It always was that a man was supposed to be a man; cater for his wife, kids and extended family and die like a sheep if the weight of responsibility weighed him down to the grave.
It didn’t matter whether he had broad shoulders, or none at all. A man was a man, full stop. Even the Holy Book said so, announcing in elegant print and prose that the creature with a tail at the front would be the head of the family. It was inevitable because back then, you needed muscles to wrestle down a buffalo for dinner and women hadn’t discovered gyms, or a paycheck.