Archive for the ‘The Id Monster’ Category

Commenter jack rips a page from Heartistian dark magic texts and presents his own mischievous thought experiment.

I posed this question to my blue pill friends.

Let’s say you’re going to die tomorrow. (Your wife/gf) doesn’t exist. You can have sex with one girl tonight as a grand finale to your life, but she will be random and the ONLY thing you can choose about her is her age.

Nobody picked an age higher than 19.

I said 16.

The interesting thing about jack’s question is that it left the issue of the woman’s beauty unresolved. If you as a man have no idea how a girl will look, you’ll pick a younger girl because you know that whatever a woman’s looks relative to other women, she herself will never look better (read: more fuckable) than when she’s in her late teens. That’s the way to bet.

The law can come down hard, feminists and their manboob flipfloplickers can howl with indignation, white knights can insist to the contrary while steadfastly ignoring the boner putting the lie to their words, but the biological facts of male desire will go on unchanged and irrevocable.

Now, if the question had been posed with the hypothetical girl’s beauty added as a variable, the answers men give would be different:

“a hot 17 year old”

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The goal of feminism is to remove all constraints on female sexuality while maximally restricting male sexuality.

CH wrote the above not long ago to describe the purpose, in practice if not specifically elucidated in theory, of feminism. But what is the emotional impetus that motivates feminists? For that, we must dig deeper. Come out and plaaay, little id.

One, feminism is a hissy fit ugly women menstruate all over pretty women.

According to Benenson, a common way women deal with the threat represented by a remarkably powerful or beautiful woman is by insisting on standards of equality, uniformity, and sharing for all the women in the group and making these attributes the normative requirements of proper femininity.

Two, feminism is the revealed hatred that sexually undesirable women have for male sexuality. Feminists loathe male desire. They loathe it because it represents everything female sexuality is not — free, idealistic, romantic, reckless, unencumbered, insistent, bold, cheerful — and because the active and intrusive and JUDGMENTAL nature of male sexuality throws the physical desirability of women into stark relief. When a man ignores you to hit on your friend, that is as stone cold a judgment of your sexual worth as can be found in the state of nature. When a man can’t get a boner for a woman, well, that’s an event horizon rejection.

Evidence for feminist loathing of male desire comes distilled in this news story about a post-Lolita who was asked to change out of her Daisy Dukes because she was violating the school dress code. The Hivemind, as per usual, lined up behind (heh) the slutty attention whore to, essentially, denounce boys for having sex drives which compel them to furtively glance at barely concealed booty and get distracted from their schoolwork.

As commenter PA writes,

High school girl protests slutty clothes uniform code. Says that boys should be instructed to not look to them sexually instead. Adults, including major media, validate girl’s queef.

The more I see of modern West in its ugly and moronic totality, the more life behind the Iron Curtain in the seventies looked like paradise in comparison.

A healthy, rational, and sane society that was at peace with itself would understand that men and women have different biologically based sex drives, and that it would be cruel to subject boys, or girls, to social disruptions and insults that unnecessarily and extravagantly torment them and pull them away from their learning. (CH PSA: Bring back single sex schooling.)

But we don’t live in a sane country anymore. This sort of boy-bashing is not just ugly…. as Dalrymple said, it’s humiliating. If you aren’t on your knees in prostration kissing the feet of equalist priestesses, you just aren’t submitting hard enough.

To compound the problem, the nature of men’s sexuality is such that it’s easier for leftoid propagandists to humiliate them. Men rely on visual cues for sexual stimulation. It’s thus a simple matter to chastise men for their “leering objectification” and “contribution to rape culture” when they understandably gawk at scantily clad temptresses, and to then demand from men the Danegeld of self-abnegation. Call it the Danegelding.

But demanding the same humiliating abnegation from women, should our Hivemind queen bitches ever contemplate it, proves much more daunting. Women are sexually stimulated by a constellation of male attributes, many of which are invisible to the naked eye — male personality, humor, wealth, popularity, skill, etc — so isolating and condemning “female sexual privilege” or female “contribution to hypergamy culture” is a conveniently impossible trick to pull off. Where to aim? At doe-eyed girls doing the homework of dreamy jerkboys?

A sex equivalent scenario would be hard to piece together. Perhaps air drop a rock star into a high school classroom and tell the girls on threat of expulsion to refrain from gawking at him or giggling uncontrollably when he smiles? Crisis and observation, a wag might call it. Or, what’s good for the goose…

Look around and you can’t help but notice it’s feminist metaphorical guns at boys’ heads and groins, now and forever. And their firepower increases by the day.

The modern West deserves nothing less than exhaustion and death. Suffrage was a fucking huge mistake.


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CH continues to explore the Elliot Rodger story because it reveals cracks in our culture that go beyond one man’s murderous rampage. In the days that have followed, the Hivemind has been busy concocting twisted narratives to see which one best tarnishes its free-thinking enemies. I examine their accuracies and fallacies below.

Sexual Entitlement

This theoretical gambit is a favorite of feminist fruitcakes, who blame the killings on Rodger’s thwarted “entitled” belief that he was “owed” sex with hard 10s, a feminist-friendly analysis that provides a handy springboard upon which they can launch into attacks on “pickup artists” who are learning how to become sexier men in order to date higher quality girls.

The fallacy in this feminist hypothesis was astutely noted by Liger (recently upgraded from Lamb) of the Blogosphere, who wrote that sexual and romantic entitlement is a natural condition of humanity, and that without it men would feel they had no right to approach women and initiate a courtship, and the human race would go extinct.

Here are some uncomfortable truths about “sexual entitlement” that feminists dare not contemplate:

- What Elliot Rodger had was sexual desire. Feminists often confuse sexual desire for sexual entitlement (because feminists loathe male desire), but they are two very different things. To conflate them, one would have to assert that Rodger was weird for feeling attracted to a hot young blonde. But men are attracted to beautiful women. That is their nature. Rodger was no different than the vast majority of men in this regard, alpha and beta alike. However, this is the part where Liger goes astray; Elliot didn’t need to be surrounded by pretty Hollywood actresses or steeped in a culture that reveres female beauty to feel urges to want to fuck cute girls based on their looks. The stripling CH did not grow up in Hollywood, and yet I, like almost every boy I knew, valued girls for their looks above all else. No “looks message” is necessary for a boy like Elliot to feel sexual urges for cute chicks, and to feel dejected if those urges aren’t fulfilled.

- Women feel more true entitlement to men’s commitment and money than men feel to women’s sex. Few men will rape in order to feed their sexual entitlement, but many women will hold out until they get promises of commitment from men, and many marriages end with women feeling entitled to half their husbands’ wealth. A more accurate description of the sexual market, then, is that women have commitment and provision entitlement.

- Finally, the scariest realization for feminists: Sexually entitled men are more attractive to women! If you don’t feel entitled to a woman’s love, she won’t think you’re worth her love.

Elliot Rodger’s problem was not sexual entitlement. His problem was sexual desire coupled with crippling introversion that left him no means to satisfy his desire. This created a cognitive disconnect that he filled with his own untested theories for why women weren’t with him when they were with (to him) obviously inferior specimens.

Father Emotional Abandonment

Elliot Rodger’s father, Peter Rodger, from all accounts sounds like he was uninterested in Elliot’s upbringing and preferred his time in the company of naked women taking pictures of their behinds, (which included Elliot’s mother). His father either never loved Elliot, or grew to despise him when he began to sense something was off with the boy. (If the former, it’s likely that Elliot’s biracial appearance contributed to his white father’s disenchantment with him.)

Bolstering the father abandonment theory, a reader sent some juicy insider information which I will post here, taking care to edit it in a circumspect manner so that no identities are accidentally revealed.

Elliot Rodger’s family has been part of a reality show the last seven years often recorded in his house. This is significant because his father on the show has always said he has “a” son, as in only one. In this video from the TV show it shows the father at the family table with the son from the second marriage, but not Elliot.

Elliot is shown in the show, for example when they met Sylvester Stallone (23:50), but Elliot is never acknowledged or speaks. Imagine a father that has a reality show in the house, keeps talking about “his son” and the “three of us” as in “Mother, Father, and son” as opposed to sons.

Elliot mentions the jealousy he has for the other brother. The fact his father says on TV, in the house Elliot lives in, that he has one son, might be enough to push someone over the edge.

In other words, complete family dysfunction.

Elliot doubtlessly sensed his father’s loathing and embarrassment of him, and this family dynamic may have set the ball rolling on Elliot’s eventual psychosocial schism.

Regardless where you fall on the “fathers are crucial/father’s genes are crucial” argument about children’s development, it’s a good bet Elliot lacked a positive parental influence and a loving father’s advice that would have helped him through his struggle into manhood. Nevertheless, the father emotional abandonment theory can’t fully explain Elliot’s eventual psychotic break; something awry already had to be present. Was Elliot’s blood tainted?

Psychopathy/Schizophrenia/Narcissism/Neuroticism/Asperger’s Syndrome

A common theme that often emerges from mass shootings is the revelation that the killer was on some kind of psychotropic or suffered from an anti-social disorder like autism. Then people say “Aha! He was a bad seed, not right in the head”, and feel satisfied that they can ignore any environmental insults that may have triggered the killer’s rage.

News stories present contradicting information on how much, or whether, Elliot was on any happy pills or had been formally diagnosed with any personality disorder. If he was on pills, the causal mechanism then becomes the issue; did Elliot’s psychological disease push him over the edge, or did the drugs he take to ameliorate his disease act as the trigger for violence? Evidence is slim that Elliot had a congenital mental disease, but this photo of him as a child is telling (via reader Tony Nick):

Dem eyes. We’ve seen them before, staring vacantly out of the faces of Dylan Kliebold and Seung-Hui Cho.

Right now it’s a guessing game, but the best guess is that Elliot Rodger had inherited a form of narcissistic and anti-social personality disorder. Some wags may ask your esteemed host, “If chicks dig dark triad narcissists, why didn’t they dig Elliot?” The problem here is that narcissism doesn’t attract girls if it’s hiding behind a shy, retiring, aggrieved personality. You’ve gotta bust a move, and Elliot Rodger clearly never saw a move he wished to bust, unless it involved spilling coffee on a girl who was dating a guy he didn’t like.

A severe organic personality disorder alone won’t typically create a killer, but combine it with some external variable — like incel — and all the bomb needs is something to light the fuse.

Male Feminism/White Knightism

A good argument can be made that Elliot Rodger was, in his writings and beliefs, a male feminist. And that the cancerous, deceitful message of male feminism warped his view of women and contributed to his ignorance about female nature and dating. Rodger believed “supreme gentlemen” should get the girls. He thought merely showing up and plopping down on a park bench would have the girls falling into his lap (and like a peculiar subspecies of MGTOW, his belief system similarly embraced the strange notion that making efforts to get girls was beneath him). His dad, probably equally deluded about women and dating in the year 2014, figured that buying his son a BMW in the last year of his life would help him get dates.

Did male feminism create a monster? It certainly didn’t help Elliot get laid; in fact, it helped repulse girls from him, the external factor which seems to have been the dark driving force throughout his post-pubertal life. Male feminism is not just castrating, it kills. Ask Hugo Schwyzer.

Status Envy

In the Hollywood culture Elliot knew, very high status men, beautiful women and botoxed women, and snotty children of high status men and beautiful and/or botoxed women surrounded him. Most of these people are entitled (far more entitled than Elliot) and bipolar. A fun bunch to throw a party, not so great for raising a biracial, effeminate (though not physically unattractive) male like Elliot who couldn’t look people in the eyes and barely spoke two words to family acquaintances. In this milieu, Elliot would have felt like a tragic outcast, and everyone who knew him would have thought that, too.

Absolute low status does not destroy souls, but relative low status can do the trick. Any other town, Elliot might’ve stood a chance of carving out a social niche for himself. A dad with some awareness and compassion would have taken him out of Hollywood, but then that would have meant no more naked photo shoots and handshakes with Sly Stallone.

The Anti-Boy Therapy Culture

Elliot’s family had him in therapy for years. The psychiatrist he saw was a quack who dated a skank blonde with gargantuan fake tits. Harken back to your childhood. How would you have felt if your family basically pulled a Pontius Pilate and washed their hands of you, sending you to a sleazeball who’s idea of therapy was promptly writing a script for Risperidone, an anti-schizophrenia drug?

This is a tragic example of the anti-boy therapy culture that pervades the US. And by “therapy”, I mean that feminized, womanish therapy that shoves pills down throats to solve the problem of boyness. Maybe Elliot was born sick and needed therapy. But what he didn’t need was a castrate asking him his feelings about his mother while he jerked off under the desk. Elliot needed the therapy of a clear and present father to inform him of the ways of the world. Maybe that wouldn’t have saved him, but it at least would’ve given him a fighting chance.

Pickup Artists and PUAHate

Elliot Rodger didn’t frequent the PUAHate forum to grouse about pickup techniques he tried that didn’t land him a bombshell hottie. He went there to bemoan women and the men those women loved with sympathetic company, and to complain about his looks. While there, (and elsewhere), he picked up (heh) a few bits and pieces of PUA jargon and proceeded to construct an inner fantasy world featuring himself as the put-upon alpha male. But, sadly, to the outside world he was still that shy kid who never talked and looked at his shoes. This was about the time when a complete dissociation between Elliot’s inner world and his outer reality was underway.

The Estrangement Of The Modern Sexual Market

If ever there was a subculture where the modern sexual market was most conspicuously operable, it was the la-la land Elliot grew up in. You can imagine what it was like for a shy kid who had to navigate a dating apocalypse where 90% of the girls were bangable and 99% of them were chasing after the top 1% sons of A-list insiders. This poor lesser beta didn’t stand a chance.

Elliot Rodger’s 132-page autobiography/manifesto (autofesto? manigraphy?) is filled with brutally confessional admissions of loserdom. If he carried even a fraction of that self-pity with him to real life interactions with girls, they would have immediately written him off as a romantic prospect. Girls can smell the stink of beta incel from twelve parsecs.

Failure with women compounds until the beta male succumbs to bitterness, at which point the process of sexual isolation accelerates and solidifies. If an intervention goes missing, the beta can drift into omegaland, and fall victim to his worst compulsions.

Reader Steve Johnson writes,

He was totally isolated because he made bad choices.

He chose world of warcraft over socializing because it’s an effective narcotic.

He chose puahate because it told him what he wanted to hear – that girls choose guys for mysterious reasons that no man can understand – or change about himself.

He specifically avoided socializing in any way that would threaten his narcissistic self-image and motivate him to change in any way – after all if he has to change, then he’s not perfect and we all know that can’t be true, right?

He was omega by choice because it was easier than doing any work.

Martyrdom complex, bad family, crippling shyness, pathological narcissism, biracial neuroticism, unfulfilled sexual desire, a sexual market rapidly separating introverted beta males from the sexual spoils… these things put together don’t guarantee a man will become a killer, but they sure don’t help.

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Elliot Rodger, a 22-year-old mixed race Millennial “here’s why that’s a problem” son of a Chinese woman and a father with a psychopath’s thousand yard stare who was an assistant director for the Hunger Game movie, went on a shooting spree that left four men and two women dead, after which he self-delivered behind the wheel of his BMW.

The rampage is newsworthy in and of itself, but what’s really catapulted it in the public imagination is the killer’s “manifesto“, and the discovery that he was a member of an internet forum called “PUAHate”, which is a homoerotic playground for shut-ins with zero experience saying “hi” to girls, who post epic rants disparaging pickup artists and game and spend inordinate mental energy analyzing the facial measurements of various men in the apparent belief that no man who doesn’t look like George Clooney could ever get laid and should therefore not bother trying to meet women.

After reading excerpts of Rodger’s manifesto, I wondered if my evil twin was taking the piss and fooling everyone with a parody of an incel omega male so over-the-top and cartoonish that only the most gullible would believe it. Examples:

I eventually grew to hate him after I heard him having sex with my sister. I arrived at the house one day, my mother being at work, and heard the sounds of Samuel plunging his penis into my sister’s vagina through her closed room door, along with my sister’s moans. I stood there and listened to it all. … The slob [porking my sister] doesn’t even have a car, and he is able to get girlfriends, while I drive a BMW and get no attention from any girls whatsoever. [...]

I made no progress in school either. My geography class had no pretty girls in it, so I had no hope there. I spent a lot of time sitting in the cafeteria area, but all of the beautiful girls I saw intimidated me too much. One time, as I was walking across the huge bridge that connected the two campuses, I passed by a girl I thought was pretty and said “Hi” as we neared each other. She kept on walking and didn’t even have the grace to respond to me. How dare she! That foul bitch. I felt so humiliated that I went to one of the school bathrooms, locked myself in a toilet stall, and cried for an hour. [...]

Before I knew it, it was July 12th and the countdown on my internet homepage was up. The new Song of Ice and Fire book, A Dance with Dragons, was released. I emailed my mother to order me the book from Amazon. The countdown was ultimately over, and I had nothing to show for it. I was still a virgin, even after a month of living in a town full of college kids who had sex all the time. I realized that I had only twelve more days as a teenager! I was going to turn twenty very soon. One of my hopes was to at least lose my virginity before my time as a teenager was over. Being a virgin at the age of twenty would make me feel very defeated. I made a bid to do everything I could to lose my virginity in those few remaining days I had. With a tremendous amount of panic, I wondered what I could possible do. The only thing I could think of was to go out to the common areas of Isla Vista as much as possible. I had to put myself out there, even if it only increased my chances of having sex by one percent. One percent was still better than zero. For those crucial twelve days I had left as a teenager, I walked over to the center of Isla Vista every day and sat at one of the tables outside Domino’s Pizza, hoping against hope that a girl would come up and talk to me.
Why wouldn’t they? I looked good enough, didn’t I? Or did I not look good enough? [...]

As my frustration grew, so did my anger. I came across this Asian guy who was talking to a white girl. The sight of that filled me with rage. I always felt as if white girls thought less of me because I was half-Asian, but then I see this white girl at the party talking to a full-blooded Asian. I never had that kind of attention from a white girl! And white girls are the only girls I’m attracted to, especially the blondes. How could an ugly Asian attract the attention of a white girl, while a beautiful Eurasian like myself never had any attention from them? I thought with rage. I glared at them for a bit, and then decided I had been insulted enough. I angrily walked toward them and bumped the Asian guy aside, trying to act cocky and arrogant to both the boy and the girl. My drunken state got the better of me, and I almost fell over to the floor after a few minutes of this. They said something along the lines that I was very drunk and that I needed to get some water, so I angrily left them and went out to the front yard, where the main partying happened. Rage fumed inside me as I realized that I just walked away from that confrontation, so I rushed back into the house and spitefully insulted the Asian before walking outside again. [...]

Seriously, today at my college I saw this short, ugly Indian guy driving a Honda civic, and he had a hot blonde girl in his passenger seat. What on earth is up with that?!?!? I would climb mount Everest 10 times just to have a girl like that with me. I drive a BMW coupe and I’ve struggled all my life to get a girlfriend. What’s wrong with this world? [...]

Unfortunately, all indications are that this guy is was the real deal and the bodies have hit the floor. A few thoughts:

Rodger pings some operational gaydars. There’s his plush gay face. There’s the “try-hard” nature of his manifesto, which reads less like a compendium of genuine pain than a B-movie script of what he’d think a guy with girl troubles would write. It’s so histrionic and maudlin that it could be as easily confused for the hallucinations of a psychopathic degenerate as the plaintive wail of a ronery NOWAG.

It’s telling, too, that his first three victims were all male and he killed them by stabbing, which is a particularly personal method of dispatch, suggesting a level of emotional investment that wasn’t there for the faceless women who bore the brunt of his manifesto ranting. And his narcissism; if you haven’t seen by now, Rodger had a stream of attention whoring pouty-lipped Facebook selfies that would make a dancing bar slut blush. Homosexual men are known to experience greater levels of pathological narcissism.

A repressed young gay man at war with his identity would be the sort to exaggerate his desire for (and troubles with) women. His manifesto references women in the abstract and the rejections he suffered at “their” hands, but few if any specific women who rejected him are named or contextualized. It’s mostly, “Why won’t these girls look at me?” Also, the preoccupation with his looks and other men’s looks and how the world was upside down because ugly men were with cute girlfriends again suggests some latent homosexual feeling.

But these are just suspicions (worth following up on imo, but which the MSM naturally won’t touch). As far as we know, there’s no hard evidence of Rodger’s homosexuality. So, that speculative notion aside, we’ll proceed under the assumption that Elliot Rodger was an incel heterosexual male whose off-key word is true and who really did have trouble getting out of the dugout with girls.

From what I can glean, Elliot Rodger failed with women because he was a social retard. That’s pretty much all there is to it. News stories say he was on meds for asperger’s, and was in therapy. Social retardation diseases like any of the autism spectrum disorders are kryptonite to girls; no behavioral or physical defect is as debilitating to a man’s chances in the sexual market. Proof of his social awkwardness and total lack of anything remotely resembling game is right there in his long-form diary: He thought that “putting himself out there” with girls was sitting on a park bench like Aqualung. That making a serious move on a girl was quickly muttering “hi” as he stumbled past her, later delirious with rage that she didn’t reciprocate with an equally prompt blowjob. That bumping into an Asian dude talking to a cute chick, and glaring at them with his twisted angry face, was acting “cocky and arrogant”. That his effeminate passivity and lack of proactive engagement with women was evidence that they were “ignoring” him.

No, Elliot Rodger was not a failed pickup artist; he was failed human being. A sexless beta male who, stirred and shaken by a lethal cocktail of life circumstances, racial grievance, mental illness, and morbid narcissism that stunted his development into adulthood and compelled him to prefer morose martyrdom to active efforts at self-improvement, found it easier to blame the degree of his brow ridge tilt for his failure with women.

He was the opposite of a failed pickup artist, because at least you know the failed pickup artist tried with women. Rodger apparently never even bothered to try. He just whined that women weren’t sticking to the hood of his Beemer.

All this is to say that, yes, there is a chance that, given an early enough intervention, game could have gotten him laid and quieted his inner rage. Feminists and their manlet enablers will scoff on cue, but giving a young man the tools to help him win the love of a woman (or just a warm smile) will tend to put a damper on his revolutionary kill-em-all spirit.

Which brings us to PUAHate, the forum of which Rodger was a member. It’s not a forum for failed pickup artists as some male feminists licking the taint of their femcunt overwhores will want you to believe. It’s a hangout for socially awkward losers who desperately want to blame their failings with women on their sub-Pitt looks instead of on their awful social calibration and their inability to say two words to a girl without filling their Pokemon underoos. The news that Rodger was a member at that omega male brothel doesn’t demonstrate the failing of game to help him (as a certain lamb of the blogosphere implies) but rather demonstrates that the opposite of game — the cultivated hopelessness that one can’t do anything to improve his relations with women — is what drove Rodger to his extreme misanthropy. If you’re wondering how a 22-year-old can feel so hopeless about his love life, you’re probably an older person who stopped recalling what it was like at that age. The passions run hot and the perspective runs cold.

Elliot Rodger had a girl problem, and that girl problem wasn’t his supposed shortness, or his half-asian ancestry, or his richie rich expectations of immediate rewards and deference from lessers, or his utter blindness to what women really desire in men (hint, it isn’t BMWs). His girl problem was charmlessness. Artlessness. Social retardation. The very tingle-killing flaws that game will remedy.(More indirectly, his girl problem was also the result of the relative paucity of slender attractive girls in the US now. Rodger never wanted to date fat chicks, and no man with a functioning penis can blame him for that.)More thoughts, etc.:

No sense ignoring the race angle. Mixed race people are more likely to have psychological disorders. And Asian men are especially susceptible to dating market lockouts. Throw in the cauldron a stew of vibrant proximate diversity and it’s a surprise suppressed racial/sexual rage doesn’t boil over moreoften.

Rodger was not a bad-looking guy. But he was so ignorant of female sexual nature that he projected onto women what he himself found desirable and obsessed over his looks as his awful personality escaped his attention.

The title of this post is a broad indictment of this infantile Millennial generation, which daily provides evidence that their ranks are filled with effeminate males who, like women, expect the world to cater their needs, no questions asked, no demands made. Elliot Rodger couldn’t stand how unfaaaair girls were to date uglier men than himself, how unfair life was that his car and clothes weren’t a magnet for hot white sorority chicks, how unfair the cosmic laws were to require of him a little bit of effort if he wanted to put an end to his virginity.

Egotistic, attention starved, solipsistic, passive aggressive, perpetually aggrieved, and unwilling to change when posing as a martyr feels so damn good… there’s your new American manlet, same as your new American woman.

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Commenter having a bad day writes,

one of the better things that i did to get confidence was to recognize the MANY IOIs that women are putting out all the time. women, especially young fertile (hot) women, ping their environment ALL the time. learn to recognize and encourage these, and it will build your confidence…you can also learn to spot these when they are thrown at other males in the environment…

note – it will also make you sort of depressed if you still hold any illusions regarding the nature of women. most of the ‘ping backs’ you will get are from women in ‘relationships’ (married or otherwise) with betas…sometimes (a lot actually) right in front of the guy’s nose…

This is true. The most obvious flirtations are often from women who are taken, and sometimes with their man present and accounted for! It’s less common to get aggressive flirts from single women.

My understanding of this aspect of female nature is:

1. Sublimated hypergamy. Women are always looking to trade up (whether they know it or not) and flirting while with someone comes more naturally to them.

2. Fishing for reassurance that she’s still attractive. Women in LTRs tend to discount the assurances they get from their partners as less valuable than the arousal they can inspire in strange men. The man she already snagged and who has invested in her is less trustworthy as a biased judge of her attractiveness.

Note that both reasons #1 and #2 are rendered null and void if the woman is in a relationship with an alpha male. (1: she won’t feel the urge to scope as much and 2. an alpha lover’s opinion of her remaining attractiveness is weighted more than a beta lover’s opinion.)

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Is confidence an outcome of validating external factors, or is it an internal mindset that creates its own validation?

The feedback loops of male confidence are copious and fluid, so the question is the wrong one. External validation and internal beliefs synchronize to lift or deflate a man’s perception of self-worth. But it’s the nature of constitutional pessimists and unimaginative nerds to overrate objectively measurable variables that contribute to a man’s mate value and undervalue the invisible psychology that imbues a man with serious muff-massacring mojo. If you’re looking for proof of concept, I have a simple real life test.

How many naturals (with women) do you know, and have known for years, who physically or economically deteriorated with age? Most of us know one or two guys like that… high school romeos who packed a gut and a dead-end job by their late 20s. The guys I know like that continued doing well with women, despite losing their high school glam. They never stopped smashing grade A ass even as their more transparently conspicuous player traits abandoned them.

And you know why? Because they had the attitude. Their confidence that they could get women when they wanted never left them. True to their charming selves, their pudginess or crap jobs or studio apartments presented no obstacle to their mesmerizing game. Confidence — which is really a synonym for an abundance mentality — is like this; once you have it drilled into your subconscious, it’s hard to get rid of it.

Inner game matters. Confidence is transmissible over years and through different life stations. It can be cultivated with many fertilizers, and harvest time always means, “There’s enough clam to feast like a king. I will never go hungry.” How crucial is confidence? If you have no belief in yourself, a six pack or a year-end bonus aren’t going to transform you into a lady slayer. But if you think yourself god’s gift to women, and truly believe that should the need arise you can easily find fresh pussy, then a submerging six pack or a missed promotion at work won’t put a dent in your game.

Of course, the quickest way to achieve Voltaire level confidence is by amassing years of experience bedding women. But what to do if you’re new to the only game that matters? You strive for that elusive abundance mentality. Make approaches. You won’t convert every approach into a lay (not even close) but you will get some smiles and other positive reactions. These reactions will accumulate and reinforce your growing belief that women are plentiful and it wouldn’t take much effort to push at least a few of them into lascivious contemplation.

Another trick to crush limiting beliefs is a daily reminder that, whatever sexual market advantage women have got, you have a sexual marketplace window of viability that triples that of most women’s. When you’re feeling self-doubt, there’s nothing quite like the brisk pick-me-up of waking up a man with decades of romantic opportunity ahead of him.

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Most of you are familiar with Occam’s Razor, the principle that of two or more competing theories to explain a phenomenon, the simplest one is likely the true one.

With a nod to Occam, CH introduces Orca’s Razor.

Orca’s Razor: Of two or more competing theories for why men don’t want to date fat chicks, the most spurious, most convoluted, and least plausible explanation that assuages the egos of fat chicks and their barely male enablers will be insisted as the correct one.

A case study of Orca’s Razor in action (via reader yeahokcool):

from the front lines of tortured logic (see comments):

guy: I’ve dated a lot of heavier girls and I’ve definitely felt the judgement from other men. The problem isn’t that men don’t like big girls; it’s that men don’t like the way other men look at them when they’re with big girls.

girl: Yeah, I don’t think this is commentary on forcing yourself to be attracted to someone who you’re not attracted to. It’s about letting societal pressure bully you out of being attracted to someone who you ARE attracted to.

reality: yes, you are being judged by other men and women because you are everyone innately knows that only losers are fat and/or date fat people. furthermore, women fail, yet again, to realize that their attraction to men is entirely different than men’s attraction to women. i love how much women (fat ones, particularly, i imagine) just WANT these comments to be true!

Orca’s Razor is in effect the inverse of Occam’s Razor. Instead of slicing away superfluous concepts, Orca’s Razor slices the most elegant explanation to shreds, and then presents as incontrovertible fact the id gruel that is a mix of the viscera of various feelgood theories that were made up from whole cloth with the express purpose of avoiding and nullifying the simplest and truest explanation for why men are repulsed by fat girls.

Occam’s Razor: Men don’t date fat chicks because fat chicks are disgusting to look at.

Orca’s Razor: Men don’t date fat chicks because men secretly like fat chicks but have to suppress their urges to avoid being looked at in a funny, judgmental way from other men.

Like most equalist cant, Orca’s Razor is poopytalk pumped at high volume to fill you to the eyeballs with shit so you’re blinded to reality. No one is ever truly blinded to reality, as we can see by the real life decisions that people make even inside hothouse leftoid reeducation camps, but that won’t stop the walrus warriors from rolling over to crush newborn realtalk that chafes their megafauna hides.


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Incel stands for involuntary celibacy, and it refers to beta and omega males who, for a variety of factors, are horrible with women and wind up enduring long and unwelcome sexless droughts. Rumor has it there are whole forums of quasi-men who, for reasons likely having their origin in mommy’s quickness with the back of her hand, nurse a deep hatred for game and “players”, and who spend most of their time on these gayforums analyzing with the precision of a spectrometer the facial dimensions of various pick-up artists for their conformity to Brad Pitt’s visage, apparently believing that no man ever in the history of the world who didn’t look like Brad Pitt got laid with a cute chick.

The incel is now an internet caricature, loathed and ridiculed by men and women equally. But there’s a female analogue of the incel. And CH was reminded of this when resident female apologist Amy, once again bravely trying to salvage the reputation of her sistren with squirrely semantic maneuvers intended to evade the Guns of Heartisterone, made the claim that there are men who would willingly sleep with fat chicks and that this must mean those men find the fatties sexually attractive.

But what about beta fat guys with no game? There are plenty of them. Who are they going to date? They want relationships. They’re going to end up with women like this [fat] chick. And they must feel some attraction for them if they’re having sex.

Settling isn’t attraction. Settling is, for men, finding a hole that is a little bit wetter than the couch crease. Losers settle for each other all the time. But fat chicks are so repulsive to men that there aren’t enough omega males willing even to settle for them as a last resort and think of England while spelunking the pig. As a result, fat chicks are alone more often and for longer dry spells than are thin girls. And the fatter the girl, the more intractable her involuntary solitude. Call it… Insol.

The Insol is the female equivalent of the Incel. She fails at finding the one thing in life that is most important to women: The love and commitment of a desirable man. Her failure is no less dispiriting or cruelly mock-worthy than is the failure of the omega male who can’t get laid in a brothel with a fistful of hundreds.

People don’t think of fat or ugly women going long spells without love, because those women are adept in ways that beta males aren’t at concealing their misery from public scorn and pity. And, to be sure, the fat chick has a better shot of getting pumped once or twice than does the omega male of getting laid. Because of this slight sexual disparity, and because of the male instinct to project their sensibilities onto the female sex and imagine that getting laid is proof of romantic success, the Insol receives more of a break than the Incel.

Sure, you’ll occasionally hear about fat chicks getting face fucked by drunkards, but rarely will you see them in long term happy relationships with men who aren’t complete rejects. And this reality grows with the pounds. Female fatness has exponentially increasing blowback. Ten extra pounds won’t put too big of a dent in a chubster’s sex life, but 100 extra pounds will relegate her to incel with the omega males.

Loser women, like fat chicks, can sometimes pull off a simulacrun of a relationship, but only after a lot of time alone and sacrifice of anything worth living for. The occasional sight of a fatty in an LTR notwithstanding to the contrary, most fat women go epically long times without a man’s love. You just don’t see them because most fatties don’t advertise their loneliness the way loveless beta males advertise theirs.

The problem with the “even the ugliest/fattest women can get laid” trope is that the issue is not whether a fat chick can manage once in her life to get a weirdo to drill her face for three perfunctory seconds in an alcoholic haze. For women, sex isn’t the relevant metric. Women want love and commitment with a high value man. On that score, fatties fail miserably.

Even if we limit our claim to three second drunken sex with losers, fat chicks still have problems in that department that thinner girls don’t have. It’s hard to directly compare the two groups because thinner/prettier girls are less slutty than fatties and fugs, but if we draw on the subset of sexy thin girls who don’t mind boffing the same losers that fatties boff, then we would find the fatties badly outcompeted for the sexual attention of those losers.

Simply put, there is the tendency of people to miss what they don’t see. Omega and to a lesser extent beta males repeatedly try and fail with women. We see that. Fat chicks, being women first and fatties second, are more passive about courtship. When they fail, it tends to be less spectacular, less conspicuous. They are simply ignored rather than rejected. When fat chicks fail in the dating market, they retreat away from men or they surround themselves with female friends so that they can continue engaging the social scene without the stink of celibacy driving them to isolation or handicapping their ability to converse with strangers. The involuntary loneliness of fat chicks is thus more concealed than the loneliness of loser men.

In contrast, incel men don’t have large groups of socially attractive male friends to shield them from their own failure. The sexual poverty of the male incel is more readily apparent in his loner lifestyle and his bitter, stunted personality. When he fails, he retreats, regroups, fails, retreats again, and the cycle continues. His failure is unmissable.

In the grand scheme, incels and insols are two sides of the same coin. Both lose in the sexual market. Both lose in the LTR market. Both suffer long droughts of sexlessness. If there’s a difference between the omega male incel and the female fatty insol, it’s that perhaps the fatty can amass (heh) a couple more lays in her lifetime than can the omega male. But two extra lays over a lifetime does not a proud, confident, non-bitter woman make.

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Can evolution fail? I offer the following thought experiment as evidence that there are circumstances in which evolution proceeds along a path that violates its own precepts.

A high SMV (sexual market value) man who likes the idea of being an anonymous father but not a real father, donates to a sperm bank. One thousand low SMV (fat and/or ugly) women get impregnated by his sperm and have one son each. Will this de facto harem leader’s sons grow up to be

a. more attracted or

b. less attracted

to fat or ugly women?

As commenter Arch Hades put it,

Higher quality male peckers have evolutionarily evolved to not want to impregnate fatties.

But what happens when a high quality male pecker makes a contribution to the wombs of low quality females via an aesthetically neutral conduit like a sperm bank? The intrinsic desire of the man for slender, beautiful women will still be passed onto his one thousand sons, despite the fact that, from his genes’ point of view, he willingly plunged the portals of a lot of gross women. He didn’t start with a predilection for fat or ugly women, so whatever genetic code he passes on through the sperm bank women won’t appear in any of his male progeny as an increased attraction for ugly women.

In this instance, the ironclad law of evolution has been overturned. The “attraction for ugly women” genes that would increase in a state of nature where men with those innate predilections seek out ugly mates and pass their predilection onto future generations does not increase in this scenario of the sperm bank acting as middleman.

Now one could say the sperm bank is unnatural and thus the laws of evolution don’t apply, but anything created by humans must be natural in the sense that culture and its appurtenances are manifestations of genetic architecture previously selected for. The sperm bank is as much a part of the evolutionary biofeedback loop as is the stick that a chimp uses to flush out termites.

What does it say then about evolutionary theory that a sperm bank can essentially sever the connection between reproductive fitness and sexually selected traits? What about contraceptives? In a sense, condoms and the pill act like individually owned and operated sperm banks, altering the ancient equation between female (and male) sexual choice and what kind of children they eventually bear (or not bear).

All this is to say we as a species are entering uncharted territory. Anyone who thinks there won’t be awesome consequences lacks the requisite imagination.

Interestingly, you can sort of see the outlines of the above ugly female client sperm bank scenario playing out in real time in the bars and clubs across America. Just substitute “ugly female client sperm bank” with “fat women”, and the picture crystallizes. Like the man contributing to a sperm bank patronized by ugly women who would otherwise only have sex with attractive women, a nontrivial number of men are crossing their lower bound of acceptable female sexual attractiveness to rut with fatties out of necessity and fear of unwilling celibacy. As upwards of 70% of all American women are heavier than their ideal weight, it’s simply a matter of insufficient suitable mate availability driving an evolutionary trend that is at odds with actual reproductive fitness or male sexual attraction predilection.

The future, should my attempts to clear the SMV fog prove prescient, looks like a horror show of gargantuan beastwomen and sexually and romantically unfulfilled men drifting in and out of each others’ lives in a loveless nihilistic melancholy.


PS On a related “Is evolution failing?” note, the buzzy AmRen article titled “Confessions of a Public Defender” is a harrowing read, and provokes some illicit thought about where we are heading demographically. The impression one gets from this titillating exposure to the minds and values of the zoo animal underclass is that the moral senses… fairness, reciprocity, empathy, guilt, even a basic conception of right and wrong… may very well be unevenly distributed not only among members of the same race but between the races in general. If you quake at the idea that average IQ varies by race, how badly will your bowels shake if it’s discovered that some races are more, or less, morally evolved?

CH has gone out on limbs before that have proven to be supported by trunks of strong empirical oak, and we’ll go out on a limb again, one so far up the tree that few if any will have the balls to venture out with us. Morality and empathy are evolved traits, and like many human traits they will be found in varying degrees and complexities of expression among the world’s races. Given this, the civilized nations would do well to consider that their jurisprudence systems are incapable of impartially subsuming the less morally evolved in a manner that suits their own elevated moral sense. If you cannot or are unwilling to grasp that the defendant sitting across from you is closer in temperament and moral evolution to a feral beast than to your kin, you will forever be stricken with crippling doubt about the nature of your race’s achievements and philosophies.

Demographically, then, it becomes imperative that advanced peoples act to limit the fecundity of relative moral degenerates in their midst, or barring that to erect barriers against the incorporation of the upwardly moral and the downwardly amoral. And yet the exact opposite appears to be the rule of the land currently. Evolution is failing, thanks to a warped altruistic impulse that has provided and sustains a fitness advantage for morally infantile, and thus exceedingly dangerous, humans. Again, like the sperm bank scenario above, the state of nature has been upturned and bifurcated by a middleman — in this case, misplaced leftoid equalist generosity towards lesser people who would impulsively kill them without losing a wink of sleep — and traits that would normally get culled due to the dual pressures of sexual and natural selection become instead numerous and widespread.

Deus ex machina has become hominis ex machina.

PPS This post is supameta, and readers will find it hard to resist pointing out the impossibility of evolution “failing” in a system that is part of the natural universe, but as humans we have also evolved a disposition to employ value judgments that maximize our Darwinian fitness, which is a jargony way of saying that an impersonal natural process can indeed fail if it results in the failure of the one species which has proven capable of identifying that process.

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Some call it the Cathedral. Others, the Blue Pill. Here at CH, it’s called the Hivemind, and it’s starting to show fissures in its cortical borg facade. Case study:

Why Girls Never Want Nice Guys — And Why It’s Too Late When They Do

I used to be a nice guy – way back when. Like most men, I learned rather quickly that being that nice guy wasn’t the best of decisions.

You see, I never saw being nice as a decision that needed to be made – I understood it as a state that naturally existed. I didn’t feel that I should go out of my way to be nice because I liked being nice.

More than that, I thought that’s what women wanted: men who were nice. Boy oh boy was I wrong. Sort of, anyway.

There are some women who want the nice guy because they understand that nice means good and not nice means bad. However, most women seem to have the concepts confused.

He goes on like this lamenting his discovery of the true state of female sexual nature. Bitter tears of cynicism streak the pedestal he used to polish to a shine.

But, like most embedded nodes in the Hivemind questioning their utility, his journey to the crimson side is not without setbacks.

She may believe she wants a nice guy, but in reality, she doesn’t want a nice guy. In her eyes, nice is weak – it’s boring. She wants excitement. She wants mystery, surprise, drama. She wants a bad boy.

Until she gets stuck with one, of course. Then all of a sudden logic swarms back into reality and bad, once again, means bad.

As any not-nice man with romantic experience will tell you, women don’t want to ditch the badboys they “get stuck with”. Women want those badboys to stick around, and they perform extraordinary psychological feats of manipulation and rationalization to convince those badboys, and themselves, to choo-choo-choose them for the long haul. Even 💋SCIENCE💋 has shown this to be true.

The Hivemind fractures don’t stop there. The Rude Word of CH is tunneling into the ids of MSM women who can’t help but squint at the glint of the slicing CH Shiv.

Are female breadwinners a recipe for disaster? [...]

She’s always been ambitious and career-minded, so Stella’s not surprised that she’s earning big bucks — but, she admits (under guise of anonymity), this wasn’t the way she imagined her relationship dynamic would play out. “I had always known that I wanted to make money and be successful,” she says. “But it was still ingrained in me that the man makes more.” [...]

Like any major cultural change, this one comes with growing pains: Sorting out new gender roles can be tough on both partners in a household where she’s the one who brings home the bacon, no matter how progressive both parties might think they are.

“Ingrained in me” = “My vagina doesn’t tingle when we swap traditional sex roles”.

Female breadwinners are tough on relationships and marriages because women *instinctively* want to admire a man and look up to him, while men *instinctively* want to provide for and protect a lower status, more vulnerable woman. This is a timeless fact of human sexual nature that will not be denied, no matter how many hamsters spin or reeducation camps are opened for business.

“My husband and I talk very candidly about the disparity,” says Torabi, who is pregnant with their first child. “He knows he may never make as much as [I do], but he is interested in pursuing a career with more income potential, if for no other reason than to get me to be less stressed [ed: "less frigid"]. I would love for him to be the breadwinner one day. It’s a really awesome position to be in!”

Behold the passionless marriage. Their numbers swell.

CH was on top of these cultural schisms before they were a tentative tremble in the Hivemind’s collective keyboard fingers. Good to see the ugly truths are beating back the black tentacle goo of the equalist lies. Let’s hope it’s not too late.

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