Between 1972 and 2016, twelve different people -- George McGovern, Gerald Ford, Jimmy Carter, Walter Mondale, Michael Dukakis, George H. W. Bush, Bob Dole, Al Gore, John Kerry, John McCain and Mitt Romney -- ran for president of the United States as a major-party nominee and lost.

We can safely assume that it hurt like all hell for every last one of them -- especially the few of them who lost in a landslide. But every one managed to take it with dignity, with no complaints made (at least none in public) and no overt demonstrations of grief. A number of them remained active in politics; John McCain and John Kerry went back to their day jobs and had some of the best years of their lives. Their supporters may have mourned and complained, but they too got over it. They did not put on hats shaped like testicles and hold tempestuous rallies, in which their supporters from Nashville and Hollywood called for the White House to be blown up with the victor inside it, who then should be whipped in the street.

With all this in mind, it may be time to pose the great unasked question: Why is it that the first female candidate for president is also the first to refuse to accept the will of the voters as her fault or as final, to blame her defeat on the mistakes and the malice of others, and to keep on refighting the war and its outcome, after the world and much of her party have moved on?

The sad act of the matter is that since 2:30 a.m. on November 9, 2016, Hillary Clinton and her ardent supporters have been doing their best to prove that every unflattering charge ever flung against women, in general, has been in their case proven true. Are women said to be weak, frail, hysterical, irrational, too unbalanced to rule? Hillary's army would lose it completely, folding like sets of lovely matched luggage in a series of lachrymose fits.

"Crying like somebody died," reported one feminist, describing her state after the result was known. Women hacked off their hair in gestures of self-mutilation, stuffed themselves or stopped eating, couldn't sleep, had nightmares, or feared waking up.

One male feminist in middle age and rude health called in sick to his boss in the pale early morning, and spent the whole day in bed. The odd thing is that they seemed proud of all this, as if it spoke well of their sensitized feelings, and some even collected their various rantings in a series of three little books.

At this point, the Washington Post's Carlos Lozada could take it no longer. "I don't know how to put this, but I no longer care how you felt on election night," chided the critic. "Writing about how sad you felt ... isn't resistance. It's self-indulgence," he said.

Let us repeat that this does not apply to all women, most women, or women in general. Only to a whole bunch of women who call themselves feminists, supported Mrs. Clinton, and can't get past the last election.

No one can imagine Kelly Ayotte, Joni Ernst, or Condi Rice carrying on in this manner. Nikki Haley, as governor of South Carolina, faced the Charleston massacre and then the removal of the Confederate flag from the grounds of the capital with a steeliness very few people could match.

Needless to say, no current feminists could live up to her standards, which is reason enough they should never hold power, until they are able to stand up like Haley, show genuine guts in the face of a crisis, and otherwise act like a man.

Noemie Emery, a Washington Examiner columnist, is a contributing editor to The Weekly Standard and author of "Great Expectations: The Troubled Lives of Political Families."