It doesn’t matter if the incident was occasional or repeated: the fact is that Mrs. Beyoncé, from that moment on, was careful not to sing more on the subject.

 And perhaps that is precisely the theme-non-theme: in a relational system that sees us trapped in the logic of large porno-fake salons that bear friendly names, such as Tinder, Bumble or Raia (for the most demanding), there is no room for silverware or gallantry. Everything is measured from a distance: emoticons are preferred to facts; to dinner invitations, temporary dick pics; to sex, role-playing or childhood friends.

It is legitimate, at this point in the narrative, that the Pretty Woman joke that conquered the hearts of the entire female universe – great-grandmothers included – addressed “by Kit” to her friend Vivien, who discouraged asked her to give her only one name of a woman who had really gone well: the answer, written in all the chats between besties,  it’s “To that big ass of Cinderella!”

One wonders, therefore, if the main responsibility for this confusion or crisis of masculinity is to be found in the fair sex and in the list of titles that the new male must sport: the prince charming’s license, a diploma as a handyman maid and an honorary degree signed by good old Rocco Siffredi.

But…

Oh yes, and yet there is a but. Of the big ones, moreover [..] 

The kind that few would have expected, reading this editorial that accompanies the fourth issue of MRV Magazine, focused on masculinity. 

Of those, however, that give hope.

His name is Alessandro Borghi, who in his guise or nudity on behalf of the aforementioned Siffredi, confessed to thinking about sex and practicing it so much that he is disliked by most.

And scurrilous. Vulgar. Male chauvinist. Machista and so on and so forth.

Then with the blue eye, in love, father and planning a good retreat surrounded by nature? 

It is appropriate to say: “There are no more males than there used to be”.