The third story is about masculinity, as divorced from questions of sexuality and lifestyle, and the many ridiculous things on which it can sometimes rest. Things that work and support a certain type of masculinity include: jets with your name on them, breast implants, Viagra, gold leaf on everything, fucking more women than names you can remember as long as somebody's watching, lots of money, lots of houses, lots of cars, lots of bullshit. Somehow thinking you can behave like a pimp and still have honor and respect and admiration -- because I guarantee you the only people that admire that shit are people in the same boat. The really terrifying thing about this masculinity, as cherished and beloved as it is by those who jealously possess it, is the curious place in which it esteems women (and where that puts gay guys, frankly). The specific kinds of women that are allowed to exist in Trumpworld, officially. Even the smart ones -- unless they're too smart -- or the strong ones -- unless they're too ugly -- have a place at the table, as long as they walk that tightrope. As long as they don't call you out; as long as they're prepared to stay a Viceroy and not get uppity; as long as they know their role. Even their drug use -- if they're cute enough -- and bisexual experimentation -- if she's cute enough -- are okay, because second chances are good for the young and hot. Just as long as nobody forgets who's in charge; as long as nobody forgets their place and looks too proud.
"If you want to buy something, it's obviously in your best interest to convince the seller that what he's got isn't worth very much." -- Donald Trump, quoted by Evan Carmichael