Soon the executive wing resembles a circus. In the highly feminized work place, there is little masculine passion left. The gusto is gone, the inspiration swept into neat little piles and discarded like so much unwanted dust. In its place are cute little cubbyholes, some cluttered as a knitting room, others neat as a pin, all quiet and essentially the same. Most men are, by nature, passionate.
Men thrive on solving problems and finding new ways to do things.
Visions of inventions, team work, exploration and accomplishment inspire boys and motivate men. But, in the muted surroundings of the feminized factories and boutique bureaucracies, women expect men to curb their passions, speak gently, walk softly, avert their eyes to avoid accusations of sexual harassment, and demur to every misandristic dismissal of masculinity. Like the public school classrooms, such daintiness begs escape. Hence, men run to the fields, forests and stadiums where, with golf clubs and pigskins, or rifles and shotguns, they affirm their masculinity like rams butting heads in contests to prove themselves rams, still. This is not progress, but discrimination against men.