Archive for the ‘The Big City Life’ Category

The datanauts at OKCupid ran the back channel numbers for New York City to find out who among the city’s 400,000 users on the dating site were the “most desired”, an appellation that relied on the simple metric of which users received the most messages from lovelorn horndogs. (More on that later.)

CH has taken issue before with OKCupid’s liberal-leaning data crunching team for sampling bias and misinterpretation of their findings. Analytical flaws aside, this very rough measure of “most desirable OKCupid user” does offer us a glimpse into the radioactive, hyperventilated, full metal jacketed sexual market of New York City, the American city with, arguably, the greatest concentration of 9s and 10s after LA and Miami. What does the crude sampling of OKCupid messages received say about New Yorkers’ sexual tastes?

I’m afraid, not anything flattering. However, there’s nary a fatty in sight, so at least NYC cleared that low hurdle.

First up, the NYC woman “voted” most desirable by OKCupid message ballot count is a heavily tattooed courtesan with a FUCK MY STARFISH cumdumpster gaze:

Cutting to the lace, this chick, as seen here, is a 7.5. CH deems her in her present state totally bang-worthy. But what does she look like underneath her three layers of industrial grade make-up and complimentary lighting? Drawing on my vast reservoir of expertise, I bet she drops to a 6 in the sunshine-y morning sans artificial face. The tats, of course, are a major slut giveaway. Not that sluttiness is necessarily a bad thing; it depends on a man’s perspective. Does he want a faithful girlfriend, or a bedroom adventure?

The impression this girl wants to leave on potential suitors is 1. I’m a fucktoy, 2. I will keep you at a distance and never let you know the real me, and 3. I’m an attention whore with a burdensome and unnecessary high female IQ and a low self-esteem nurtured by doubts about my ability to get a real alpha male player to commit, and so I will pretend I’m the one choosing my inglorious cad-chasing, pump and dumping lifestyle.

If you don’t believe my astute psychological diagnosis, here’s some choice quotes from her:

It doesn’t hurt that Lauren, after getting out of a four-year relationship with a “pathological liar” [ed: chicks dig... ah fuck it, you know the drill] who had a drug problem, isn’t necessarily looking for anything serious. So, in OKCupid’s searchable “I’m looking for …” section, she, like most women, selected “long-term dating,” “short-term dating,” and “new friends.” Unlike most women, she also selected “casual sex,” figuring she might as well tell the truth.

“At first, I thought if you listed ‘casual sex,’ guys would realize that even though I don’t want to be in a relationship with you, we can still go out, get drinks,” she says, but it triggered a vulgar explosion of come-ons. “It’s like, I’m not a prostitute. But they don’t get that.”

The attention, she admits, has been flattering—an ego boost after a rough breakup. She also confesses that she was “never the pretty girl” growing up and appreciates being in the position to approve or ignore other people.

Online dating: Inflating the egos of subclinical headcases since… I dunno, when did this clitshow start?

The finding of Lauren as most desirable NYC OKCupid girl also tells us a lot about what men value in women they meet online: namely, quick sex. Undoubtedly, there are hotter girls than Lauren peep toe-ing along the city’s sidewalks, but they’re not on OkCupid. Or if they are, they’re not as likely to create an image of themselves as around-the-way gothgirls. Lauren’s incomprehensibly vaunted position in the OKCupid universe is symptomatic of the problems with online dating, for both men and women: One, users (especially female users) are a self-selected bunch of marginal SMV participants. The really ugly and the really pretty are, respectively, too dispirited or too romantically successful in the real world to bother with the hassle. Two, women who dress like they spread faster than melted butter will naturally attract the eyeballs of a lot of men looking for a good time. Try to explain this common sensical functioning of the dating market to an SMRT, HIGH IQ city sister and you’ll get an earful of feminist boilerplate in return.

And don’t forget the probable demographic of OKCupid’s male users. Whom do gothgirls with NASA links attract? Nerds. What’s a nerd’s dating life like? The vast empty cosmos. Put the two together and you get a Lauren-sized ego relishing the desperation of 8,000 loveless nerds. 8,000 smart, economically productive nerds who don’t stand a chance against pathologically lying, badboy drug addicts.

I’d fuckin laugh if it weren’t so banal. No wait, I am laughing. Shitting on nerds’ hopes still puts a smile on my face.

Next up, the lesbian found to be most desirable dyke in NYC:

Justin Fuckin Bieber! Lesbians may all be grossly obese and tolerant of their scissor partners’ fatness, but judging by the photo above of most desirable lesbian in NYC, lesbians would prefer to be with very skinny women. Obligate lesbians (as opposed to cute chicks who experiment sometimes) are ugly and go out of their way to look like men, but they retain particulars of the heterosexual female mind, such as a preternatural ability to overlook physical flaws in a lover. Now I wonder if perhaps lesbians secretly desire the love of thin women, just like straight men do, but don’t give enough of a shit to bother with the effort since they know that gardening and softball sublimate nicely for bed death.

Anyhow, enough of this lesbian. I can’t stand looking anymore at those two bones passing for an ass on her.

For prolapsed giggles, here’s the photo of New York’s most desirable gay man on OkCupid:

Can we stop prancing around the subject and just admit that gay men are borderline Peter Panny pedophiles who love dat schoolboy charm? Not that I’d give them too much shit for it. If straight men had the option and the social sanction, we’d all be banging barely legal girleens.

One of the “winners’ was a straight man, but I see no reason to include his pic here. Not much to say, except he’s decent-looking and appears to have a sense of humor and knows how to demonstrate higher value, (of which the latter two traits are likely the greater attributing factors to his OKCupid popularity).

At a dark, candlelit West Village bar, James Hawver, a 29-year-old real-estate agent and New York’s most popular straight guy, is the living embodiment of his OKCupid handle, MyTiesAreSkinny. Preppily handsome, he’s dressed in a well-fitting H&M blazer with, yes, a skinny black tie and matching pocket square. James’s profile is peppered with references to his travels in Nepal and China and self-deprecatingly confident jokes like: “Ryan Gosling could play my stunt double. That is, if I didn’t already do my own stunts.” The whole profile is self-aware, right down to his height, which he lists as five-foot-nine, though he’s an inch shorter. “They say most guys add two inches,” he says, quoting OKCupid’s statistics blog, OKTrends. “I’m already behind!”

He also has a practical grasp of “law of large numbers” game.

But James has a few simple hacks to further improve his odds. He uses both ­OKCupid­ and Tinder, an app that is almost solely photo-based. Both are owned by IAC, the company that also owns Match.com. In the three and a half hours we spend talking, the phone will ping 47 times: On Tinder, 35 women will match with him; 12 women on ­OKCupid­ will either ­message or favorite him. The week before, he took a screenshot of a Tinder notification: 890 new matches, a personal record. And he has a basic strategy. Like a lot of guys, he was wasting time studying the profiles and photos of women who would never respond. Then a friend shared a deviously simple online-dating trick.

“You ready for the secret?” James asks me. “Not to blow your mind, but it’s disgusting …” He picks up his phone. “So, every couple days, I will do this,” he says. He opens the Tinder app, but before
I can see the first woman’s face, he swipes right: interested. If the woman he likes also swipes right, he has an official match. In short: He never swipes left (not interested).

“I will say yes to every single person,” James says. And he never follows up with someone who hasn’t already confirmed her interest. On ­OKCupid,­ he does the same thing: He gives everyone five stars (and if someone gives him four or fives stars in return, the site will notify him of a match). By doing so, he exposes himself to less risk, an appealing upside to James, who’s had two difficult breakups. He’s since had thousands of matches—so many that he’s had to refine his strategy.

By the way, you’ll note that James receives FAR fewer messages from women than Lauren receives from men. A handsome man simply can’t expect the same kind of lustful stampede from hordes of women than a pretty woman signaling sexual availability can expect from men.

“The last person I matched with was Allison,” he says. If he were to send a message to Allison on a Sunday, Monday, or Tuesday, it would read: Hey there Miss Allison. What kind of trouble did you get into this weekend? :) “That’s exactly what I do, every fucking time,” he says, laughing. For Wednesday: Hey there Miss Allison. What sort of trouble are you getting into this week? :) Thursday or Friday: What kind of trouble are you getting into this weekend? :) And if it’s Saturday: What kind of trouble have you been getting into? :)

Kind of a cheesy line, but if you drop it on fifty girls a week you’re bound to hit pay dirt on a couple.

The overall vibe one gets from the current online dating scene is one of self-protectiveness and exploitation. Not that it hasn’t always been like that, but these two trends have accelerated since I entered the plunderdome as a pre-teened, continuously turgid stripling. Some men are wising up to the mechanical nature of female sexuality, and women, in response (or as causal agents) are building emotional, snarl-fueled barriers around themselves, and sometimes even physical barriers like tattoos, which intimidate the beta saps and signal the alpha players to swoop in for the thrill. Women bitch about this state of affairs, but, like always, watch what they do. The vagina speaks louder than a million words.

It’s helpful to keep in mind when trawling online dating site data (you listening Rudder?) that “desirability” and “hotness” are not necessarily the same. A slutty 7 will get a lot more messages than a modest 10 for the simple reason that most men, average by definition, consider attainability in deciding which women to hit up for a romantic evening of ass eating.

And the same is true in real life. It may seem paradoxical, but the hottest girls actually get hit on less often than ordinarily cute 6s and 7s. If you want an explanation why 7s seem to have bigger egos than 9s, or why that fantastic 9 tossed you a lascivious look while that chubby 5 steamrolled right past you, there you go. This doesn’t mean really hot girls don’t know their own sexual value. 8s, 9s and 10s may not get directly hit on, but they experience plenty of indirect attention from men in the form of shell-shocked stares, furtive glances, craning necks and nervous fidgeting. Hotties subconsciously pick up these cues, but consciously may remain unaware just how awestruck men are in their company, which contributes to their frustration with not being approached as often as those subtle attraction clues from men would indicate.

It’s been said on other pickup sites, and it bears repeating: As a student of applied charisma, you’ll be surprised to find yourself having more success with hotter girls than you’re used to rather than with the plainer girls which have been your self-limiting expectation.

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We may be entering an era when the romantic fortunes of the Renegade Alpha reach a zenith. A culmination of culture shocks will magnify the appeal of the nonconformist cad, energizing a state of illicit affairs which could last for twenty years before the pendulum swings back into the camp of traditional alpha males.

Who is the Renegade Alpha? It helps to know the context within which he lives. An elegant description of the male socio-sexual hierarchy exists deep in the CH archives.

Make no mistake, at the most fundamental level the CRUX of a man’s worth is measured by his desirability to women, whether he chooses to play the game or not. Pussy is the holy grail. That is why the obese, socially maladroit nerdboy who manages to unlock the gate to the secret garden and bang a 10 regularly is an alpha male. And that is also why the rich, charming entrepreneur who, because of an emotional deficiency or mental sickness lives mired in parched celibacy, is not an alpha male.

Due to this enduring confusion about what makes an alpha, I submit the following system, in the form of a handy chart, to help clear the air. It hits on the three major factors influencing male rank — how hot are the women he can attract, how strong is that attraction for him, and how many of those women find him attractive.

Some readers unhappy with this reductive (and thus clear-eyed) partition of male sexual worth balked at this definition, claiming it was circular. But great truths often distill as tautologies, which is why the CH definition of the alpha male is so sweeping in its scope and yet unassailable in its detail.

The blogger Vox, an esteemed member of the realtalker shock troops, has his own delineation of male status based off of the original CH socio-sexual classifications, which he has said is a refinement of the original, but which CH guardians of the Good Word of Game say amounts to an aesthetic rewording of the primeval texts. Vox’s male ranks could easily superimpose onto CH’s ranking system, because the CH hierarchy is not, as is commonly assumed by readers who have barely skimmed the ancient writings, a stark dichotomy separating alphas from betas, but rather is a continuous SPECTRUM running the gamut from the lowly omega dregs to the zero-point-one percenter super alphas. Within that spectrum there is room for every male socio-sexual rank, including the mysterious Renegade Alpha, which Vox names the Sigma Male.

Sigma: The outsider who doesn’t play the social game and manage to win at it anyhow. The sigma is hated by alphas because sigmas are the only men who don’t accept or at least acknowledge, however grudgingly, their social dominance. (NB: Alphas absolutely hate to be laughed at and a sigma can often enrage an alpha by doing nothing more than smiling at him.) Everyone else is vaguely confused by them. In a social situation, the sigma is the man who stops in briefly to say hello to a few friends accompanied by a Tier 1 girl that no one has ever seen before. Sigmas like women, but tend to be contemptuous of them. They are usually considered to be strange. Gammas often like to think they are sigmas, failing to understand that sigmas are not social rejects, they are at the top of the social hierarchy despite their refusal to play by its rules.

Lifetime sexual partners = 4x average+.

In equivalent CH terms, then, the Sigma Male would fall somewhere between a Greater Beta and a Lesser Alpha. An ample supply of cute girls are attracted to him, and some of those girls want to be with him exclusively. He oozes badboy allure, and he’s been known to make a girl or two cry in despair, and perhaps to have had his heart broken in return. So he is, by most men’s paltry standards, a successful predator of poon. (A noodle-armed emo crooner fronting an indie band is a well-known Renegade Alpha archetype.) But he doesn’t have the broad social leverage that a traditional “leader of men” alpha male has at his disposal, and this somewhat limits the Sigma Male/Renegade Alpha from monopolizing the attentions of a large pool of 9s and 10s, or of enjoying the distaff fruits of a wide and deep social circle of admiring friends and accomplished business partners eager to play matchmaker.

However, that same outsider status and rule-breaking dereliction of the Renegade Alpha also frees him from having to live up to the expectations of an insular social group. This freedom is especially nourishing if that group is a cult of winners with an unforgiving, judgmental distaste for deviance from the norm. Oftentimes, the libidinous and romantic urges of a traditional alpha male are straitjacketed by the conventional demands of his peers, and he looks with envy upon the Renegade Alpha reclining with some starry-eyed scenester who didn’t go to Harvard but who loves to take loads to her pink hair-framed face.

Very loosely, the Renegade Alpha is a seducer of women first, and a leader of men second, if at all. Though in fact the two conditions are not mutually exclusive. A cad bounder who defies the rules can also lead a small contingent of men, although the sweep of his influence may be constrained by his chosen hedonistic lifestyle.

So what does the present American sexual market tell us about the fortunes of the Renegade Alpha? For one, this is his moment. He thrives in formerly stable cultures that are experiencing paradigm shifts which shake up the old rules and create disincentives to social cooperation. Confusion, ennui, distrust, discord, fear and uncertainty — these are the conditions that craft his playground of poon. Where there is emerging chaos, you will find the reign of the Renegade Alpha.

Probably the best historical example of this reality is Casanova, one of European history’s greatest womanizers who pursued his passions during the Age of Enlightenment, a time in the West of tumult and change, leading eventually to the French and American Revolutions.

Will something similar happen in our lifetimes? America today is also experiencing tumult, and a new dark enlightenment is set to crash the scene like an unwelcome guest, upending tribal affiliations and cherished beliefs alike. Something strange and frightening is a-blowin’ in the wind, and the Renegade Alpha is there to take your hand, comfort you in your time of need, lead you to a better place, arouse you with intimations of transcendental escape, seduce you, and evade rebuke under cover of urban anonymity and social atomization.

It’s no coincidence that the Pickup Artist movement, spearheaded in the 1990s by intellectual revolutionaries (yes, really), came to prominence when it did. The eroding culture was primed for it. Frayed social cohesion and rapid advancement in communications have allowed the PUA and his message to flourish. The PUA, a creature of his environment, is a specialized Renegade Alpha.

So the Renegade Alpha, or Sigma Male in Vox’s terminology, excels at exploiting cratering cultures and the tender, psychologically scarred minds that inhabit them. Societal collapse is his serendipity. The cri de coeur of broken souls his symphony.

When the actual collapse comes, delivering real pain to the old order and its pathetic servants, the Renegade Alpha will retreat from the scene, his services no longer needed by sufficient numbers to warrant his active, daily participation in the hunt. Post-collapse, the weepy, suddenly straight-thinking women will crave the firm footing of authorial alpha males and predictable beta males. The female desire for romantic excitement will be quenched by the real excitement of destitution, decay and doom.

Oh, he’ll always have a place at the pussy table. When the Leader of Men alpha males rule, the Renegade Alpha finds niches within which he can profitably work his magic, posing as the “outsider” who provides subversive entertainment in times of mundane prosperity and social comity. But under those conditions his numbers are necessarily inhibited by the checks and balances that are naturally emergent in a strong, high trust culture that believes in itself.

In weak, low trust cultures that have lost the faith… he dines tonight.

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The reason there aren’t even more disproportionately committed black-on-white crimes than there already are is not because blacks don’t hold much anti-white animus; it’s because the opportunity to prey on whites is limited.

Aided by store surveillance footage, Davis and Jones–parents to four children [ed: the future's looking brighter every day]–were arrested yesterday. Dawkins identified both suspects when shown photo lineups.

During questioning, an “apologetic” Davis reportedly confessed to robbing Dawkins, claiming that he “stole the property because he needed new tires for his car.” Jones admitted that she and Davis went to GameStop intending to “catch a cracker,” which she said was slang for robbing a white person, cops reported. Instead, they robbed Dawkins, with whom Davis said she fought until Davis was able to drive away.

Blacks can’t “catch a cracker” if there are no crackers around to catch. This is why, despite SWPL moral posturing to the contrary, most whites with half a brain don’t live in the ghetto, and avoid meandering into ghetto space when an alternate path of travel is available. For the ugly truth is that blacks would target a hell of a lot more whites for their very special lessons in impulsive violence if whites made themselves more convenient plushtoys. But because most criminals are lazy and don’t venture far from their hunting grounds, the scope of their target selection is typically no larger than a four-block radius surrounding their filthy hovels.

Whites and other non-blacks (and even some blacks) who avoid predominantly black hoods — as per Derbyshire’s advice in his seminal column The Talk — are acting in their best interest and doing the smart thing by refusing to become an easy mark for thugs who perceive, more rightly than wrongly, that whites are soft targets of their malevolence. Narrative-enslaved conservatives who phonily lament the tragedy of “black-on-black” crime should know that black-on-white crime would dwarf it were it not for the happy “accident” of geographical segregation and black indolence. Remember that the next time you’re tempted to think that blacks can’t be racist because, hey, they kill so may of their own kind. They’d take out a lot more whites if whites would just stop moving the hell away from them. Stand still, cracker!

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Ronin asks:

Just out of curiosity, have any of the real PUAs here ever used game to nail a Jizzabel-type feminazi?

As an aspiring womanizer, you don’t need to act with intent to nail an avowed feminist. If you scavenge snatch in the SWPL regions of any major American city (barring a few notable exceptions*), you WILL have collected more than a few feminist notches on your bedpost. This is because most girls in the big blue population sinks of SWPL-Land are feminists of one stripe or another. You can’t swing an Emperor Deluxe condom without hitting a feminist in the cooch if you live or operate within these zones of misandry.

Of course, not all SWPLcity feminists are cut from the same unsanitary napkin. SWPL chicks generally fall into three main groups of feminist identification:

1. The Femcunts

These are your Jizzebomb fanatics, the devotees of feminism as a life-affirming ideology. They are the smallest in number, but the loudest in bitchery and kookery. This is the kind of manjawed girl — typically a lawyer, academic, organic farmer or diversity consultant — who reads and comments daily at sites like Feministing and Slate/Salon/SuckMyClit with furrowed brow, regurgitating what she learns therein at parties and in the middle of dates, exposing a vile expectation that all the world should agree with where her retarded logic takes her. As long as you don’t embroil yourself in her occasional tantrums at invisible enemies, and keep the pick-up light and breezy while steering her in different conversational directions whenever you sniff the approach of another feminist tirade carried along by the id winds, you will get the bang. She is, underneath her femcuntery, still a woman, and as such (however much you may need reminding) she will respond viscerally to ancient cues of your mate worthiness, and her vagina will flower in spectacular opposition to the wilting of her mind. You don’t want to stay with women like these beyond a few hate smashes, so for shits and giggles I suggest you regale her in the morning with your support of the Second Amendment and the ludicrousness of the equal pay myth. For bonus soul-shivving points, casually muse aloud, after you have sprayed her mug and she’s inserted her glazed face into your armpit nook, that 1 in 5 women who are being raped will orgasm during the act.

2. The Partisans

These are the girls who occasionally read feminist blogs (usually when a fat femcunt friend passes along a link) and parrot the benumbing Cathedral crap they hear on TV and read in approved MSM papers. But these soapbox episodes are blessedly infrequent and pass unremarked, unless they manage to corral some dipshit manboob into acting as a sounding board for their cockamamy nonsense on white male privilege and socially constructed beauty standards (Hugs Shyster, Scrotumless Scalzi, I’m looking at you two distilled estrogen pools.) They believe the feminist canon, but live and conduct their dating lives in a decidedly non-feminist fashion. You will rarely, for instance, find a fattie or a mustachioed Marcuntte wannabe amongst this group. At the end of the day, they like being girls, and are all too happy to ignore the inherent contradictions between feminism and their love of shopping for shoes and falling for assholes.

3. The Lemmings

You have to understand that the anti-feminist/pro-rationality message does not get out in America’s major cities. There simply isn’t an anti-Cathedral reporting or opinion outlet with enough heft to influence more than a tiny fraction of women away from the idiocy that is feminism. This being the case, MOST women in the cities will have spent the better part of their sexually adventurous single girl years steeped in the platitudes of feminism, and they will know nothing else. Combined with women’s natural aversion to abstract thinking beyond immediate, selfish concerns, what you wind up with is a population of lickspittle lemmings who mindlessly nod in agreement every time a talking head exploiting this deficiency in the mental circuitry of half the voting public sonorously intones something about “equal pay for equal work”, or “war on women”. The Lemmings, by far the largest group of women you will likely encounter unless you live in South Dakota, include all types of girls, from club sluts to self-important HR robots to daddy’s princesses to deliriously frantic scenesters. Luckily for your sanity, these girls do not take feminism seriously; not if we measure “seriousness” by the frequency and intensity with which a person holds a belief. They are far more interested in looking hot for you, and gossiping endlessly about relationship drama in their circle of friends. Sure, if you press them “What do you think of free birth control?”, they’ll eagerly approve and perhaps segue into a condemnation of those “rape-y Republicans” and Sandra Fluke’s godliness, but mostly they just go about their lives oblivious to feminism’s charms.

So there you have it. Given that 90% of your city’s women are feminist in name if not in execution, the odds that you will bang out, or currently are banging out, a feminist are pretty good. Most hardcore feminists, whether or not they know it, are fucking men who either pretend to give a shit about their precious ideology, or don’t even bother with the pretense of pretending to give a shit about it. In fact, the majority of men, and an even bigger majority of players, are like me: they find feminism absurd on its face and will dismissively change the subject anytime the girls they are seeing make the mistake of veering into feminist bromide territory. Most girls are sensible and will know when their feminist retardation is turning off the men they like, and will quickly fall in line with the change of subject.

There are exceptions. A few supercharged feminists will eventually wind up with sycophantic manboobs for lovers, and a more perfect pairing I couldn’t imagine.

*I currently live near one of those notable exceptions, and damn straight I’m keeping that info close to the vest.

**Many SWPL cities have geographically extensive ghetto areas, which I don’t consider part of the SWPL, or feminist, world. Ghettoes are like exotic locales that SWPLs like to brag they’ve lived in for six months, when in fact all they did was read about them in the crime section, or pass through them on a bus.

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There are virgins among us, but they cannot be identified by their ecstatic moans, so they slip unnoticed by the sexually active masses like frigid totems to a bygone era.

A reader links to a study on American virginity rates:

Women who are college graduates are more likely to be virgins. So, it’s not just Ivy Leaguers who are more sexually restrained, but all college graduates.

I still agree with you to the extent that I think there are pockets of promiscuity among educated women, especially among those with graduate/professional degrees, and also probably among those in certain urban areas. Furthermore, I would think that educated women who are promiscuous are probably much more deliberate about it than lower class women who often disapprove of promiscuity in the abstract (I use the term loosely) but are unable to control themselves in the heat of the moment.

Before you players start to wonder if you’re just passing around the same irrepressible slut’s party hole amongst yourselves, note that overall virginity rates are still quite low for the general population, including both men and women.

1.1 million Americans between the ages of 25 and 40 are still virgins.

The CDC also reports that by age 19, 80% of men and 75% of women have lost their virginity.

And, furthermore, keeping in tune with this blog’s unnerving habit of drawing back the curtain on humanity’s clanking machinery, men, being the expendable sex, are more likely than women, the perishable sex, to remain virgins past the age of 25.

[T]he odds a man aged 25-44 has had no female partners are 1 in 35.71.

More women than men are likely to postpone losing their virginity, but during the teens and early 20s their odds follow the identical trajectory. However, by the time a woman enters the age range of 25-44, the odds she has had no male sexual partners are 1 in 58.82—so somewhere along the line women start outpacing men in shedding their virginity.

It is simply easier for the average woman to get sex than it is for the average man, and the later in life virginity rates reflect that reality. (Although the ease with which women can get sex partners may be experiencing a bump upward in difficulty owing to the increasing fattitude of Americans — obese women are 30% less likely than normal-weight women to have had a sexual partner in the last year. Obese men do not have the same problem.)

Compared to men, the relatively low effort required of women to obtain sex is why it’s silly for them to take pride in their sluttiness; getting sex from men is no accomplishment. Now getting commitment from men… there’s the challenge. But of course, if you are a feminist with a grating personality and all you have to offer men is a zip line to your jungly vagina, then you might be tempted to dismiss the shame you feel from giving it away so freely.

After a certain ripe age, a virginal woman might say to herself, “Why am I holding out for an alpha male? The odds of landing one diminish with each passing month, so, fuck it, I’ll take the next cocka that comes alonga.” She then finds that the goal of spreading her legs for a horny bastard is remarkably easy to achieve, which is why the act often leaves her feeling confused and depressed afterwards.

The typical virginal man, in contrast, discovers that it becomes increasingly difficult to lose his virginity with each passing year. For him, virginity isn’t a choice; it’s a sentence. Or it may have started as a free choice, but quickly transmogrified into a punishment. The 40-year-old male virgin who manages to finally bust a nut inside a woman doesn’t feel confusion; he feels elation.

The more interesting angle to the virginity numbers is the discrepancy in rates between uneducated and educated women:

For well-educated ladies looking to join the ranks of the sexually active, unfortunately you’ve got your work cut out for you. Female college graduates are 5.4 times more likely to be virgins than those who never received that diploma—adding a sad irony to the term “bachelor’s degree.”

I suspect this ties into impulsiveness; if you have the time to spare, there are studies floating around demonstrating a link between lower IQ and higher impulsiveness. It could simply be the case that female college grads are better at controlling their impulses, rather than some high-falutin’ notion that educated women are more apt than dumber women to save themselves for marriage deriving from some quaint personal ethos.

But why would women want to, or feel an inner urge to, restrain their sexual impulses? Well, in the ancestral environment, the one that has shaped the contours of our hindbrains to this day, the women who were bad at controlling their sexual impulses were often the ones stuck with babies from men who weren’t willing to stick around and help raise them. More circumspect women were better at screening for men willing to dependably commit to them, a male trait that is exhibited when a man wines and dines a woman while waiting patiently for her to give it up. Evolution favored the propagation of the latter’s genes (with exceptions), and so this female restraint instinct survives into the modern world, in an age of contraceptives and big daddy government, and its existence spurs all sorts of rationalizations from women seeking to make sense of their antediluvian feelings.

Nevertheless, the CDC data showing that educated women are more likely than uneducated women to be virgins seems counterintuitive to me. I swim amongst the educated set and, accounting for a few memorable exceptions, I have rarely befriended or befouled a virgin. On the whole, smart chicks are novelty seeking; they love meeting new men and flirting like femme fatales. Case in point: Smart, educated girls may be more likely to be virginal, but they are also more likely to cheat.

And my experience is not unique; I know few men, alpha or beta, who can claim to plunder virgin puss regularly. The existence of legal age virgins in the megalopolises is so rare that meeting and bedding one would be immediate cause for a triumphal parade around the city square.

As I have said on occasion, you will find that if you keep your eyes open and observe the world around you without self-assuaging delusion, that science eventually comes around to confirming 9/10s of your common sense. Yet once in a blue moon, the scientific data throws a curveball. This is one of those times.

Herewith I offer some explanations for the discrepancy between most men’s real life experiences with a paucity of educated virgins and the self-reported virginity data:

- Women lie worse than men on self-reporting surveys. This is scientifically validated. Now, participant lying doesn’t necessarily indicate that the sexual activity trend lines are wrong; for that, you’d have to somehow show that women are lying more now than they did on past surveys, or that educated women lie more than uneducated women. (In fact, the latter is a distinct possibility, as it has been shown that smarter people are generally better at the deceptive arts, and have a better grasp of what kind of information about themselves is potentially incriminating.) However, the very fact that women do lie about sexual matters more than men should give one pause about taking their virginity claims at face value.

- Player selection bias. This is a favorite assertion of the anti-gamer, feminist and omegavirgindork crowd (losers of a feather flock together): “Oh, you’re just nailing the sluts who like to screw around, so you never get a chance to meet the angelic hordes of chaste, virginal girls.” On its face, this seems plausible, but it breaks down badly upon closer inspection. One, many seducers meet women randomly, outside of the clubs where sluts tend to congregate. For instance, I have met women from extraordinarily varied occupational and educational backgrounds, in stores, at events, on the street, in buses, while driving, at the beach, in class, at work, at weddings, at picnics, and even at a funeral. It would be a remarkable coincidence if all those women were raging sluts. Two, and most disturbingly for the anti-gamer, their assertion denies the possibility that players *are* meeting chaste women, but that these women, accustomed to the limp company of their beta orbiters, are so overwhelmed by the player’s sexy vibe that they become a bit less chaste for the night (or many nights).

Given the above refutation of the player selection bias theory, I suspect that it is true to some minimal extent that men who actively bed a lot of women tend to miss the virgins, who are, after all, not very likely to be out anywhere in mixed company. And the reason for this may be that the ranks of female virgins include a lot of grossly ugly or obese girls who are ashamed to be seen in public. Girls who major in math or other male-oriented tracks are probably overrepresented in this group.

Luckily, by the early 20s, most girls have abandoned the charade of virginity, so player selection bias ceases to be of much relevance for men who don’t routinely try to pick up teenagers.

- Confusing education for introversion. Education, conscientiousness and introversion tend to correlate. If educated women have a higher virginity rate than uneducated women, that may just be a reflection of the fact that educated women are more introverted, and thus less likely to be energized by large mixed groups of men and women where hooking up is more likely to occur. Thus, players who plunder the big cities may be missing out on the virgins because those women are less comfortable mingling in social settings. This particular explanation is speculative, so take it for what it is.

- Obesity is just another word for celibacy. As noted above, there have been studies which found that fat women have less sex than thin women. Not very surprising, as men really don’t want to sleep with fat women if they can avail themselves of the sexier alternative. (A contrarian might argue that fat women, given their lower sexual market value, would more readily put out for men in hopes of gaining their commitment and love. If true, that would work against higher virginity rates for fat women.)

Anyhow, assuming the premise is true — that fat chicks are more likely to live a sexless purgatory — then the obesity epidemic may explain decreasing rates of sluttiness among American women. However, it would not tell us much about the supposed higher virginity rates of educated girls, as it is a safe assumption most truly grotesque fat chicks shamble among the lower classes. Or it could be the case that educated fat chicks, as the more introspective subspecies, are more likely than uneducated fat chicks to sequester themselves away from human contact and sunlight, thus shifting on one elephantine foot higher virginity rates toward the college crowd.

- The “technical” virgin. How do girls rationalize their lying about their sex lives? By inventing false truths. Anal and oral sex among young women are way up, but hey, it’s not the vagina, so STILL A VIRGIN. The hamster is happy. Perhaps this explains better why educated women have higher “virginity” rates — they are using a very loose definition of virginity. And wouldn’t it be just like a smartie to wordplay her way out of an uncomfortable self-assessment? I suspect the Audacious One would be interested in GSSing his way through this byline to the sexual behavior annals. Annals. Heh.

- Bifurcation Nation. I have previously offered as an explanation for the supposed decreasing overall rate of sluttiness among American women the hypothesis that the nation is bifurcating along sexual behavior lines:

[P]erhaps American society is bifurcating into two female camps, with the urban blue state camp waving the banner of Team Slut and the religious red state camp hoisting the flag of Team Prude. Since there are more red state godly girls than there are blue state heretic hos, I figured that would account for the overall trend toward less sluttiness.

Again, purely speculative, but worth investigating. (Paging Charles Murray.) I admit I don’t have reams of experience with evangelicals or Hasidim, so for all I know there is a mass of middle America religious women out there who are refusing sex until a ring is on it. Maybe a lot of these red staters who have the smarts go to college and as a consequence swing the co-ed virginity rate higher. Since religious girls tend to socialize in venues (like church) where players are rarely found (imagine a demon stepping foot on holy ground and immediately bursting into flames), it’s reasonable to conclude that male perception of college girl sluttiness is skewed by the religious de facto shut-ins.


Bottom line: Human sexual behavior is exceedingly difficult to pin down, as the nature of the enterprise requires survey respondents possess a bracing comfort with exposing the underbellies of their egos, and nothing is quite as critical to the healthy functioning of the ego as faith in one’s SMV. Don’t trust self-reported sex survey data. Chicks lie. Educated chicks are probably not much more virginal than uneducated chicks, but there is room to disagree on this point based on potential skew in men’s perceptions of the active, college educated dating market. Nonetheless, overall virginity rates are quite low after the late teens, so men need not worry that a shrinking pool of sexually enthusiastic women is about to cramp their styles.

This post grew beyond its preplanned bounds, much like a virgin’s hymen stretches to its breaking point when confronted by the concentrated force of my life-giving battering ram.

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A reader emailed a recent fascinating study that, AS PER USUAL♥♥♥♥♥♥♥, confirms many core Chateau concepts and related game strategies.

Although robust sex differences are abundant in men and women’s mating psychology, there is a considerable degree of overlap between the two as well. In an effort to understand where and when this overlap exists, the current study provides an exploration of within-sex variation in women’s mate preferences. We hypothesized that women’s intelligence, given an environment where women can use that intelligence to attain educational and career opportunities, would be: (1) positively related to their willingness to engage in short-term sexual relationships, (2) negatively related to their desire for qualities in a partner that indicated wealth and status, and (3) negatively related to their endorsement of traditional gender roles in romantic relationships. These predictions were supported. Results suggest that intelligence may be one important individual difference influencing women’s mate preferences.

Anti-game haters and various sore losers in life: reread the above for comprehension before commenting. You’ll save everyone a lot of scrolling effort to glide by your blockheadedness.

Let’s tackle the conclusions of this study one by one.

1. Smart, educated, careerist women (aka urban SWPLs) are more likely to want to ride the cock carousel (i.e., “engage in short-term sexual relationships”). That old game hater saw that only low self-esteem sluts and dumb skanks like to play the phallus field is the complete opposite of reality. It’s the smart, educated chicks who dig the cock and, by deduction, it’s the smart, educated chicks who will fall for short-term pickup game more than dumb chicks.

In one fell swoop, a cherished feminist and beta male shibboleth gets crushed into dust and blown away.

2. Smart, educated, careerist women are less interested in a man’s money or career status. This dovetails perfectly with the Chateau contention that female economic empowerment has led to a sexual market where soft polygamy — the clustering of financially independent women at the peak of their fertility (and beauty) around charming alpha males — is the new norm in blue state meccas. If money and occupational status mean less to smart girls, then guess what means more to them? You got it. Game. And who loses in this arrangement? Yup, boring provider beta males.

3. Smart, educated, careerist women are more likely to eschew “traditional gender roles” in romantic relationships. So it is the smart girls, not the dumb ones, who say screw it to marriage, dating, fidelity and lifelong monogamy while they are in their primes, and who are more open to fucking around, casual hook ups, cheating and, ahem, serial monogamy. This is, not to put too fine a point on it, a description of a pickup artist’s paradise. Smart girls do eventually get married at higher rates than dumb, lower class girls, but the relevant factor to the typical urban beta male is how many girls in his milieu are ready for marriage and/or long term relationships *during their 20s*, when women are at their most desirable. If the rising age of first marriage is any indication, not many.

Bottom line: your typical slut is a smart, educated woman.

So what does this have to do with that noted force of nature, female hypergamy? Well, if we premise our argument with the claim that female hypergamy always exists, and is always operational and acting upon women’s mate choice mechanisms (a claim entirely consistent with observed female behavior), then, given the study conclusions above, we are presented with the possibility that smart, financially independent chicks emphasize different male attractiveness traits when choosing mates than do dumb, financially insecure chicks. What are they?

Charm. Wit. Looks. Confidence. Social savviness. Social status (as distinct from wealth or occupational status). Charisma.

Most of these male attractiveness traits favored by smart chicks, yes, even including social status, can be grouped under the game umbrella. Game makes men more charming, witty, confident, socially savvy and charismatic. It even boosts a man’s social status. (Being known as a ladykiller is chicknip.)

Looks are the one thing game can’t change, but in most men’s experiences, women’s judgment and emphasis of male looks doesn’t much vary between the lower and upper class women, or the dumb and smart women. The study does suggest, though, that economically empowered and übereducated women probably will put more emphasis on male looks than will economically insecure, less educated women.

Now you know why poor, dumb religious girls swoon (settle?) at younger ages for provider betas relatively more than well-off, smart, secular girls. And why the latter can be found hanging off the arm of your local indie band singer before doing the smart thing and marrying a beta as her expiration date looms.

The trends in female mate choice I have described in this post go a longer way than any economic or class argument I’ve read to explain the coming apart of the white race in America as detailed in Charles Murray’s new book. Anyone who wants to take a long, hard look at social trends and the phenomena of “men dropping out” needs to incorporate into his thinking the cold, merciless, unrelenting reality of female hypergamy. To do less would be… uncivilized.

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A masochistic reader (you’d have to be in love with your own pain to read any of the yeasty discharges fouling up Jizzabel) sent along this turgid confessional from a feminist who got banged out by a player four hours after they met for a first date drink. Her account of the date leaves the distinct impression that she was played by a guy who knows game very well. Let’s examine the techniques he employed to snare his prey.

I went on a date a month ago with a boy I met on an online dating site. “Met” meaning he’d sent me a few witty messages and his pictures were decent enough to warrant an IRL pass.

No long-winded phone calls making his interest in her obvious. Just a few witty (translated from the femspeak: terse/cocky/funny/asshole-ish) emails which implied his non-neediness and her interchangeability. So far, he’s off to a good start.

He was a strong conversationalist. We talked politics and he impressed me with a nuanced understanding of the debt ceiling debate. He knew about the Arab Spring.

How does the old saw go? Treat a lady like a broad and a broad like a lady. Mr. PUA knew he was dealing with the typical urban feminist slut who would swoon over a man who flattered her intelligence. So sprinkle in a few ledes he read in the NYBetaTimes about the Arab Spirng and , voila!, instant charma.

We discussed the unexpected but peculiarly gratifying direction our late 20s had taken both of us.

Again, translated from the femspeak: She was glad he assuaged her ego with comforting euphemisms about being an unmarried childless woman in her late 20s.

He made me laugh.

“He made me tingle.”

One drink turned into two,

Candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker!

two neighborhood bars into three,

This is the standard game tactic known as “bouncing”, or “time distortion”. By taking a girl to a number of places on a single night, you leave her with the impression that she’s known you longer than she has. It’s very effective at building comfort, as we will see.

and when he kissed me in the street, I was elated.

When a PUA gets a street kiss, that’s a green light to go for a same night lay. Women don’t make out in public places unless they are really into the thought of sex with you.

He wanted to see me again, he said. I agreed, the enthusiasm audible in my voice.

Audible enthusiasm is also a SNL green light. Also, note how he doesn’t set up a day and time to meet again. He just says he wants to see her again. Make your intentions known, but make them known vaguely, without promise, so that they could plausibly be misinterpreted, or misconstrued, by women. Chicks dig ambiguity even more than they dig ambivalence.

As he walked me to the train, he asked me if I would come over for a nightcap. Just one. He offered to pay for a cab to take me home afterwards, as I had to work early.

Always escalate, until you have hit her limit. Push, push, push. It’s what women — even, maybe especially, feminists — secretly crave from men, their protestations to the contrary notwithstanding. There’s no worse feeling than having a pussy in the hand, only to see it disappear because you pulled back at the last moment out of some quaint deference to dating etiquette or mangina virtue. Or fear.

I — like many women I know — harbor a quiet but persistent internal voice that cries, “If you like him, don’t go!” The voice that says men don’t respect women who sleep with them too quickly. The voice that says despite the fact that you’re turned on, you’re a grown-ass adult and goddamn it you want to, as the female you should be the one to decline, to demur, to hold off for another night.

I’d never understood the reasoning behind that voice.

Silly feminist. The reasoning is simple, if you would free your mind of its stifling propaganda shackles. Men really do devalue women who put out too quickly. Sexual evolution has granted men the insight to recognize that slutty women are likely to continue being just as slutty after committing to them, and that is bad news for men who want to know their children are really theirs, and who want to avoid the divorce raping that inevitably follows when a wife pursues the feral eat, pray, love self-actualization life trajectory. Those pesky little feelings that swarm around your cortical ham, if you would stop drowning them out with femcunt agitprop, are early warning signals to behave in a more stereotypically feminine manner lest you harm your reproductive fitness.

I suspected I was internalizing cultural judgments about “easy” women.

Culture does not spring up out of the ground unseeded, like a summoned monolith. Human genetic disposition seeds the ground and creates culture, unleashing a macro feedback loop where culture and genes interact in perpetuity. Those “cultural judgments” you so recoil from are actually subconscious reinforcements of ancient biological truths.

The traditional refrain, “don’t buy the cow if you can get the milk for free,” which implies women should withhold sex to ensnare a partner, insulted me.

What’s a horny slut with daddy issues to do? Listen, lady, either embrace your sluttiness and stop kvetching to the cunty choir, or keep your legs closed. You can’t have your cock and keep it, too.

Years of dissecting dating mishaps with my friends taught me that if you want a relationship or even just the potential of one, it’s best to wait.

Betting is now open on how many cocks she has satisfied. We’ll start with 30.

In my mind, the waiting period was for no other reason but to increase the odds of a relationship. It was like dating lore passed on between friends. We don’t know why it works but it does.

It’s amazing that women have to relearn this common sense in their late 20s, after a decade or more of cock carouseling. Was there a wholesale abdication of parenting in the last two generations? A massively successful brainwashing campaign? Rhetorical.

Nevertheless, it’s best if women don’t start making men wait, because I was getting used to the easy peasy sex. Feminism has been very, very good indeed for men who want to play the field, and have the skills to do so. A return to patriarchal norms would really cramp my style.

But the way my date kissed me up against the brick wall outside the subway stop was enough to convince me my internal voice was an antiquated Debbie downer, squawking nonsense irrelevant for the modern woman.

Pushing a woman up against the wall to kiss her and grope her unleashes powerful, primitive, quasi-rape-y forces of submission within her. It’s one of my go-to moves.

I went to his house. We headed straight to the bedroom. Sex — intense, unexpected, rough and satisfying. Afterwards, as promised, he called me a cab.

By 3 a.m. I was home. And utterly freaked out.

I think it would bother women to know that men NEVER feel the urge to freak out after a one night stand. Not even the weepy beta males. Nope, slipping into sleep with a huge grin plastered on our faces is closer to what happens.

I hashed this over with multiple friends during the next few days. One suggested I just forget about the guy and be happy I’d had good sex.

The group Samantha.

Another brought up respect — if he wanted a real relationship with me, he would have proceeded with more respect for my body.

The group fatty.

I received a single lackluster text from him a few days later.

And that kid went ha haaaw! Who couldn’t see this coming? Apparently, her.

She should be thankful she got to experience a night of pleasure from a man who knows how much women crave being gamed. But women being what they are, (bless their overstimulated hearts), the fleeting waves of pleasure quickly gave way to self-absorption and tedious reinterpretation. The rationalizations that follow are some of the best frenetic hamster spinnings you will read in a long time.

Still distraught over the experience, I told [my mom] the bare-bones version of the story: I slept with someone four hours after meeting them and now I felt shitty and I couldn’t identify why.

I wanted to know what she — a world-experienced, non-judgmental woman — thought about sleeping with someone you’re interested in dating so soon? What she said was the best argument I have ever heard for waiting to have sex.

When you first meet someone, she said, you don’t actually see them. You see a flimsy construction of their personality, created by your interpretation of the signals available. The way they make eye contact. How they interact with the bartender/waiter/homeless man asking you for change. The facts they choose to divulge about themselves. Because you have no other point of reference, every little detail resonates with added significance. Your mind, faced with a scarcity of information, is forced to create a projection of them. [...]

The mirage is sexy. But herein lies the danger. The potential for a schism to exist between the mirage and reality is huge. The probability of being disappointed is gigantic. That disappointment is compounded when intimacy is involved. You sleep with a stranger. You feel like you know them. But you likely don’t at all.

This may not be an epiphany for other people. But it was for me. After that night, I felt shitty not because I’d been “slutty,” whatever that means, but because I felt foolish.

I slept with an idea of a man. I slept with how that man made me feel. But that man didn’t exist, except in my mind. When I realized this, I felt… blah blah blah

Zzzz… zzz… *snort*… zz… huh, wha… oh, hai there. Must’ve dozed off. Wow, yeah, totally see what you’re saying. Totes. I bet you’ve learned a valuable lesson from all these experiences.

I’m still going out with guys and getting tipsy

Well, you know what I (sometimes) say… be true to yourself! Whatever that means.

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