If Mangalsutra Shows a Woman Is ‘Taken’, Why Don’t Men Wear Anything?

A question society avoids because the answer shakes its foundations. There’s a pattern that repeats itself across centuries, across cultures, across religions: Tradition controls women. Tradition protects men. Not because men were “stronger,” but because societies were built in a way where the male line had to be secured, guarded, and kept intact. Women were turned into symbols of honour. Men were made the owners of that honour. The mangalsutra is not just jewelry. It is history sitting quietly on a woman’s neck.


When we look at the past, not the sanitized version we’re taught, but the real one, marriage wasn’t always about love. It was about: property, lineage, inheritance, purity and ownership. Women were not seen as individual beings. They were seen as vessels that carried a man’s legacy forward. So society created markers, visible, public, unquestionable.
The mangalsutra. The sindoor. The bindi. The bangles. The toe rings. Each symbol said: “This woman belongs to someone.” Now ask: Where is the symbol that says the same about a man? Nowhere. Because men were never expected to “belong.” Their honour was never placed on their bodies. Their purity was never questioned. Their movements were never policed. Control only flows where fear exists.


Whenever a woman asks, “Why only me?”, the world reacts as if she has attacked the foundation of culture. Why? Because questioning a tradition that benefits men forces them to confront the truth: They have lived comfortably inside a bubble built on women’s silence. Tradition becomes holy not because it is sacred, but because it is useful.
So the moment a woman asks, “Why don’t men wear anything?”, she threatens: male comfort, male privilege, male immunity and male dominance wrapped in the disguise of ‘culture’. And instead of examining their bias, society does something easier: It calls the woman immoral, modern, rebellious, disrespectful. If questioning oppresses you, maybe the tradition is the problem.


The tragedy is that patriarchal systems survive not only through men, but through women too, because they have been trained to believe:
“Good women obey.”
“Good women sacrifice.”
“Good women carry the family honour.”
So women internalize what society teaches them: They shame other women for questioning. They defend the very customs that limit them. They fear being judged more than being restricted. They normalize the double standards because resisting feels dangerous. When a woman polices another woman, she is not protecting culture. She is protecting the cage she grew up inside.


One of the most damaging lies wrapped in romance is the idea that a symbol determines love. A woman hears:
“If you stop wearing it, it will affect my age, my health, my fortune.”
“If you don’t put sindoor, it means you don’t love me.”
“If you remove the mangalsutra, it’s bad for your husband.”
Notice the pattern: The fear always targets women. The consequences always fall on women. The blame always belongs to women. If wearing a mangalsutra proves love, why does a man not need to prove anything? If symbols protect husbands, why don’t wives get protection? If marriage is equality, why aren’t the markers equal? Because equality was never the goal, control was.

Some ancient societies had male tokens, rings, tilaks during ceremonies, or cloth bands, but none carried: lifelong obligation, social judgement, moral policing, public scrutiny, curses or consequences or expectations of purity. Men could remove them, ignore them, or never wear them at all and nothing happened.
Women, however, were made to carry symbols that affected everything: Her safety. Her reputation. Her “value.” Her marriage’s fate. Her husband’s life. No male symbol has ever carried that weight.

For many women, it is love. Connection. Identity. Choice. And that is beautiful. For others, it is pressure. Fear. Conditioning. Obligation. And that is also real. The question is not: “Should women wear it?” The question is: “Why is she the only one expected to?” Traditions survive only when they evolve. When they start reflecting equality, not hierarchy. When symbols are chosen, not imposed. When love is proven through actions, not ornaments.
Maybe the real question we must ask is this: If a symbol means so much, why is only one person in the relationship responsible for carrying it? Until culture can answer this honestly, the conversation is far from over.