The conversation about a man's money is a complex, emotive one. Think-pieces abound, each one different from the last, every subsequent one pulling in its own direction.
First, they told us that men are supposed to be providers. Naturally, inherently, coded somewhere in their DNA, along with a love for watching organised sports and using their one good photo on all their social profiles. A man, they said, should be happy to take care of his woman, even if it means sacrificing his own comfort.
But the tune changed. Women were perfectly capable of making their own money, they suddenly realised. They did not need taking care of, and certainly not by the gender that had been telling them they belonged in the kitchen. Whoever was responsible for circulating the memo must have been busy that day, because the message did not get home. Not really. Even though the scales have completely been tipped in favour of the working woman, there is still a reluctance to reach for her wallet. There is still an expectation that the man, who is making less than she is, will sort out those pesky bills. And there still exists a coven of women, who believe they are owed a certain baby-soft lifestyle by any man who dares find them attractive. In the event she does spend her own money, hers will be a twisted face and a clenched jaw. Unspoken though it will be, the thought will play over and over in her mind: "What kind of man is this?"