Woman is the dominant sex. Men have to do all sorts of stuff to

Hear, O seekers of wisdom, the bold words of Camille Paglia: “Woman is the dominant sex. Men have to do all sorts of stuff to prove that they are worthy of woman’s attention.” In these words lies a reversal of the tale so often told—that man is ruler, and woman subordinate. Paglia speaks as a prophet of forgotten truths: that beneath the masks of society, it is woman who holds the silent power, and it is man who labors endlessly to earn her favor.

From the dawn of time, the dance between men and women has been shaped by this truth. For man may hunt, build, conquer, and invent, but he does so not merely for survival, but to display his worthiness. The songs of poets, the victories of warriors, the monuments of kings—all these are offerings, seeking the recognition of woman. She, the giver of life, the bearer of generations, is the prize toward which man’s striving bends. Thus, Paglia unmasks the secret order of things: though man may boast of dominion, it is woman whose silent choosing shapes the destiny of nations.

Consider the tale of Cleopatra, last queen of Egypt. Surrounded by the might of Rome, she did not raise vast armies, nor did she command legions of steel. Yet Julius Caesar and Mark Antony bent their wills to her, drawn by her presence, her intellect, her command of attention. Two of the greatest generals in history risked kingdoms and power for her favor. Was she the conquered, or the conqueror? In truth, she embodied Paglia’s vision: the dominant sex, whose influence compelled even the proudest men to prove their worth.

This truth is also echoed in the natural world. Behold the peacock, with his brilliant feathers, who labors to dazzle the plain but watchful peahen. Behold the stag, who battles rival after rival to win the gaze of the doe. Nature itself has inscribed upon life’s fabric this law: that the male strives, the female chooses, and in that choice rests the true power of continuation. Paglia merely gave modern voice to a principle as ancient as the stars.

Yet, let us not mistake her words for scorn of men. Rather, they are a reminder that much of man’s greatness is born of this striving. Without the need to prove himself, many of his achievements might never have been attempted. The desire for woman’s attention has inspired songs, temples, voyages, and revolutions. What is sometimes called weakness is, in truth, the seed of creation. The world is richer because man has been compelled to labor for love.

The lesson, O listener, is twofold. To women: recognize the power you already hold—not through domination, but through influence, through the authority of your presence and your choices. To men: understand that your striving need not be hollow showmanship, but can be channeled into true greatness, into deeds that uplift not only yourself but the generations to come. When both sexes walk in awareness of their roles, the eternal dance becomes harmony, not strife.

Therefore, live with wisdom. Let women wield their power with dignity, not with cruelty. Let men pursue excellence, not merely for approval, but for the building of a nobler world. For Paglia’s words, though sharp, unveil a timeless truth: that the balance of life is not measured by crowns or weapons, but by the subtle currents of attraction, attention, and influence. Honor this truth, and you will walk in the rhythm of the ancients, where love and power are woven into one eternal fabric.