We know that the macho’s masculinity does not find itself castrated by fragments of the feminine (plucked eyebrows, a diamond earring, rose-coloured accents on shorts or shirt), and that, to the contrary, his ethos somehow – but how? – rests on them. Something is more present than the feminine accents as such; something that inverts them. It is the evident triumph the macho’s nature celebrates over all artificialities that attempt to compress it. In form of precisely those additions, the macho wears victory on his skin; delivers it to the outside. “Look, I am masculine despite this or that feminine accessory.” And would be masculine beyond possibility without it.