There’s an esoteric school of Game I like to occasionally indulge which amounts to triggering leftist feminist chicas living in shitlibopolises. It’s a peacocking gimmick that gets A LOT of attention from femcunts, and most of it is surprisingly positive attention, as long as you hold your frame and concede nothing to any indignant woman questioning your style choice.
I have a small collection of shirts and accessories that ambiguously, and not so ambiguously, taunt feminist sensibilities. Unfortunately, I can’t describe in detail the nature of these items, for to do so would risk giving away identifying information. The aesthetic is uncommon enough that it’s possible a pic or description would clue in some past or present fling to my New Zealand post-apocalypse billionaire’s bunker location.
I’ll attempt a very general description. One accessory is of a male symbol not so symbolically penetrating a female symbol. One shirt has a graphic of an icon of female empowerment….intimately entwined with a common household appliance.
There are more, but you get the gist. Women will do double-takes all the time when I sport this triggerwear. The crucial step in the proto-seduction is that I sound amused and even a little indignant myself when a woman tries to give me shit. I might respond with a haughty “I don’t know where your head is, but this is a pro-feminist shirt.” I may say, “I’m a big fan of strong, empowered women….like Ann Coulter.” The obviousness of the ruse doesn’t matter; all that matters is that I cling to my ZFG frame like a gay mulatto to his anti-White spite. It’s a neat trick in the right venue, where girls are amped up and itching for that bean-buzzed intersex drama that they crave like electrolytes.
Remember, a woman’s indifference, not indignation, is the opposite of her love.