Many an individual dad, in a generation of fashionably frantic and fastidious fathers, took individualism addiction to a predictable, inevitable conclusion: turning inward to his impressionable, ignorant wife and daughters (and those exceptional sons who also possessed a satisfying docility), he preached that women did not need men, with an insecure aim to secure his reign, by reining in the hopes and horizons of his tiny, boring, bored harem.
Many girls who became women in that time—those who intensely internalized the advised attitude of ingratitude—festered in their pride, mediocrity, and penis-envy; gleefully spreading, in turn, the myth that a woman did not need the support and protection of any man (that, essentially, she only needed a collective of the most aggressive men—the “government”—to force all other men to support and protect her without reciprocation).
Moments later historically, millions of women having meticulously earned hive-minded emotional suicide — were, declared the most rotting of matriarchs, only an indication of just how toxic and unnecessary were men. Thus many a miserable woman simply redoubled her vanity—twisting and crushing her mind with her vice.
Soon, each of such women was completely incapable of processing, first from men and eventually even from other women, anything apart from compliments, apologies, and agreement. Her wants, fears, and frustrations swelled; as her hopes, dreams, and potential shriveled.
Curled up in a well-deserved living-death, she watched the real world pass her by, yet possessing too little sense to resent her matriarchal overlords, who had passed on, to her, the sins of the fatherless.