You Can Be Anything—Except a Man or a Woman

The Castration of Identity: How They Killed Masculinity and Femininity and Sold Us the Void - 10 Things Killing America | Part 5

Jun 11, 2025

“The most dangerous thing you can be today is unapologetically yourself—if ‘yourself’ happens to be a man with a spine or a woman with a soul.”

Welcome to the circus of modern culture, where gender is a spectrum, sex is a social construct, and feelings are facts—until yours hurt someone else’s. Masculinity? Toxic. Femininity? Oppressive. The divine dance of polarity we used to call human nature has been stomped out, stripped down, sanitized, and sold back to us in rainbow packaging with a QR code for therapy.

We’ve killed the lion and the doe and replaced them with algorithms and antidepressants. Boys who speak too loudly are drugged. Girls who dream of families are mocked. Want to raise your son to be a protector, a leader? Good luck—he’ll be labeled dangerous before puberty. Want to tell your daughter it’s okay to want love more than hustle? Prepare to be called a traitor to the cause.

We didn't liberate anyone. We just created an entire population confused, over-medicated, identity-fractured, and spiritually starved—clutching self-help books, scrolling TikTok for validation, and wondering why it all feels so goddamn hollow.

And before you roll your eyes and scream “conservative talking point,” save your breath. This isn’t about going back to some ‘50s fantasy. This isn’t about forcing women into kitchens or chaining men to cubicles. This is about truth—the kind you feel in your gut before your brain has time to self-censor.

We’ve lost something ancient. Something holy. Something essential. The yin and yang that made us powerful—not enemies, but complements. Instead of alchemy, we got algorithms. Instead of lovers, we got “situationships.” Instead of heroes and mothers, we got NPCs and OnlyFans.

Ask yourself—are you happy? Is society thriving? Are your friends grounded, strong, and full of purpose? Or are they anxious, lonely, angry, disconnected, scrolling for dopamine while silently wishing someone would just tell the truth?

Here’s the truth:
They didn’t just kill masculinity.
They didn’t just kill femininity.
They killed our roots—and they did it on purpose.

And we’re going to dig into exactly how they pulled it off. Who benefits. Who profits. And how to rip the mask off this identity charade before it swallows the next generation whole.

We’ll talk about:

how the archetypes were burned down and rebranded as hate speech
how corporate power loves the confused consumer
how we got here and whether we can crawl our way back to something real

This one’s not for the faint-hearted. But if you're here, chances are… you’re not faint-hearted.

Let’s go.

Chapter 1: The Great Erasure

“If you want to destroy a civilization, don’t burn the books—just confuse the roles.”

Masculinity and femininity didn’t just die.
They were erased—carefully, surgically, and with a smile.

Not all at once, no. That would’ve caused a riot. It happened slowly. Like rot. Like rust. Like anesthesia before the knife.

First, they told us gender is a performance. Then they told us we weren’t allowed to have a lead role. Finally, they handed us scripts written by pharmaceutical companies and Twitter mobs and told us to “express ourselves”—as long as it wasn’t too masculine or too feminine, because that’s problematic.

What we lost wasn’t just “roles.” We lost anchors.
The sacred polarity. The energy, tension, chemistry between two complementary forces that built families, art, mythology, and movements. We didn’t evolve by accident. The masculine was made to build, protect, sacrifice. The feminine to nurture, create, sustain. Both equally powerful. Both divine.

Now?
He’s afraid to hold a door.
She’s afraid to admit she wants one man, one home, one life with meaning.
And everyone’s afraid to say the truth.

We deconstructed gender the way bored rich kids take apart their father’s watch—just to see what’s inside, with no plan to ever put it back together.

We told girls their worth was measured in degrees and LinkedIn achievements, not love, beauty, or intuition. We told boys their strength was a threat, their desire a crime-in-waiting, their instincts violent.
And then we wonder why everyone’s anxious, sexually broken, and suicidal.

Let’s talk about boys.
We told them to cry more, talk more, sit still, behave. Told them to stop roughhousing, stop competing, stop being boys. We filled them with Ritalin and shame. We rewarded submission and punished instinct. We called strength “toxic” and passivity “enlightened.”

They stopped climbing trees.
They started staying inside, watching porn and playing war games they’ll never fight.
They stopped asking girls out.
Now they watch them through screens.

Let’s talk about girls.
We told them they could be anything—except feminine.
That was weak. That was stupid. That was “internalized misogyny.”
Be a boss. Be a baddie. Don’t need a man. Don’t trust anyone.
And for god’s sake, don’t have kids in your twenties. That’s giving up.
So now we’ve got millennial women in cubicles crying in the bathroom during ovulation because their body knows what their mind was trained to ignore.

And what did we get in return for erasing the masculine and the feminine?
We got slogans. And streaming services.
We got therapy bills.
We got boys in dresses and girls with adrenal fatigue.
We got a generation of confused, medicated, touch-starved, overly sexual yet completely disconnected people wondering why it all feels so… off.

Because it is.

And let’s be honest—who benefits from this erasure? Not you. Not your kids.
But the market sure as hell does.

An androgynous, unstable, identity-confused consumer is a goldmine.
They need makeup, hormones, gym memberships, therapy, Uber Eats, vibrators, subscriptions, silicone lips, fashion drops, life coaches, five apps to meet someone, and five more to recover from the date.

The masculine buys a shovel and digs.
The feminine plants a seed and waits.
The confused just clicks Add to Cart.

And no, before the mob comes—this isn’t some tradwife fantasy. This isn’t “men hunt, women cook.”
This is about essence.
This is about truth.
We were never meant to be the same.

Masculine doesn’t mean violent. Feminine doesn’t mean weak.
But they’ll keep pretending they do, because the minute we reclaim them—our instincts, our nature, our damn selves—we’re dangerous again.

And they can’t sell rebellion if we’re already free.

Chapter 2: War on the Archetypes

“Kill the father. Mock the mother. Confuse the child. Welcome to progress.”

Once upon a time, cultures were built around archetypes.
The Mother. The Father. The Hero, the Maiden, the Crone, the Protector, the Lover.
Timeless symbols, etched in story, myth, blood.
They didn’t just tell us who we were.
They told us how to become.

Now they’re punchlines.
Mom’s a wine-drunk meme.
Dad’s a clueless oaf with a receding hairline and no authority.
And the Hero? He’s toxic. Probably problematic. Probably cancelled.

We didn’t just move forward—we set fire to the foundation and pissed on the ashes.
You want to know why no one knows who they are anymore?
It’s because the map was destroyed.
The sacred blueprint for identity was labeled oppressive, thrown in the trash, and replaced with corporate-approved, algorithm-curated, personality test garbage.

We used to worship the warrior, the wise woman, the builder, the mother, the king.
Now we worship influencers.
People with no character, no spine, no past. Just sponsored content and curated trauma.
You ever notice how everyone’s “healing” now but no one’s actually healed?
Because healing without a model of wholeness is just spiritual masturbation.

Let’s talk fathers.
The protector. The boundary-maker. The man who said no, not out of cruelty, but because the world will, and better you learn it at home.

We erased him.
We mocked him on sitcoms for decades.
Every commercial? He’s the idiot who can’t work the vacuum.
Every show? The punchline.
Every school? A problem if he’s involved.
We told boys they didn’t need to become him.
And we told girls they didn’t need to seek him in a partner.

Now the state is the father.
Now Big Pharma is the father.
Now Tinder is the father, handing out dopamine hits instead of wisdom, instead of challenge, instead of strength.

Let’s talk mothers.
The source. The first home. The one who teaches you how to love and how to feel.

We degraded her.
We told her that raising children was beneath her.
That her worth was in spreadsheets, not lullabies.
That her body was for display, not creation.

Now girls don’t want to be mothers.
Now they’re afraid to say the word out loud without qualifying it with “someday… maybe… if I have time.”
We made femininity all about sexual capital, not soul.
And no wonder so many feel empty.
You can’t replace divine power with thirst traps and think your spirit won’t notice.

And you think kids didn’t notice?
You think kids don’t feel the absence of a father’s strength or a mother’s tenderness?
Look around.
This generation isn’t rebellious—they’re anxious.
Not wild—they’re medicated.
Not curious—they’re terrified.
Raised by glowing screens, absentee parents, and cultural shame bombs disguised as “progress.”

And then we ask why they're depressed.
Why they can’t form relationships.
Why their identities shatter if someone uses the wrong pronoun.

It’s because we burned the gods and left them to worship confusion.

This isn’t about going back to some imaginary golden age.
This is about going forward with our eyes open.
We need archetypes like we need food and water.
They tell us how to grow.
How to become someone worth loving.
Someone strong. Someone tender.
Someone real.

You want to save a generation?
Bring back the Father who stands firm.
Bring back the Mother who knows her worth.
Bring back the Hero who dares.
Bring back the Lover who feels.
Bring back the soul.

Because if we don’t?
There will be nothing left to pass on—just memes, meds, and memories of what it once felt like to be whole.

Chapter 3: Porn, Power & the Pleasureless Generation

"Never before has a civilization been this obsessed with sex while being this utterly miserable in bed."

We are the most hypersexual, underfucked, overexposed, under-touched, digitally stroked, spiritually abandoned culture in history.

You can get a blowjob in VR.
You can deepfake your ex.
You can buy a silicone ass that talks.
But God forbid you look someone in the eyes and feel something.

We turned sex into content.
Turned bodies into brands.
Turned intimacy into a punchline, a kink, or a trauma response.

This isn't liberation.
This is a lobotomy wrapped in latex and lit by a ring light.

Let’s start with the obvious: porn is the most powerful sex education system in the world.
Not schools. Not parents. Not lived experience. Porn.
Free, endless, pixel-perfect porn—accessible before your balls even drop.

That’s your new priest. That’s your new teacher.
That’s the hand on your shoulder whispering, “This is normal.”
But it’s not normal. It’s not even human.

Porn doesn’t teach connection.
It teaches performance.
Porn says:

You don’t need to be vulnerable.
You don’t need to be patient.
You don’t need to be good.
You just need to be hard.

And now half the boys can’t get it up without a screen.
And half the girls feel like meat on the set of a bad amateur shoot.
We made sex transactional, disposable, theatrical—soulless.

But let’s not blame the kids entirely.
We fed them this poison and called it empowerment.

We told girls that sexual availability was liberation.
We told boys that conquest was connection.
We made consent the only virtue, as if two broken people agreeing to use each other is love.

We gave them TikToks about “sex positive” kink workshops and lectures on how everything is a spectrum.
But we never gave them the basics:

How to build trust.
How to communicate without emojis.
How to be naked without hiding behind irony or filters.
How to touch someone like they matter.

Now everyone’s horny and no one’s satisfied.
Welcome to the orgasm drought.

Ask yourself: Why is everyone obsessed with sex, but no one’s actually good at it?

Because you can't mass-produce intimacy.
You can't learn tenderness from Pornhub.
You can't fake soul.

And we’ve replaced soul with aesthetic.
Sex is now a vibe.
Curated lingerie, candlelight, fake moans, hashtags.
You didn't fuck—you created content.

Even worse? The algorithm knows your kinks better than your partner.
Your dopamine is bought and sold.
Your arousal is data.
And every second you scroll is another little hit—
of power, of ego, of loneliness in disguise.

What used to be sacred is now scheduled.
Swipe left. Swipe right. Swipe your dignity clean off.
You don’t even need to like someone to sleep with them now.
You just need Wi-Fi and low enough self-esteem.

And here’s the twisted cherry on top: we’re miserable.
Studies say we’re having less sex than ever before.
The generation raised on limitless bodies has no idea how to touch.

They don't make love—they perform.
They don't desire—they simulate.
They don’t connect—they consume.

And what do we get in return?
More shame. More numbness. More pharmaceuticals.
More “sex-positive” feminism that reads like an OnlyFans sales pitch.
More emasculated men who apologize for wanting anything at all.
More performative consent apps and post-coital regret.

We didn’t fix anything.
We just slapped glitter on the wound and called it healing.

This isn’t about being a prude.
This is about wanting more than what we’ve been sold.
More than the dopamine drip.
More than the humiliation kink disguised as liberation.
More than the dead-eyed scroll through perfect strangers’ asses.

We want the real thing.
The messy, awkward, human, divine thing.
We want love that isn’t filtered.
Sex that doesn’t end with shame.
Connection that doesn’t feel like a goddamn transaction.

Because until we stop treating each other like clickable thumbnails with holes,
until we reclaim sex as something more than product,
we’ll stay stuck—hard, wet, and completely alone.

Chapter 4: Where Have All the Men Gone?

"The tragedy isn’t that men are lost. The tragedy is that no one noticed them disappearing."

Let’s get one thing straight before the internet wet wipes start crying in the comment section:
This isn’t a eulogy for toxic masculinity.
It’s a murder investigation.
And the body count? Biblical.

Because what we’re witnessing in real time—beneath all the rainbow parades and TED Talks and therapy buzzwords—is the systematic dismantling of manhood. Not the abuse of it. Not the corruption of it.
The erasure.

And baby, they didn’t go out in a blaze of glory.
They vanished like ghosts—quiet, shamed, medicated, and scrolling.

Remember when men were allowed to take up space?

Not “dominant.” Not “alpha.”
Just... present. Solid. Accountable.
The kind of man who fixes your roof, shows up at court for his kid, and knows how to bleed without turning it into a podcast.

Now?
We’ve got a generation of emotionally neutered Peter Pans living on Reddit and antidepressants, with spines like jellyfish and eyes glued to a feed.
Castrated not by biology—but by culture.

We told boys:

Don’t be aggressive.
Don’t be too loud.
Don’t take charge, that’s toxic.
Don’t cry, but also cry—but not like that.
Don’t look at women wrong or we’ll cancel your whole bloodline.

Then we wonder why they ghost, flake, avoid, implode.
We wonder why they escape into games, porn, conspiracy, or complete silence.

You taught them that masculinity is dangerous.
Then asked them to protect and provide.
That’s like telling a lion he’s a monster, then begging him to guard the gate.

We turned men into a punchline.
TV dads? Buffoons.
Fathers? Irrelevant.
Husbands? Incompetent.
Straight men in general? Oppressors-in-waiting.

We taught them their desire was suspicious.
Their leadership, oppressive.
Their anger, violence.
Their instincts, outdated.

And now women ask:
“Where are all the good men?”

Honey, they’re in therapy trying to talk themselves out of being men in the first place.

Look, I’m not romanticizing the knuckle-dragging patriarchs.
I’m not nostalgic for whiskey breath and closed fists.
But let’s not throw out the wolf just because we couldn’t tame the beast.

Because the truth is, the world needs strong men.
Not cruel. Not arrogant. Strong.

Men who build.
Men who stay.
Men who risk.
Men who don’t apologize for existing.

But we trained them out of it.
We bred a generation of softened, performative, anxious ghosts.
Boys raised by screens. Abandoned by fathers. Schooled by state ideology.
Their manhood filtered through TikTok trends and Twitch streams.

And you wonder why no one proposes anymore.
Why the birth rate is crumbling.
Why dating feels like a hostage negotiation between walking trauma files.

Here’s the part no one wants to say out loud:

We needed men to disappear.
Because once you remove masculinity, you remove resistance.
You kill off protectors.
You disarm the population.
You build a society of consumers, not warriors.

And we’re deep in it now.
Half the men are passive.
The other half are explosive.
Neither are free.

One half apologizes for wanting.
The other rages for being forgotten.
Both were robbed of a rite of passage, of real elders, of purpose.
And all they got in return was…
a gym membership, an OnlyFans subscription, and a TikTok about “safe masculinity.”

Here’s the wake-up call:
The future doesn’t need more safe men. It needs rooted men. Dangerous men. Awake men.
Men who aren’t afraid to speak, to lead, to love, to fight.
Men who don’t check themselves against hashtags.
Men who don’t crumble when the world gets hard.

Because if we don’t reclaim masculinity, the void will.
And the void is hungry.
It will devour them whole—and us with them.

You want good men back?

Then stop neutering boys.
Stop mocking fathers.
Stop confusing submission with virtue.
And for the love of God, stop letting TikTok teach them what it means to be male.

Chapter 5: The Plastic Goddess – What the Hell Happened to Women?

“They told her she was free, then sold her back to herself in pieces.”

She wanted freedom.
She got fillers.
She wanted equality.
She got antidepressants.
She wanted love.
She got hookup culture, dating apps, and the sacred honor of splitting the bill with a man-child who vapes and calls that feminism.

Welcome to the death of the feminine.
Not in some burning-bra, roaring-70s liberation way—but in a sterile, screen-lit, pharmaceutical, pixel-perfect kind of way.
We didn’t free the modern woman—we franchised her.
And baby, the house always wins.

Let’s be real—today’s woman isn’t empowered.
She’s exhausted.
Micromanaged. Overmedicated.
Told to lean in, sit pretty, speak up, pipe down, smile, don’t smile, be sexy, be modest, work harder, date smarter, freeze your eggs, follow your dreams, but not if your dream involves marriage or motherhood, because eww—that’s regressive.

She’s told that femininity is either dangerous or dumb.
Dangerous if it seduces.
Dumb if it nurtures.

She can sell her body but not serve with it.
She can show skin but not develop it into soul.
She can mother a brand but not a child.
Because actual femininity—the rooted, cyclical, sensual, deep, ancient force that could birth civilizations—has been replaced with...
an aesthetic.

Now femininity is just a look.
It's contour.
It's Botox.
It's the right captions.
The glow-up.
The “that girl” routine with spirulina and sertraline.

She’s her own algorithm now.
Measured in likes.
Her rebellion? Naked.
Her power? Monetized.
Her worth? Calculated in attention.

And when the likes dry up and the eggs run low, she’s told:
“You’re still enough, queen.”
But no one’s calling.
Because she was never raised to build—just to be followed.

The saddest part?

She was baited.
Fed on sugar-coated slogans about girlbossing and breaking glass ceilings—while her heart broke in quiet bathrooms between Zoom meetings.

They told her men are trash.
Told her babies are burdens.
Told her sex is casual.
Told her love is a scam.
Told her submission is weakness.
Told her she’s “too much” if she feels, bleeds, cries, yells, wants.
Told her to shrink her voice or amplify it, depending on the trend.

She was told she could have it all.
They just forgot to mention: she’d have to pay for it with her sanity, her fertility, and her soul.

We sold womanhood off in parts:
Lips to the clinics.
Wombs to the labs.
Minds to Big Pharma.
Bodies to the feed.
And hearts?
Nowhere to be found.

And don’t get it twisted—I’m not here to shame makeup or ambition or not wanting kids.
I’m here to rage at a culture that gaslit generations of girls into thinking they were climbing out of cages—when they were just walking into newer, prettier ones.

Glass ceilings?
Please.
Try getting out of an identity crisis disguised as empowerment.

So here she is now.
Thirty-five.
Lonely.
Dating apps downloaded and deleted eight times this year.
She’s spiritual-ish.
Burns sage but doesn’t believe in commitment.
Hustles, but cries on lunch breaks.
Free, but disconnected.
Beautiful, but starving.
Wanted, but not chosen.

And the cruelest part?
No one warned her.
No one said:
“Hey, real womanhood might involve sacrifice.
Might involve devotion.
Might involve soft power, which today’s culture treats like disease.”
They just handed her pills, praise, and another online course on how to manifest a man who doesn’t even exist anymore.

We didn’t liberate the feminine.
We lobotomized her.
Cut her off from her cycles, her instincts, her ancestors.
Told her shame was power and power was a costume.
Turned her from a mother of life into a consumer of it.
Now she’s over it—and doesn’t know why.

But she feels it.
In her bones.
In her gut.
In that late-night ache when her phone lights up but no one sees her.

Here’s the truth nobody dares tweet:

The world needs women. Real ones.
Soft but unshakable.
Nurturing without apology.
Sensual without performance.
Wise. Whole. Unfiltered.

Because when women rise in their real power—not the corporate cosplay of it—they don’t compete, they heal.
They don’t dominate, they anchor.
They don’t perform, they birth new worlds.

But that kind of woman can’t be controlled.
So we erased her.

Chapter 6: The Beautiful, Broken End – And What the Hell We Do Now

“They blurred the sexes to break the species. And we watched, clapping.”

So here we are.
Neutered.
Digitized.
Desperate.
The land of the free, sedated by soy lattes and porn algorithms.
The home of the brave, terrified of pronouns and Twitter mobs.

We’ve witnessed the slow cultural euthanasia of what it means to be a man or a woman.
Not some progressive evolution—no.
This was surgical erasure.
Deliberate. Cold. Market-tested.

Because a society of strong, rooted, bonded men and women is a threat.
You can’t sell them shame.
Can’t sell them pills, porn, panic, and plastic surgery packages.
You can’t bully them into submission with hashtags and HR departments.
You can’t control them—because they’re anchored in something ancient, something holy, something real.

So instead, they killed it.

They didn’t nuke us.
They didn’t even need to.
They just slowly poisoned the well—then told us we were dehydrated because of each other.

And we bought it.

Men became soft.
Women became hard.
And both became lonely as hell.

We called it progress.
We posted it.
We “liked” it.
And then we cried behind blue light screens and blamed ourselves for the ache.

But deep down, beneath the dopamine crashes and Instagram captions, something ancient is stirring.

It’s that primal, sacred ache that knows:

This isn’t it.
This isn’t working.
This isn’t love.
This isn’t power.
This isn’t real.

Because real doesn’t ghost you.
Real doesn’t pretend gender is a costume.
Real doesn’t shame the masculine or mock the feminine.
Real doesn’t turn us into self-obsessed sexless avatars in some synthetic utopia run by Big Tech and daddy government.

No.
Real remembers.
And real rises.

So now what?

We reclaim.

We unlearn their script and write our own.
We embrace polarity, not apologize for it.
We let men be men—not predators or soy-clones, but kings.
And we let women be women—not sex props or boss babes, but queens.
Not in some Instagram hashtag way. In the soul-rattling, blood-remembering, earth-rooted kind of way.

We stop chasing validation and start building tribes.
We stop obeying the culture and start listening to our gut.
We stop asking for permission and start taking up space—as men, as women, as divine, flawed, fire-breathing humans who are DONE being gaslit by cowards in lab coats and executives who think gender is a trend.

We don’t need more lectures.
We need revolutions of remembering.

Because the truth is this:
We’re not broken—we’re starved.
Starved of meaning. Of love. Of roots. Of each other.
And you can't heal that with a TED Talk or a pronoun pin.

But we can heal.
Not through theory.
Through truth.
Through flesh.
Through courage.
Through choosing to feel again.
To risk again.
To remember what it means to be fully alive again.

So light the match.
Unlearn their script.
And don’t ask for their approval.

Because if we’re going down—we’re going down as real fucking humans.
Bleeding. Breathing. Burning.
And wide awake.

Next up in the 10 Things Killing America series:
When the home collapses, the nation follows.
And America? She’s been living in a broken home for decades.

Brace yourself.
It’s gonna get personal.
And it’s gonna hurt in all the right places.

See you next week, rebels.
Stay wild. Stay human. Stay free.

🖤
Lady Liberty 🗽

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