What a ‘90s Talking Baby Movie Got Right About How Feminism Emasculated Men

On Hollywood’s not-so-subtle ‘husband-taming’ programming: neuter the everyday man into a babysitting beta dad, crown the career-climbing alpha wife and call it family entertainment.

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There was something oddly wholesome about the late ’80s and early ’90s…but only if you didn’t look too closely.

Sure, every rom-com ended with a quirky wedding, a baby or both (though you had to rewind a VHS tape to rewatch the best part).

Family comedies still had a place in the world before quietly going extinct, right alongside rising ‘child-free’ depopulation trends.

And Kirstie Alley, if you still remember her, was at the height of her shoulder-padded, big perm-powered career, starring in none other than the Look Who’s Talking franchise. Those films—a little cheesy, voiceover-heavy and unmistakably ’90s—also featured Bruce Willis, the epitome of Hollywood hypermasculinity, as a literal talking baby named Mikey, narrating the chaotic love story of his mismatched parents.

I was five years old when I first watched them.

All I remember is relating so deeply to tiny tot Mikey and the all-too-real pain of a very specific loss: when my newborn sibling arrived and suddenly took all the attention away. The spotlight shifted to the crib, the baby became the star of our family, and I—the middle, older kid—got my first taste of being a forgotten has-been.

But rewatching these films back-to-back recently with my husband hit me.

This wasn’t just cute family entertainment about early sibling rivalry or a single working mom choosing someone to ‘step up’ as the stepdaddy.

Buried beneath the diaper jokes and bantering baby voiceovers was something eerily prescient. 

A foreshadowing of the gender war and cultural collapse we’re now living through or at least a glimpse of the hu-man potential many feminist-thinking women are not-so-secretly wishing to unlock:

The husband, once king of the castle and head of the household, is softly dethroned by a high-functioning, queen-controlling wife with a better paycheck. He’s gradually reassigned to ‘manny’ duties like diaper changes, daycare runs and dinner prep after a radical domestic coup led by his wife, the crowned CEO of Everything That Matters.

We either missed the films’ warning or were watching a carefully crafted kind of Hollyweird's predictive programming (much like The Simpsons and its uncannily accurate ‘planned prophecy’). 

What looks like a family rom-com is actually slow-drip propaganda designed to normalize the domestication of everyday men while celebrating alpha wives as the boss, the breadwinner and the emotional backbone, all in one.

 The Invasion of Gender Inversion 

Look Who’s Talking (1989) and its sequel (1990) follow Manhattan-based tax accountant Mollie (Kirstie Alley), transitioning out of single motherhood by choice after conceiving Mikey through an affair with a wealthy married client, Albert (George Segal).

She’s eventually saved by marriage to James Ubriacco (John Travolta), a street-smart cab driver with a soft heart who shows up for her and Mikey. Earning far less than Mollie, James comes into their lives through a babysitting arrangement but stays as a loving protector and stand-in father. 

The sequel reveals what happens after ‘happily ever after’. 

Things start to crack the moment baby Julie (voiced by Roseanne Barr) is born. Now there are two kids, two schedules and two incomes needed to keep it all together. James can’t just babysit between Mollie’s aerobics classes and late-night meetings anymore. The bills need paying and parenting for them becomes more like a business plan.

Their relationship disintegrates into financial talk, debates over who owns what and a brief separation when James finally has enough of being bossed around by Mollie who, indeed, pays and owns the home (and maybe everything else too). 

The Ubriaccos’ story reflects a generation of women chasing empowerment within capitalism’s gilded cage, or more truthfully, the gap between feminist aspirations and real-world demands. It reveals the spiritual and relational costs paid by career-minded women like Mollie… and everyday men like James, who show up with good intentions but lose their place as authority in the name of ‘having it all’ and ‘making it work’ (on her terms, of course).

In the end, everybody lost the plot, including the kids, born into and stuck in the emotional fallout of a profit-driven world that told women to rise on their own but left most men adrift once they no longer felt needed. 

The latter are economically out-earned, academically outperformed and emotionally sidelined in families that no longer recognize the male instinct to protect, build and lead…yet still, strangely enough, resent their absence.

As a little girl back in the ‘90s, I didn’t realize how I was internalizing the message from a feminist-era love story in which the man is expected to show up, shut up and wait patiently at home with the kids while the woman decides if he’s useful enough to keep around. These films double as a funeral for traditional fatherhood where Dad was once the first and last line of heroic defense but is now recast as a soft, agreeable sidekick to the breadwinning matriarch, offering backup childcare and chauffeur rides.

Trojan Horse Feminism in Pop Culture

The woman behind the Look Who’s Talking sequels is Amy Heckerling, one of Hollywood’s highest-grossing female filmmakers and best known for cementing the Valley Girl “like, whateverrrr” archetype in pop culture with Clueless (1995). A vocal critic of sexism and gender inequality, Heckerling was also known for using crafty tactics to bypass Hollywood’s male-centered narrative machine.

To get Look Who’s Talking greenlit, she pitched it “from the boy’s point of view,” casting Willis as the voice of baby Mikey to appeal to male execs who “insist women aren’t funny.” As she told Page Six in 2016, “You gotta trick them.”

Heckerling’s method of ‘manipulating’ the system to ‘remake’ it entirely is classic Trojan Horse feminism: disguise the agenda, sneak it in, flip the narrative from within and watch the family structure erode 35 years later.

And it worked.

What looked like lighthearted family fun about unexpected (step)parenting became a vehicle for reconditioning the family order itself [see footnotes below]. 

Dad is emasculated into a well-meaning babysitter-cum-stepdad. Mom wears the pants and runs the family’s financial universe. Meanwhile, the kids narrate the chaos…and all of it is played for laughs.

Even as Hollywood paraded its icons of machismo like mob bosses, action stars, hunky warriors and vigilant superheroes (including Look Who’s Talking leads Willis and Travolta), it was also normalizing something else entirely. We’re talking about hardworking single moms by choice, weakened men, fatherless homes and progressive blended families.

Masculinity was stripped down to a neutered aesthetic and true male authority in the family was reassigned to supportive roles beneath alpha women at the helm, exactly like James and Mollie’s relationship.

The silver screen subtly rewrote who leads, who submits and who matters—blurring gender, erasing men and fatherhood, exhausting women as capitalist resources and confusing the next generation.

Feminism, for all its talk on equality, became the perfect ideological vessel to justify gender inversion and the weakening of the everyday man. The glossy veneer of liberation from patriarchy made it easy for Hollywood’s soft propaganda to reimagine men as substitute fathers in shiny armor, emotionally available male babysitters, househusbands or stay-at-home dads.

Female baby boomers, Gen Xers and especially millennials like me who lived through the ’90s were gently eased through these family rom-coms into the inevitable future:

A world where men are welcome once they leave their so-called toxic masculinity of order, stability and authority at the door and instead become literal caretakers of women and children…preferably at home.

And there’s nothing more caretaker-ish for a man, in this utopic vision, than being nurturing, giving and as softly maternal as a pregnant male seahorse. 

The Maternal Man

Second-wave feminism circa the ’80s worked hard to de-gender caregiving and take a sledgehammer to the traditional setup where women were expected to rule the roost at home while men led and provided (or what they saw as the prison of ‘patriarchal domesticity’). 

Feminist psychologist Carol Gilligan argued in In a Different Voice: Psychological Theory and Women’s Development (1982) that nurturing is a ‘human’ ethic instead of inherently female. What seems like a noble democratic point became, in practice, an excuse to domesticate men by splitting the child-rearing responsibilities and home workload right down the middle.

The solution wasn’t so much about lifting men up as fathers. 

Take a sex-symbol star like Travolta high-and-baby-fiving a toddler in the kitchen, canceling his date to dance with the kid to Walking on Sunshine during a boys’ night in and even bringing the baby to work, strapped into his New York cab. 

Meanwhile, co-star Allie is almost always at her workplace, stifling contractions during client meetings or in a late-night blur, nearly feeding her newborn coffee instead of baby formula (like most of us modern women, she’s exhausted but we’ll get to that later).

Basically, what we were really seeing was the flattening of everyone into gender-neutral caregivers.

Released the same year as Look Who’s Talking Too, Robert Moore and Douglas Gillette’s King, Warrior, Magician, Lover: Rediscovering the Archetypes of the Mature Masculine (1990) offered what looked like a serious recovery plan for modern manhood.

But in hindsight, this neo-Jungian work reads more like a delicate demasculinizing detour.

The King archetype, they argue, isn’t a lion on the throne or the old-school head of the household but a ‘generative’ and ‘creative’ force. 

Someone who nurtures his wife’s growth, creates space for his children to flourish and blesses the next generation through his provision. So instead of being the orderly steward and caliphate of his familial kingdom, he cultivates life like a queen.

The King Energy of modern masculinity now privileges relational fostering and is stripped of the assertive stability once expected of masculine leadership. 

Honestly, if you ask me, this King sounds more like a woo-woo life coach with a man bun.

Oh but wait. 

Moore and Gillette also suggest that when this so-called mature King fails to fully emerge, his shadow self appears.

The Weakling is insecure and deeply unsure of his role so he does what any spiritually confused modern man might do: he opts out. His absence leaves behind a chaotic, dysfunctional family and a collapsed emotional ecosystem at home.

The irony isn’t lost on me.

Moore and Gillette set out to soften the King, then turn around and frame his shadow as a man too unsure to rule.

By the mid-’90s, traditional manhood—characterized by the ‘protection and provider’ models since the dawn of time—was already sealed as a sociocultural trap.

Pro-feminist male scholars like Michael Kimmel promoted the ‘New Man’ who is emotionally expressive, relationally collaborative and, gasp, domestically involved. Like Gilligan, he framed caregiving and empathy as human (not female traits) while advocating a masculinity freed from the tyranny of testosterone‑driven ‘be silent, be strong, don’t cry’ expectations.

The pliable New Man ideal opened the door to more engaged and emotionally literate fatherhood. Think sensitive modern dads who feel comfortable showing affection, talking through feelings with their kids and sharing caregiving tasks with their busy wives.

But notice how to the feminists, a man’s worth is now measured by his comforting, maternal competency instead of what he was born for. 

He’s accepted not for his masculine strength or protective presence but for emotional vulnerability and his ability to tap into ‘nurturing energy’—a trait that, for generations before the great feminist brainwashing campaign, is part of our natural disposition.

A man is only lovable when he softens, complies and doesn’t question why he’s the one left with the kids most of the time.

That’s exactly why, in Look Who’s Talking Too, we get James doing Elvis impersonations at the jungle gym to entertain the kids while the shrill-voiced Joey (Gilbert Gottfried) flails as the neurotic, goofy caretaker who’s miserable, overwhelmed and clearly not built for the role. Joey is a man reduced to maternal mimicry, shrieking in a sterile plastic playroom, is a tragic emasculation costumed as comic relief.

Meanwhile, the working moms, like Mollie, look on from the sidelines.

This scene delivers a sharp indictment of what happens when capitalism and feminism team up to recalibrate family life. What you’re seeing is a visual metaphor for the quiet erasure of masculinity and also fatherhood. The man is no longer the head and bedrock of the family but merely a neutered helper in a world running on market efficiency.

Mom-ing was out even if mom jeans were still in at the time. 

In fact, women flooded the workforce in the ’80s and ’90s with nearly 60% of prime-age women working in the United States alone. College halls were filled with more women than men, with the former earning the majority of bachelor’s degrees.

By the mid-’90s, half of all college-educated women were bringing home at least 50% of their household income, if not more.

With ambition on the rise, these seismic shifts saw women prioritizing professional success over motherhood—yet many of us still found ourselves juggling both career (‘men’s work’) and home (‘women’s work’).

It’s So Nice to Have a Man Around the House

One of feminism’s early critiques was that women carried the lion’s share of unpaid domestic labor.

The argument often went like this: “Men don’t help with housework or childcare, so women are still the primary homemakers…even with full-time jobs!”

The expectation was: “If women can enter the workforce, why can’t men enter the home and take over the kitchen and kids?”

And the prescription sounded more or less like this: “Let the men do the women’s work, so we can finally chase our dreams of success outside the home once and for all.”

Now this is where I’d have to point out feminism’s double standard because this role reversal wasn’t exactly mutual.

We were evangelized by intelligence-funded feminist priestesses like Gloria Steinem and proud Zionist Betty Friedan to step into the masculine sphere and go after career, status, income, sex and independence.

Most of us swallowed the poisoned apple willingly, trading aprons and baby bottles to suit up for the right to work outside the ‘confinement’ of our home, as if our souls truly longed to become men (especially in the workplace) and finally be taken seriously by the world.

But men were never part of that same revolution.

We may have complained, “Why don’t men help more at home?”

And men reasonably replied, “We never asked to do more at home…unlike how you asked to be out of it.”

Let’s face it: we’ve had decades of external agency and cultural momentum to leave home, (no) thanks to the women’s lib movement. 

But men were simply expected to absorb the backwash of the feminist wave by becoming stay-at-home dads, picking up the bulk of ‘women’s work’ and abandoning their masculine instincts along the way without them ever asking for it.

This role reversal came with conditions and most certainly not for us, hello, but for men.

There’s a strange contradiction at the heart of capitalist feminism whereby men are told to ‘do more at home’ but are ridiculed when they’re also expected to be the higher earner.

Men are now expected to keep up at work and lend a hand at home, yet—surprise!—we’re still doing both despite wishing the housework would just disappear.

Men are being primed to be domesticated but not dignified while we remain chronically overworked.

Feminism gave us career opportunities, sure, but not actual freedom from capitalism’s hamster wheel of leaning in and burning out.

As seen in the Look Who’s Talking franchise, Mollie’s exhaustion—juggling accounting work and child tantrums—prefigures what we now call the ‘mental load’. She’s doing great at work but it’s making it harder for her to be emotionally available in the places that need warmth, softness and mutual care, like family, marriage or close relationships, without losing her mind.

In the chaos of balancing two full-time roles as a mother and professional, Mollie forgets that marriage and parenthood aren’t optional side projects or lifestyle add-ons but actual shared callings.

But who could blame her, and countless women like her among us, if she was raised to be a strong, independent and pathologically self-sufficient proto-girlboss?

Thank God, Daddy’s Home!

The ’80s fueled by Reagan-era neoliberal economics and the growing necessity of dual-income households was the perfect time to normalize men in domestic spaces.

And what better delivery system to subvert patriarchal tropes than poopie jokes and a little slapstick?

Mr. Mom (1983) gave us pre-Batman Michael Keaton playing a laid-off engineer who suddenly finds himself fumbling through the daily chaos of househusbandhood while his wife becomes the new breadwinner.

Then came Three Men and a Baby (1987), where bachelorhood meets burp cloths as three carefree men learn that nurturing a baby is a ‘natural,’ instinctive joyride for everybody. Director Leonard Nimoy (yes, Spock from Star Trek) seemed determined to prove the feminist hypothesis that caregiving is a universal instinct instead of an exclusively feminine role.

And who could forget Mrs. Doubtfire (1993), where Robin Williams has to literally transition to become a woman just to be with his kids post-divorce, donning a wig, stuffing his bra and quoting, “I don’t work well with the males because I used to BE one.” He picks up the kids after school in drag, handles the daily housework, clumsily messes up in the kitchen (and ends up cheating his way through dinner prep) and has a little fun dancing with the vacuum to Aerosmith’s Dude Looks Like a Lady.

These fatherly farces announced an impending paradigm shift that would rewire the public imagination in small, palatable doses when it comes to gender roles.

Fatherhood as a role of correcting wrongs, setting firm boundaries, guiding children to have moral backbone and God‑consciousness, teaching responsibility and about life itself while carrying out protective duties slowly atrophied into irrelevance.

Tamed dads replaced masculine authority to make room for the mommies to keep breaking the glass ceiling without worrying too much about dinner.

We spoke of neoliberal economics and the feminist dream of ‘equality’ earlier. Both may have worn different costumes, but backstage, they were working the same show.

Previously mentioned Reagan-era policies in the ’80s, though celebrated for deregulation and tax cuts, seriously tanked real wages for the average household.

As buying power shrank, one income was no longer enough for a family to survive on.

Feminism gladly assisted with this problem by doubling the labor pool of working women by convincing them that this was the only way to be in such an economic climate.

Suddenly, women didn’t just want to work. They had to. And with the second paycheck still framed as empowerment (not economic necessity or coercion as it truly was), no one noticed the trap being set.

Families began to get locked into dependency on dual paychecks, also known as the two-income trap, just to afford the basics. Lose one income and the whole house of cards wobbles. Add in childcare costs, sick days or a market downturn and the so-called ‘freedom’ turns into a financial chokehold.

So technically, if women had to work for the survival of the family, then men must ‘help’ at home. Women’s domestic duty became ‘shared responsibility,’ sold as equality but demanded by necessity.

Except no one ever clarified how men were supposed to help without losing their place in the home or their pride.

Resentment follows as wives quietly wonder why their husbands can’t provide more. Already stressed by work and household demands, they may dismiss men’s efforts and that in itself perpetuates a cycle.

Husbands, feeling disrespected, unnecessary and emasculated, either retreat or implode.

What usually happens next is a no-brainer.

Feminism’s push for everything egalitarian and the loss of economic polarity disrupt role complementarity in families, thus degendering societies.

The festering resentment, especially from women, more often than not leads to divorce as Mrs. Doubtfire clearly shows: Miranda (Sally Field) is more serious, competent in her career, and seems to be the responsible one with money while Daniel (Williams) does voice-over odd jobs and moonlights as the Fun Parent.

There’s no way she can ever find him sexy anymore. Not when she’s the one wearing the pants and buying them.

When Women Marry Down and Secretly Resent It

So what usually happens just before couples separate to go on their own way?

The Look Who’s Talking films illustrate it well.

Mollie has a child out of wedlock with a high-status man who leaves. She then ends up with James, the gentle, working-class cab driver who steps in with love but not money. She unknowingly enters a dynamic many modern women find themselves in today.

We see early on how Mollie ‘settles’ for James, who’s financially beneath her (and it’s also pretty clear he’s more into her than she is into him from the get-go), but he’s the only one sincere enough to love her kid like his own. 

While the film wraps it in romantic charm, it foreshadows a growing phenomenon in today’s marriage market—hypogamy.

In recent mixed-education marriages, 62% now feature a better-educated wife, up from 39% in 1980. What we’re left with instead are well-meaning husbands who can’t fully provide and lose their dignity; and women who can’t fully respect them while gaining a breadwinning role they secretly resent.

Feminism framed women’s financial independence as liberation from ‘binary’ roles but the actual outcome is a slow erosion of the social contract between the sexes. Especially when men no longer carry financial weight (which once tied provision to spiritual purpose) in a crude, globalist-engineered system designed to strip them further of their roles and relevance.

Everyone feels the loss in the end, including us women, though none of us dare say it aloud.

Even post-feminist writers like Susan Faludi, far from being a tradwife apologist herself, acknowledge the conundrum. In Stiffed: The Betrayal of the Modern Man (1999), she writes:

“The outer layer of the masculinity crisis, men’s loss of economic authority, was most evident in the recessionary winds of the early ’90s. The role of family breadwinner was plainly being undermined by economic forces that spat many men back into a treacherous job market after redundancy.”

Faludi explains how industrial society, though it exploited men’s labor, still granted them dignity through utility. Men were valued because their skilled, practical work supported community, family and a larger purpose. Even if dangerous or exhausting, blue-collared jobs once carried dignity like building infrastructure, repairing machinery and even running the barber shop.

But over time, men stopped being paid in proportion to the real cost and value of that kind of masculine work.

Meanwhile, high-achieving women, after trading in their natural feminine strengths for status markers like titles, salaries and visibility, often find themselves at the top of the mountain, but it’s an exhausting climb. 

And they’ve ascended on a desolate, solitary peak.

They look around and see few equals, let alone any of those elusive (or is it imaginary?) high-value men.

There’s a glaring mismatch in the marriage market where single, career-focused women face a shortage of men who match or surpass their educational background, social standing and income level.

Despite having arrived just as the feminist foremothers dreamed of, it sure is lonely at the top for these ladies.

Most who marry ‘down’ (say, choosing partners with lesser everything) often do so reluctantly.

There’s an inner tension many modern women experience when they find themselves in relationships where both partners are doing 50-50 on paper but their emotional or even biological wiring still expects the man to lead, provide or be stronger in some way.

When he doesn’t (because they’re now somewhat ‘equal partners’ or he’s coming in with a lot less) she may feel let down but can’t admit it without contradicting the feminist ideals she’s been raised with. 

So she ends up reluctantly picking up the slack…and simmering in bitterness.

Consider what happens once James moves in: it’s clearly Mollie’s house—her turf, her paycheck, her rules, enough said.

By Look Who’s Talking Too, reality bites hard when baby #2 arrives. The 'fun dad' role stops being cute and the lovable babysitter act just won’t cut it anymore.

James tries to step up financially so he lands a job as a personal pilot flying rich elites around in the sky, which technically, is a fancy version of both his old cab gig and flight instruction. Not only does it reinforce his provider inadequacy but the job is handed to him through Mollie’s family’s network. 

The subtext writes itself: he works because she permits it; he contributes but she’s the one making decisions for their family. 

This shift doesn’t just rearrange household responsibilities because it gradually destabilizes the relational architecture. When women begin to lead not just in earnings but in every domain of family life, men are gradually sidelined from the very roles that once defined their contribution. What’s meant to be complementary becomes competitive.

Now we’re witnessing the rise of the optionality crisis. 

His offerings are redundant (“I’ve got it handled”), his leadership suspect (“Do you even know what you’re doing?”), his protection dismissed (“You’re overcontrolling!”) and his efforts to fix or build are interrupted (“Let me do it!”).

Now, regarding “Let me do it”...sounds helpful but it’s the ultimate dismissal to a man’s ears. It communicates impatience with his process, distrust in his capability and prioritizes quick results over his natural, masculine instinct to create, fix and construct tangible solutions. His drive to build is undermined, sometimes ridiculed or instantly dismissed as toxic masculinity.

And when a man’s offering is consistently bypassed, his very presence becomes optional. He's no longer the irreplaceable pillar but a potential burden or at best, an interchangeable accessory. 

Then what exactly is he here for?

That job, that second baby, that dynamic—they trigger something deeper for James. Mollie may still love him, but it’s conditional: only if he earns his place, earns her respect and financially levels up enough to ‘deserve’ the family that she allowed him to have with.

She eventually tones down her ego, though, when James leaves the family after being disrespected and denied any real authority to make decisions for them. After a dramatic stint of stopping him from flying in the storm, she tells him she doesn’t have to be ‘right’ all the time and that she just wants him to come home safe.

So why do men like James stay? 

Why do they tolerate being sidelined, diminished, or turned into something they were never designed to be?

I can tell you it’s not because they’re easily manipulated. 

What I can offer is this:

Men, for all their confusion, still carry a natural disposition that hasn’t been corrupted to the core.

This is because the current masculinity crisis is largely a reaction to the feminist movement and the economic reshuffling that keeps pushing men further out of their God-given role; first, replaced by women in the workplace, and now, even by AI.

But women have been targeted to be de-feminized and masculinized simultaneously, stripping us of our natural femininity to make us better cogs for the corporate machine before the world transitions to techfeudalism completely. 

The whole empowerment gimmick is about replacing our home-centered femininity with marketable masculinity for profit.

And of course, these elite architects would never allow us to support the men in our lives. They’d rather have us compete with them, or worse, be in constant war against them:

Our fathers, our husbands, our sons.

The Forgotten Role of Adam

Competition is the soul of capitalism. 

Just like the Darwinian survival mindset it feeds on, this system thrives on constant conflict, where someone always loses.

Charles Darwin’s theory challenged the story of Adam, our first father, by replacing divine creation with a biological lottery. His grandfather, Erasmus Darwin, was openly anti-religious, a Freemason and Enlightenment thinker who promoted evolution long before The Origin of Species.

If you think it’s just a coincidence that they were related and happened to share the same ‘ideas,’ think again. Both Darwins were part of a broader discreet agenda to replace God with ‘reason’ by reducing human life to random mutations and natural selection.

Darwinism certainly seeded a materialist worldview where life is determined not by God’s will but by chance and head-to-head competition.

In both Look Who’s Talking films, life quite literally begins with a race: each one opens with a frantic sperm race, where a crowd of overexcited swimmer bros chase down one aloof but considerably attractive egg.

Life, in this worldview, begins as a competition. 

You either beat the rest and win your shot at existence or you die nameless in the canal of life. The strong survive, the weak disappear and everything is reduced to a game of chance.

In a way, we’re taught to worship survival instead of the Creator.

This randomness-and-competition mindset is perfect for a society built on capitalism, individualism and consumption.

If life is a race, then everything becomes a market. Sex, identity, relationships, even children. The most sacred parts of life are flattened into transactional ones.

If existence is a brutal contest for dominance, then exploitation and profit aren’t just expected; they’re natural. It sanctifies inequality and serves a system where those at the top are invested in keeping us spiritually severed and socially divided, especially between men and women.

Despair becomes the only logical outcome once God is ‘killed’ by Darwinian materialism.
In godlessness and hopelessness, we only know how to work and buy our way out of emptiness rather than remembering why we exist in the first place.

And once we forget that, it becomes easy to mock the origin of our existence entirely.

The cosmological creation of Adam is reduced to theological sci-fi, faith dismissed as primitive myth and atheism promoted as intellectual progress.

The human being is now just a slightly luckier ‘ape’, or maybe a successful animal, in an evolutionary free-for-all.

I notice that Look Who’s Talking does something surprisingly profound, albeit unintentionally, by giving us a glimpse into the pre-socialized human psyche.

Mikey, the unborn baby narrating from inside the womb, is filled with curiosity, joy, and wonder. He marvels at his own fingers, listens to muffled adult conversations beyond the uterine veil and tries to make sense of it all.

Like Adam in the garden, he’s dependent on the inner workings of the womb yet delighted to be where he is. It’s oddly theological but this is an innate human orientation toward trust, awe and recognition of our Creator’s love and mercy on full display.

As he grows, Mikey’s perspective continues to echo that prelapsarian innocence. He doesn’t turn cruel when his parents shift attention to his baby sister, Julie. 

Sure, there’s a brief, comically jealous stint involving her stuffed penguin, likely worsened by his parents’ separation. But ultimately, he walks over and gently kisses her at the crib.

Julie, in contrast, feels like a sardonic, feminist rewrite of Eve (she’s also known as Hawa to Muslims, meaning “life” or “desire,” and Chavah in Hebrew, meaning “life-giver”).  

Instead of innocent, Julie is portrayed prematurely hardened. She rolls her eyes in utero like she’s already survived a bad marriage and arrives in the world jaded, unimpressed and snarky. 

Suspicious of boys from day one, she even treats Mikey with immediate disdain.

What we’re seeing is girlhood reprogrammed to be born defensive, conditioned to expect betrayal from malekind and primed to self-protect with sarcasm.

In contrast to Mikey’s openness, Julie represents what happens when the feminine disposition is rewired for cynicism. 

And that’s the tragedy, really.

Julie isn’t a villain because beneath her crusty one-liners and scowls, she’s still a baby. One who wants to be loved and one who, in the end, still finds comfort in Mikey’s brotherly presence. 

But the feminist coding, clearly written into her character by the filmmakers, won’t let her admit it. So she pretends she doesn’t need anyone (and especially not her ‘annoying’ brother).

Yet Mikey’s protectiveness toward Julie, like when he pushes her to safety in her walker during their apartment fire, stands in sharp contrast to feminism’s suspicion of male strength.

He’s just a boy who instinctively knows, without being taught, that his strength is for someone else’s safety. He remembers something we’ve forgotten: being a man is first about responsibility and making sure his Eve is safe and sound. 

Not in a Mr. Mom way or feminist-friendly house husband reimagination but in the masculine, sacrificial strength most of us unconsciously long for in our men (though we most likely end up choosing the “Yes, dear” doormat due to our unnaturally masculinized wiring). 

This is the masculinity most of us raised in secularism were told didn’t exist except as an Abrahamic myth. 

Yet somehow, it shows up in a fictional toddler, to question our doubts about how each of us are naturally designed to be.  

Mikey's faith in the world, despite Julie’s hostility and his parents’ dysfunction, mirrors Adam’s masculine groundedness. 

It’s built into him, like clay, exactly just like how Adam was formed: earth-bound but God-conscious.

And that makes a lot of sense.

Clay comes from the earth—low, trampled, forgotten—bearing the weight of every footstep without complaint. So too does a man’s humility, with his long hours and mostly uncelebrated sacrifices for his family and community. When that humble earth is moistened with purpose (say, when he’s asked to step forward in fatherhood, husbandry, provision and protection), it becomes clay. A vessel strong enough to hold anything made to pass on.

But if you take that away, what’s left is exactly what it began as: dust and dirt of the soil. Something walked on, swept aside, turned to black mud or ignored altogether…because the ground is always there.

That’s what modern life and all its godless doctrines do to men.

Capitalism flattens them out of their original function. Feminism, in turn, tells women to be self-sufficient and then tells men that if women don’t need them, too bad. 

They’re obsolete now. So irrelevant.

And in doing so, we’ve tried to build a world where everyone is everything and no one is anything in particular.

But that’s not why we were made. 

We weren’t created for endless rivalry with the Adam kind or for climbing parallel ladders to nowhere. 

We were created for relationship, interdependence, trust and for the mysterious dignity of needing someone else and something greater than ourselves.

Like our mother Eve, we were also spiritually created from the interior of man, and specifically for man, to be his completion in walking alongside his life’s mission.

Now don’t get me wrong. 

This isn’t an essay about praising men. 

I’m only inviting you to see what we’ve been taught to overlook. It’s the stripping away of function, the quiet denial of purpose and the invisible unthreading of his place in the design. The slow, silent erasure of a man’s place in a world that no longer welcomes what he was born to bring. 

Because when a man is no longer needed—when no one relies on him, receives from him or honors the weight he carries—he doesn’t just feel useless. He feels like he doesn’t exist.

And when a man’s drive to protect, provide and take responsibility is met with mocking disrespect…

…he disappears into nothingness.

Or if you’re lucky, he becomes a ghost. 

He’s still there. But not really.

And when he disappears, we feel ghosted too, though most of us can’t quite put our finger on what was lost.

But there’s a way back. And it doesn’t begin with proving anything to the world or forcing them into becoming ‘real men’ again.

It begins with one woman choosing to receive again, to need again, to see him not as an accessory to her self-fulfillment but as part of something Divinely ordered and shared.

That woman could be you.

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Footnotes

The recurring inversion of gender roles and ‘gentle’ takedown of the nuclear family sure didn’t happen by accident. According to investigative writer Leo Zagami, Hollywood—through its long-standing alliance with secular Zionist backers and the deep state—has been a soft-power tool for financial banking and technocratic elites of Sabbatean-Frankist background.

Through cleverly packaged storytelling, it has incepted ‘inverted’ ideals into mainstream global consciousness by turning dysfunctional and gender-bending nuclear family into a comedic punchline, faith into fantasy and tradition into the butt of the joke—while we, the ever-trusting audience, munched popcorn and clapped like well-trained sheep to numb ourselves with such ‘fiction’ after slaving away to the system.

Just in case you're wondering: yes, this is the esoteric occult ‘peek-a-boo’ club of Hollyweird.

As renowned Kabbalah scholar Gershom Scholem made clear, Sabbateanism and Frankism are both heretical, apocalyptic movements dating from 17th and 18th century that invert the core tenets of Judaism by embracing sin as a path to redemption and by promoting transgression, chaos and the deliberate breakdown of moral and social order as a gateway to messianic salvation.

Scholem’s work documents how messianic movements like Sabbatean-Frankism influenced certain strands of modern Jewish political thought (though he warned against turning nationalist ambitions into a modern-day attempt to ‘force God’s hand’ to fulfill some kind of messianic timeline). Nonetheless, it’s happening in current geopolitical theater and the genocidal war drama in the Middle East parallel the end-times narratives found in both Christian and Islamic traditions.

While Scholem’s critique focused on the theological and political risks of modern messianic ambitions, what’s less discussed is how these ambitions seep into everyday life through stories. Hollywood became the perfect delivery system by masking the globalist restructuring of society through, in this case, humorous, family-friendly films. In short, the roles of men, women and even the One God as a reference point were gradually edited out.

Of course, most of us just never noticed this playing out behind the scenes, much less on screen until the collective culture is pretty much cooked.