Caring Vs Uncaring Assholery

A reader ponders:

First off I’d like to say you’re really doing the world a public service. I came across your blog by googling ” how to spot a slut,” (trying to figure out if my girlfriend at the time was…she met your criteria and she was a huge slut). Anyhow in one of your much earlier posts you point out that there are two types of assholes. The uncaring and caring. The latter coming from a place of hate and insulting women and not really forming any sort of attraction. That is where I am right now how would i make the shift into the uncaring asshole category?

Think about the most inconsiderate person you know. Then, act like him. That’s how you make the shift.

If you don’t know anyone like that, then you’ll have to make the shift by adjusting your inner game, which means forcing yourself by sheer strength of will to become less outcome-dependent. Uncaring assholes are truly the masters of outcome-independence. They hardly feel a twinge to their egos when any one girl falls through as a prospect. That attitude is catnip to women.

The reader is referring to this old post which dissected the difference between assholes that women love and assholes that women suspect are really spiteful betas in alpha clothing. Quoting:

There are genuine assholes who are loved, and there are spiteful assholes who get nowhere. The difference is crucial.

Uncaring asshole = success with women.

Caring asshole = failure with women.

When women say they don’t fall for assholes, they are thinking of the second kind. A caring asshole comes from a place of bitterness and spite. His assholery is reactive rather than proactive. He is poor at calibrating which women will be responsive to his dick attitude. Caring assholes are crassly insulting and transparently invested in the outcome of their game.

Uncaring assholes are assholes as a consequence of their indifference. It is the aloofness of the man she loves that drives women crazy with obsession*, and that aloofness is manifest as asshole behavior. An uncaring asshole demonstrates clearly in his body language and tone of voice, not to mention his dearth of words, that he could take her or leave her.

A good rule of thumb to detmerine if you are leaning more toward the caring side of assholery:

Do you feel emotionally invested in the reaction you’re trying to get from girls you want to have sex with? When you asshole it up, does your blood pressure rise? Does anger festoon your words? Do you imagine vengeance, hoping to land a solid metaphorical blow to a girl’s ego?

If so, you are trying too hard. Your caring asshole behavior, while better than acting like a sheepish beta if pickup is your goal, will more often than not turn a potential lay away.

I’m not saying there’s never a time for anger. There is. There is a time for red hot passion and white hot rage. But your operational mode should be one of… say it with me… AMUSED MASTERY. Cool-as-fuckness. Imperturbability.

Nor am I saying you should be inconsiderate all the time. If an LTR is your goal, you can’t expect to be inconsiderate with your girlfriend or wife and not eventually string her out so badly that she jettisons you to fill the emotional void in her needy, feminine soul. Many a movie plotline has centered on the ignored wife of a distant alpha husband and the emotionally available sneaky fucker who ingratiates himself to her for the damning tryst.

Within the context of an LTR, consideration should be seasoned with inconsiderate aloofness, like a sprinkle of pepper on a nourishing bowl of soup. That is the zen way of poon.

But when dating and seeking the hookup, (to lead possibly to deepening love), aloof and sometimes even callous disregard will intrigue far more hot and high value women than not. And this is especially true for women living in the salad days of their fertility.

You have to recite the following as part of a self-motivational technique for imbuing yourself with the right (i.e., sexy) attitude:

I must not obsess. Obsession is the mind-killer. Obsession is the little-death that brings total betaness. I will face my obsession. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when my obsession is gone I will turn and face its path, and only my alpha self will remain.

Once you can confidently proclaim that oneitis no longer stalks you like a leech on your masculinity, that there will never again be “that one girl” you must have, that no girl’s inconsequential caprice can rattle your self-possession, and that you have let go of your spite and your anxiety, will you have arrived in a place that permits the blooming of uncaring assholery. And the parting of labial petals.

Few men achieve this level of state control, and with good reason: it’s hard. Great beauty can disturb the stillest mind. But try you must. You’ll have to bear the torment of self-awareness to make your attempt count, but it beats the alternative of sleepwalking through life in ignorant betatude.