The Japanese ojisan (おじさん, middle-aged and older male) hasn't been too genki (元気, full of cheer) or assertive lately. Just the other day, I witnessed a company nomikai (飲み会, drinking party) at a beer garden where the only persons swilling nama (ナマ, draft beer) by the tankload, pulling off yakitori (焼き鳥, speared grilled chicken) morsels from the sticks with their bare teeth and cackling loudly into the night sky were thirtysomething women.

The men, on the other hand, were mainly bukacho (部課長, managers of sections and departments) in their 50s and they were sober, quiet and steeped in misery. There they sat, hands folded over protruding bellies made prominent courtesy of the male dignity-stripping Super Cool Biz mandate (to save on electrical power this summer, businessmen are asked to forego their suits and dress casually), not daring to order another round. The sight was pretty painful.

It wasn't always like this. The Japanese ojisan used to be an imposing figure, if not in the international arena then certainly in the katei (家庭, home), and in the shokuba (職場, workplace) — two places where the ojisan lorded over women and the younger generation with a sour face and a stern disposition. The worst type of ojisan were marked by the triple traits of ibatteru (威張ってる, boastful and arrogant), nanimo shinai (何もしない, incapable of doing anything useful) and zurui (狡い, egotistic and sneaky) and there seemed to be one or more of the mold in every workplace, every family and every school. Still, society as a whole and women in particular showed remarkable patience and understanding toward these shōmonai ossan (しょうもないオッサン, hopelessly dense, chauvinistic old bastards).