June is Gay Pride Month. Flags fly, parades roll out, corporations update their logos, and the media hums with celebration.
But here’s a question no one seems brave enough to ask: Where’s Bloke Month?
Where’s the month for the men who get up every day, go to work, fix what’s broken, say little, and keep the world turning? The men who aren’t glamorous or loud or “reinventing masculinity” - but who hold families together, protect what matters, and do it all without demanding applause?
While the noise grows louder for some, a quiet silence has fallen over others.... the kind of men who don’t march, don’t shout, and don’t beg for recognition. They just show up. They build, they protect, they endure.
No one’s throwing them a parade.
And maybe, just maybe, it’s time to ask: What happens to a society that forgets the value of its men?
They’re invisible. Uncelebrated. Sometimes even vilified. Maybe we need to think about this.....
Yes, where’s Bloke Month?
You know - the month where we honour the men who get up early, fix the fence, unclog the dunny, drop the kids to footy, and say things like “She’ll be right” while secretly holding the whole damn household together with WD-40 and sheer will.
These men don’t identify as “emotionally disruptive sea unicorns.” They identify as... blokes. Unfashionable, unfiltered, and frequently found near sheds.
They don’t strut in parades. They don’t rebrand their masculinity on social media.They just show up. And apparently, that’s not enough these days. Men who make a cuppa at sparrows fart and sit beside their woman and share moments that make memories that one day will be worth more than gold.
In the age of this manufactured bullshit and high-gloss gender reinvention, the quiet, loyal, sausage-on-bread bloke has become as endangered as a petrol mower at a vegan net zero festival.
Instead of appreciation, he cops a constant drip-feed of “toxic masculinity” lectures from people who think tying a knot is a form of micro-aggression.
And so he fades. Not in a dramatic, Netflix-series way - but in that quiet “Nah, I’m fine” way blokes have. Until one day, we wake up and realise: he’s gone.
It’s become fashionable to criticise men, to call them outdated, toxic, or boring. But the truth is, our society owes more than it dares admit to the quiet strength of dependable men. And yet, no flags fly for them. No marches. No pride.
Maybe it’s time to say what so many are thinking: men matter too. And if we don’t start acknowledging the value of real, grounded, blokie men, we risk losing them - and with them, the foundation they’ve silently built for generations.
They say men are the ones who have midlife crises - buying sports cars, chasing youth, leaving steady lives for fleeting thrills. But there’s a silent truth that’s rarely spoken:
Women have midlife crises too.
Only, theirs don’t always look like cliché. They’re often quieter - but no less destructive.
It might begin with restlessness. A dull ache for something lost. A whisper from the past that says, “You deserve more than this.” And that’s how a woman ... even a successful, educated, respected one - can find herself turning her back on the man who’s stood by her for decades… and chasing a memory.
He has long hair. He recites poetry. He talks about “energy.” He does not own a socket set. Or a sink spanner.
And off she sails ..... away from the man who fixed her tyres and remembered to put the bins out without being asked.
Now, to be clear: this isn’t about blaming women. It’s a warning about nostalgia-induced amnesia.
Because that Pirate, like Greta Thunberg's pirate, is an illusion.
He might smell like sandalwood and adventure, but give it a few years and he’ll smell like debt, disappointment, and damp towels on the floor.
Meanwhile, the bloke who was “boring” is still fixing things. Still dependable. Still putting up with the mother in law.
But by then, the family photo is in a storage box, the dog is confused, and no one can find the ladder.
You see, fantasies are good for novels. But they don’t mow the lawn, replace the roof tiles, or hold your hand when life goes to hell. Real men do. Blokie blokes. Flannel-shirted, emotionally mysterious, slightly sunburned... but solid.
And maybe, just maybe, it’s time we gave them a parade. Or at least a decent pair of socks and a nod of respect. Because in a world chasing sparkle and sensation, it’s often the bloke quietly holding the wheel who gets you home.
BLOG COMMENTS POWERED BY DISQUSWomen may long for their Pirate, but it's often the quiet sailor who gets them home.
