How to spot a henpecked in Argentina (Castellano)

Certain memories from my homeland, Argentina, make me realize how little I know about the codes of other cultures. I've been an immigrant in Spain for twenty-four years, and the fact that Spanish is also spoken here, unbelievably, helps little. Everyone will find analogies in their own culture of what I'm going to say.

Lately, I've been editing books for a feminist publishing house that until very recently was run by a client of my wife's. The last book I edited, written by her, deals with suffrage in Colombia (where, according to her biography, this Spanish woman spent a lot of time.)

I understand that at the institutional level, coming from Europe, society has also been patriarchal in America; to give an example related to the topic of this lady's book, at least in Argentina, women only had the right to vote in 1950 (I doubt the motivation was social justice.) But at the mundane level, for example within the home, I've noticed that in Latin American culture—I suppose it comes from Indigenous culture—there's a markedly matriarchal tendency that I haven't noticed here in Spain. Without going any further, in my parents' house, my mother was the one in charge, and with rare exceptions, I noticed the same thing in the homes of friends and acquaintances, both with their parents and later, in adulthood, with their own partners.

I'll give some humorous examples. As I clarified before, I don't know what the symptoms are in other cultures, but in Argentina, it's easy to spot a henpecked.

I mention some:

You go to a friend's house, and he invites you to have some mate with pastries. Of course, he primes the mate with sugar, because his wife doesn't like it bitter. One look from his beloved, one of those that says it all, and your friend pats you on the shoulder. "Let's have it in the kitchen," for fear of covering the sofa and the living room rug with crumbs.
Another day, you go again to his house, and he invites you over for lunch. He happily takes some rib-eye steaks out of his refrigerator. And he looks at you with a look that says, “Hey, let's enjoy!” But instead of grilling them, he bakes them in the oven, pale and boiled, because his wife doesn't like the smell of meat lingering in the kitchen.
To avoid further suffering, this time you invite him to an asado (Argentinian barbecue). When you throw the meat on the grill, he comes up to you and, in a low, shrugging voice, asks you to leave a piece that's overcooked, as dry as a shoe sole, because if you serve it to his wife juicy, she'll make a face like she smells shit and look to the side, complaining that it's raw.
Some stay at work working overtime, others go to a bar after work. Are the former responsible for maintaining their household? Are the latter bad husbands? Nah, they know their patermonium ends in their car; once they enter their home, their freedom ends; they are subject to the demands and whims of their wife and children, over whom they also have no authority.

The list is long. I'll keep adding more.

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