Men are shapeshifters. A mere change of clothing will alter the personality they manifest in any particular moment. The incessant changeability of their thinking, feeling, sensing, and the role they feel compelled to play in the world of social hives, is a permanent characteristic of the human condition. Men themselves are more often than not completely blind to this shuffling of identities, and all of them without exception have somehow fortified themselves in the assumption that their loopy carousel of masks are all quite natural to the ‘individual’ they believe themselves to be. At a certain point in their adolescence and adulthood each social drone sets into stone within their psyche a handful of core roles that reflect groups of little personalities that can live together under certain themes — who I am at work, who I am with family, who I am with friends, who I am with strangers, who I am when around potential mates, who I am around authority figures, and who I am when alone. Such neat groupings further obscure the truth of his actual state of being and a man grows awfully comfortable in not questioning a single thing that has to do with his real nature.