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Cellini was a great Renaissance artist. His autobiography shows a man with an exuberant style of life, whose attitude is pride, his manner virtu, and its project is the satisfaction of Cellini's appetite for life. The life was full of machismo, competition, quarrel, irresponsibility, conflict, struggle, enjoyment, misery, and dedication to art. It is the complex life of an amoral man, lived to the hilt. Reflection on it reveals the attractions and pitfalls of living with verve and being guided by one's appetites.

This chapter discusses current depictions in the behavioral science literature of the relationship between Latino/a migrants’ sexual cultures and HIV risk, and analyzes conceptual limitations that may hinder deeper understandings of how these two issues are interrelated. There is a tendency to draw conclusions about cultural differences between migrants and the U.S.-born Latino population that are often unsubstantiated by empirical findings, primarily because behavioral studies typically are not designed to measure cultural factors. The chapter also examines the limitations caused by a propensity to focus exclusively on the migrants’ behaviors in the United States, without inquiring about their lives prior to migration or their continued contact with their home countries. Finally, the chapter analyzes the consequences of a widespread reliance on simple acculturation measures, and on now problematic constructs such as simpatía, familismo, machismo, and marianismo.

This introductory chapter discusses the importance of studying David Fincher's Fight Club (1999). Studying Fight Club is a response to a number of issues. Firstly, the film has, since 2009, been an optional examined text in the WJEC's A2 Film Studies course in the UK. Secondly, the film's director, David Fincher, and the key cast of Brad Pitt, Edward Norton, and Helena Bonham Carter remain powerful Hollywood voices, whose work range from the mainstream to the art house. Fincher in particular is now widely regarded as a contemporary auteur with the facility to explore the zeitgeist in a stylish and substantial way. Finally, there is the need to revisit Fight Club in terms of its broad cultural impact and continuing relevance. The film still packs a powerful punch, with its perceived machismo remaining its most frequently explored aspect and indeed gender identity and post-millennial male anxiety are certainly important critical angles. This book pushes the analysis of the film beyond gender, exploring it in terms of its attack on postmodern culture via a proper understanding of Friedrich Nietzsche: a philosopher who is often negatively attributed to Fight Club's philosophy.

This chapter forms a hermeneutic of francophone films in which lesbian desire is a borderline case, situated on the edges of intelligibility. Before turning to Clare Whatling's ‘thrill of the forbidden’ (and questioning its political implications), it examines certain less exhilarating permutations on the liminally lesbian model. The chapter analyses these permutations in the following order: location of lesbian desire in an outsider figure; disavowal of lesbian identification despite obvious lesbian desire; the frequent influence of men or of the masculine, including the role of men when visibly present – typically, in triangular structures; women's defection from a lesbian relationship into the arms of a man through bad faith/internalised lesbophobia; machismo in butch lesbian characters; the lesbian figure and/or couple as eroticised object of the voyeuristic male gaze within the diegesis; and, finally, the role of men through their absence, giving rise to the possibility of an all-female space. In the case of triangulations, the liminality is merely a function of that set structure, and does not by any means always lend itself to particularly lesbo-appropriative readings.

Released in 1965, Russ Meyer’s film Faster Pussycat! Kill! Kill! centers on the violent and sexually predatory behavior of three go-go dancers in search of a hidden fortune on an isolated desert ranch. The amoral “machismo” of the women’s behavior contrasts sharply with that of three male characters: the greedy and misogynistic “Old Man,” a wheelchair user and owner of the ranch; his son, the “Vegetable,” a muscular beefcake to match the voluptuous cheesecake of the go-go dancers’ appearance; and the Old Man’s nondescript other son, relegated to the role of housewife by the disabilities of his father and brother. The chapter explores the impact of disability on Meyer’s constructions of masculinity showing how disability produces the feminization of the nondisabled caregiving son and how the intellectual disability of the other son renders him less than human, despite being the physical model of masculine perfection.

This chapter examines two competing sociological explanations for the messenger subculture: masculinity and dirty work. Bike messengering is, without a doubt, a masculine occupation. Not only is it a job overwhelmingly performed by men, but many of the skills it requires exemplify a certain type of machismo. It is a job that involves an athletic negotiation of danger and the management of interpersonal hostility. Moreover, the messenger subculture exaggerates the stereotypically male aspects of the job by turning workday practices into even more dangerous competitions. This chapter first considers whether a macho element is indeed involved in messengering before discussing the stigma associated with messenger work. It analyzes the notion that dirty workers such as bike messengers overcome the physical, social, and moral dimensions of their occupations by reframing, recalibrating, and refocusing the stigma of outsiders.

To what extent is the growth of tango nuevo facilitating a more autonomous position for women within the dance? In this chapter, I examine the performance of sex and gender in Argentine tango. From “active following” to same-sex partnering to female professionalization, I highlight practices that speak to greater gender equality, tracing the influence of foreign sensibilities upon these developments. In turn, portraits of machismo in modern-day Buenos Aires are juxtaposed with vignettes that illuminate lingering macho attitudes in the milongas and prácticas, at once a product of the larger culture and foreign romanticization of the “authentic.” In Buenos Aires' milongas, I find an alternate lifeworld, where elderly porteños rule the roost, women over 40 are scarce, and headstrong foreign tangueras trade youth and beauty for three minutes in the arms of septuagenarian milongueros. Drawing on promotional materials, personal exchanges with local and foreign dancers, and observations of rising tango stars, I argue that new narratives of sex and gender demand that dancers transcend the romance and exoticism of tango's often consuming macho imaginary.

This chapter chronicles De Palma's switch in genres following the poor box office performance of Blow Out (1981)—Scarface (1983). De Palma had considered that gangster films would be more commercially viable, and found some freedom in delving into the kind of films that were not quite like, in his own words, “these Brian De Palma movies.” Scarface is set in 1980, and Tony Montana (Al Pacino) is one of the Cuban evacuees who journey to Florida as part of the Mariel Boatlift when, along with many law-abiding citizens, Fidel Castro also unloaded some criminals from his jails. Among other things, the film itself can be said to echo De Palma's own inner conflict in succumbing to the money-grubbing nature of the film industry while at the same time criticizing the dangers of such greed.

This chapter addresses the specific role of the populist leader as the key ‘performer’ of contemporary populism. It considers the centrality of leaders within populism, arguing that they should be focused upon above and beyond parties and movements when studying the phenomenon. It then examines how these leaders must negotiate between appearing as both of ‘the people’ as well as above ‘the people’ at the same time, balancing performances of ordinariness with extraordinariness. In terms of ordinariness, it looks at populist leaders’ ‘bad manners’ and efforts to distance themselves from ‘mainstream’ political leaders, focusing on how they flaunt expectations of how politicians are ‘supposed’ to act. In terms of extraordinariness, it shows how populist leaders present themselves as the embodiment of ‘the people’, often through performances of strength, health and virility, and how this links with classic notions of the body politic.

This chapter analyzes the notion of mexicanidad in terms of its underlying religious associations and their relation to official discourses on criminality. The construction of what constitutes a “morally good” Mexican versus an “evil” one, based on religious beliefs—such as an adoration of La Santa Muerte (The Holy Death) and —was used in official discourses to pathologize Barraza’s beliefs as those of a lower-class Mexican who was “evil” by nature. Her beliefs, along with her socioeconomic class, were exploited in media coverage to link her to criminality and serve as evidence that she was indeed a serial killer. Popular adoration of La Santa Muerte (and the associated figure of Jesús Malaverde) is contrasted with that of figures with whom she shares many characteristics, but which are deemed much more acceptable within the discourses of mexicanidad: La Virgen de Guadalupe and La Catrina. The chapter also explores the figure of the macho and the notion of machismo in the everyday lives of Mexican men and women.

The book concludes by trying to answer the questions that guided its research: Who counts as a victim and how is a criminal constructed in Mexico in relation to official criminality discourses and their intersections with notions of mexicanidad? This last part of the book explores the tensions between pivotal figures in the construction of mexicanidad such as La Virgin de Guadalupe, La Malinche, and La Llorona and how they contrast with the actual lives of the historical Malitzin, Juana Barraza, and the victims of feminicides. In this discussion, challenges are raised in regard to the figure of the macho and the notion of machismo in the everyday lives of Mexican men and women.

This chapter reflects extensive ethnographic research in two Latino storefront churches, which are proximate to each other on Germantown Avenue, yet differ in theological and cultural ways. It focuses on the experience of Puerto Rican women and the ways they negotiate gender and cultural identity within the arena of their churches. Within this context of their faith communities, these women confront the oppressive gender roles of Latin culture (machista), reinforced by religious structures and piety; yet they also draw on the same community in helping them negotiate an often-alienating new culture. The tension of assimilation and resistance in both contexts can be a lonely, confusing and exhausting. Their compelling narratives of struggle also contain their sources of hope and strength.

This chapter explains why John F. Kennedy (JFK) placed a greater emphasis on controlling proliferation. It notes that the Soviets hoped to impede Chinese, as well as West German, access to the bomb, yet, JFK and Khrushchev faced domestic critics, especially in their own defense establishments, who did not support a modus vivendi to contain proliferation. The chapter observes that JFK resorted to false machismo and a traditional positions-of-strength policy, including a massive military buildup, and resumed nuclear testing, all undercutting arms control goals. It notes that by the spring of 1962, the prospects of a nonproliferation agreement seemed dimmer than at any other point since 1958.

The conclusion covers the death of Chavez, arguing that he had come full circle symbolically and literally—he made the ultimate return. It unpacks his “lost gospel,” which centered the construction of new Chicano masculinity that rejects machismo and violence while uplifting women. It interrogates Chavez’s friendship with Fred Ross and uncovers his activism on behalf of the LGBT community, revealing him as an ally. It argues that he provided a model that transgressed spiritual divisions and religious factionalism.

The traditional Greek culture represented courage as the cardinal virtue of men; the Greek word for courage was, literally, “manliness.” This chapter explores the relationship between courage and gender in democratic Athens, through offering a detailed interpretation of Aristophanes’ Lysistrata. Contrary to previous interpretations, this one focuses on the play’s male characters. Aristophanes’ chorus of Athenian men are presented as excessively beholden to traditional, “fiery,” or hot-headed ideals of manhood, which turn out to be harmful to their families, households, and city. Aristophanes’ critique of the Athenians’ “manly” bellicosity is balanced by his approbatory representation of the Greek women, and especially the title character, who supersedes the traditional attributes of her gender and exemplifies an androgynous ideal embodying courage, moderation, and good sense. Without substituting a proto-feminist ideal for traditional values, Aristophanes offered a telling criticism of conventional manliness and a novel understanding of the appropriate means and ends of courage.

This chapter spotlights the Russian case, addressing the question: Why have we seen the use of gender norms and sexualization in Russian politics in the Putin era? The chapter reviews the Kremlin’s apparent strategy of accentuating Putin’s machismo and considers multiple intersecting factors (political, cultural, economic, historical, and international), rooted in the 1990s, that contributed to the emphasis on gender norms and homophobia in twenty-first century Russian politics. The chapter looks specifically at the masculinity on the campaign trail, the development of the image, especially in relation to Putin, of the “real man” (muzhik) and the sexy man, and the effectiveness of the machismo legitimation strategy. The chapter also uses a multiple opportunity structure model to explain the rise of gender norms and sexualization as tools of political legitimation in Putin’s Russia.

Influenced by Che Guevara’s writings on revolution and self-transformation, the Young Lords launched the “revolution within the revolution”— a deliberate struggle to name and challenge manifestations of power dynamics, racism, sexism, and homophobia in their ranks. The trademark slogan of second wave feminism, “the personal is political,” articulated the challenge. Among the Lords, an increase in female membership propelled a fierce struggle against male chauvinism that well-positioned women to have their voices heard, leadership respected, and demands met. To that end, the group edited its program and platform; drafted rules against sexism; Denise Oliver was appointed to its formal leadership; and formed men’s caucus and women’s caucus to discuss gender oppression internally. Influenced by Franz Fanon, the Lords also challenged anti-black racism in the psyche of the oppressed, including widely used language that devalues curly hair, dark complexion, African facial features and the tendency among Puerto Ricans and Latinos to deny their ethnicity and blackness and distance themselves from black Americans. The Young Lords prioritized Afro-Latino leadership, including that of Felipe Luciano; theorized race ideology in Latin America; and made public a conversation about race that had been confined to hushed whispers among Puerto Ricans and Latinos.

Chapter 4 explores the cultural construction of Mexico’s most visual and aural national signifier, the charro the horseman dressed in a short jacket and a wide-brimmed sombrero—in the popular musical genre, the comedia ranchera. While the figure of the charro became an important archetype in nationalist rhetoric, it was his musical repertoire that solidified his importance in film. The chapter examines the traditionalist depiction of the charro in the comedia ranchera in its discussion of his visual and aural constructions as an example of “cultural hybridity.” Beginning with Allá en el Rancho Grande (1936), the genre reimagined rural life in the hacienda system with the aid of specific musics performed by the charro protagonist. The comedia ranchera and its intricate depiction of the singing charro not only consolidated several cultural practices into one medium,but also revealed changing perceptions of Mexican masculinity.

Chapter 3 focuses on Pablo Escobar’s former “trophy woman” (“mafia doll”), the 1980’s television celebrity Virginia Vallejo, whose autobiography details her tumultuous affair with the capo. It explores how Vallejo negotiates her own position vis-à-vis Colombia’s war on drugs, including the issue of culpability and her own victimhood once Escobar’s influences began to falter and how Vallejo became the subject of a multifold harassment that ended her career. Hers is the first melodramatic take on Escobar, an account that mobilizes the traditional tropes of female sentimentality wherein the Capo appears to be an alluring lover capable, nonetheless, of the most horrid acts. This chapter also examines Colombia’s infatuation with machismo and the figure of the classic Latin American strongman, whose brutality was part of their mass appeal. A substantial section of this chapter is devoted to the discourses born around Vallejo’s self-exposure as Escobar’s former lover, where public outrage, misogyny, sexism, and private interests reveal as much about Colombian society as about the memoirist.