A family is gathered around a large table. The man at the head of the table asks the kids about school, hands his wife a dish, and discusses tomorrow's plans. Here, he is a caring father, the master of the house, a man of indisputable rules.
A few hours earlier, he was sitting in a club among friends and women to whom he had no family ties or obligations.
Two worlds. And a man who is certain that an impenetrable boundary runs between them.
This trope is familiar from gangster movies. A man might break social rules, but he declares his family sacred. His own affairs on the side seemingly never touch the domestic circle. Yet he considers the same freedom for his wife unthinkable.
Where does this code come from?
In certain traditional models of masculinity, status is tied to power, the ability to provide for the family, sexual conquests, and control over his personal life. A man gets used to viewing these traits as proof of strength.
However, status and reliability are two different things. A person can be influential and charismatic while simultaneously causing pain to those closest to him.
Imagine an entrepreneur who has a wife, children, and a long-term relationship with another woman. He tells his mistress right away: "I'm not leaving my family." To him, he considers this an honest condition.
Yet the wife might not agree with the very premise of such an arrangement. And the other woman might eventually hope that the terms will change.
His confidence in his own system does not mean that all the participants freely chose its rules.
Why do men like this attract attention? Confidence, resources, decisiveness, and social status can indeed seem appealing. But it does not follow that infidelity in itself makes a man more desirable or stronger.
And one more detail: a man is capable of sincerely protecting his family from external threats while failing to notice the threat he himself creates within it.
His rule sounds like this: "No one enters my home." But trust is shattered not only by outside intrusions. Sometimes it is destroyed by the master of the house himself, who is convinced he has the right to make exceptions.
In a story like this, the most interesting part isn't the number of mistresses or the luxury of the club. It's a question of the boundaries of power.
Can you really call it a family code when the rules are mandatory for only one person?
And where does caring for loved ones end and the desire to control their lives begin?
A man's strength isn't measured by the number of women around him. Something else is much harder: bearing the responsibility for the consequences of your own choices.