men were not-typists. Et cetera.
I pity a whole sex that is so dependent. Living in a rut of reaction, they are simply incapable of such a proactive move as defining themselves for themselves. They didn’t even know they didn’t like quiche until we said we liked it.
Frankly, I fear for their future. At the rate women are doing, well, doing whatever they please, men will soon be, well, not.
