Archive for the ‘Biomechanics is God’ Category

It was always the women, and above all the young ones, who were the most bigoted adherents of the Party, the swallowers of slogans, the amateur spies and nosers-out of unorthodoxy.

George Orwell, 1984

Ol’ George was spot on with this observation. It’s [the current year] and you can’t toss a cat on a college campus without hitting an SJW hugbox humidified with the triggered tears of a bulbosity of bitterbitches.

Related, PA adds historical context to an anecdote recalled by social scientist Jonathan Haidt:

the auditorium full of high school girls doing the finger snapping routine at him. […] Haidt says it is (was) very disconcerting, worse than disconcerting actually – upsetting and a little scary even. Threatening.

The teenage girl’s simple minded absolutism and devotion to the master.

Accounts of Mao’s and Pol Pot’s atrocities consistently paint teenage female cadres as the most terrifying among the henchmen.

Women in their prime beautility (beauty + fertility), which coincides with the ages from 15 to 25 or thereabouts, are the most eager to submit to the reigning tyranny. CH writes a lot about the romantic desire of women, especially young women with a full load of eggs in their moist wicker baskets, to submit to a powerful alpha male. A lot of Game concepts proceed from this first principle governing the instinctive mating behavior of women.

But Le Chateau is more than a dating guide, and hopefully readers are beginning to see how Game and Seduction tie in with Culture and Society. The internal combustion forces that drive women to happily submit to intoxicating powerful men are the same forces that equally drive women to submit to the tyrannical Leftoid Orthodoxy, and to profess their undying love for the orthodoxy. (Even to make excuses for the orthodoxy, just as they do for their jerk boyfriends, when someone points out that maybe they’d be better off in the long-run with a different master.)

The only way to win White women back from their loyalty to antiracism tyranny is to present them with the allure of an even stronger, sexier tyranny. Mock antiracism without apology or backpedaling and you provide women a glimpse of your ZFG alpha rebel bona fides. Offer in the place of antiracism orthodoxy another, better, orthodoxy that speaks more clearly to the White woman’s future and, importantly, exhibits more conspicuously the greater good of your sexually irresistible self-entitlement.

Shitlibs and cucks will tremble and rage, while you, Master of Your Amused Domain, Knight of the Order of State Control, Wielder of the Shiv of Unified Purpose and Divided Vaj Flaps, reap the dual rewards of a rich sex life and a reborn nation once again administered for the benefit of your posterity.

Game can, indeed, save the White homelands.

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There are three abiding truths about chicks and their attraction for jerks.

  • Women have always had, and will always have, a big place in their hearts for charismatic jerkboys.

  • The romantic allure of charismatic jerkboys is stronger than the romantic allure of dependable niceguys, in nearly all circumstances.
  • There are environmental conditions that can repress or amplify women’s innate love for jerks.

In this post I make the case that we are living in a Golden Age for Charismatic Jerkboys.

Note: I did not say we are living in a Golden Age “of” charismatic jerkboys. Rather, the age is ripe for jerks, should they assert themselves, to exploit the presently configured sexual market to their hedonistic benefit.

It’s not a surprise that, among those nethers-deep in the American dating scene, there is a shared opinion that jerks do especially well with women. It’s neither a coincidence that this opinion has disseminated through the dank and vile with the same gusto that the overarching culture alternately chest thumps and whimpers its way toward a new norm of masculinized women and feminized men.

All one need do is peruse the SJW oeuvre on the usual striver media outlets for accumulating evidence of an epidemic of low T faggotry sweeping through Millennial manlets. Men, White men mostly, have become cringing, feminist boilerplate reciting, race cucked suck-ups to every group making a claim against their impudent White male privilege.

Opposing this gathering effeminacy are the women, who seem hellbent to secure the blessings of frat bro licentiousness to themselves and their twerking posteriors. No one seriously argues that megaphony feminists aren’t mostly a collection of ugly manjaws with masculine behavioral profiles. But there remained hope that screeching feminist stridency was a niche market, leaving the wider society unscathed.

That hope may be premature, if vagnettes like this one recounted by Jonathan Haidt, the popularizer of the five moral senses that distinguish shitlibs from normals, are indicative of scenes across the fruitless plains.

Mean girls and cowed boys. A sure recipe for sexlessness and false rape accusations, leavened with romantic entreaties for pre-kiss consent forms and Title IX Damegeld.

This is the manginarrific milieu the amused jerkboy find himself navigating. And if he is perceptive, he’ll know this means his time is now.

How so? Think about the CH maxim that the best way to understand women is first to accept the disconnect between their words and actions. When leaned-in careerist tankgrrls shriek against slut shaming, the patriarchy, and phalloaggressions, as sycophantic eunuchs scrape and bow before the clitdick juggernaut, these women are really projecting a mournful need for the ministrations of the very type of men they hold up as exemplars of chauvinist misogyny.

The weakness and effeminacy of the males around them is the very triggering (or one such triggering) that impels women to lash out at men in the aggregate; and, as is the wont of the supremely rationalizing sex, to lash out specifically at a fantasy simulacrum of the exciting, dangerous, sexually irresistible badboy who is regrettably missing from their alpha-parched lives.

The charismatic jerkboy will stand out as a sexual savior from among this melange of mewling manboobs. His product, so rare and valuable in a sexual market saturated with softies, will be sought after with a vengeance by economically self-sufficient and urban heat island-anonymized women intoxicated to apoonplexy from the merest whiff of unapologetic, sexually entitled alpha maleness.

We are currently living in an environment that is amplifying women’s desire for jerks. What was once a latent female lust, controllable with the proper societal and peer inputs, for the ZFG jerk has exploded into a delirious hunger that no social control, even if it was available and willing to be deployed, could possibly dampen now.

Women HATE HATE HATE weak men, with the same passionate revulsion that men HATE HATE HATE uglyfat women. Of course, few women have the cognitive awareness or discipline, or the sadistic stones, to come right out and say they hate male weakness, so they engage in a little of the ol’ ultratransference of their negative feelings onto socially approved targets of hate, i.e., sexy patriarchal jerkboys.

So every time there’s a public showing where beta manlets once again perform down to feminist lapdog expectations, the howl of women for the heads of wished-for patriarchs on spikes intensifies. And, every time an amused jerkboy steps into this chaos to plunder the down under, he walks away from the scene of his 50 shades of crime glowingly reviewed by those very same shrews. In fact, his pleasure vessels might send him a post-cortical thank you note for his efforts to restore their faith in mankind.

Lesson for aspiring jerkboys: Stop paying attention to what women say, and start giving them what they truly, deeply, want. Your journey begins on your feet, instead of at hers.

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Sometimes I don’t need to wield the shiv. The shiv wields itself.

“A deep tone of voice appeals to conservative voters. More generally, conservative voters seem to have a preference for politicians who look physically strong and masculine, while liberal voters prefer those who have less dominant features and seem more accommodating, perhaps even slightly feminine,” said Laustsen.

Since universal suffrage was passed into law, women voters have pushed America toward the extreme far Left. Now we have a biological underpinning that helps explain why. The liberal, social safety net, open borders preferences of women align with the political preferences of effeminate men (like John Scalzi, Alex Pareene, and Ezra Klein). The effeminate men never had much of a political voice until they were able to hitch the behemoth female voting bloc to their cause. And now we have gay marriage, mudsharking on prime time TV, and slut walks featuring half-naked fat chicks.

Laustsen and Petersen’s research proceeds from the observations that in order to understand the behavior of modern humans, you need to look into the evolutionary history that has shaped the psychology producing this behavior. In prehistoric times when the ancestors of modern humans were roaming the East-African savannah in small groups, it made sense to support the strongest members of the tribe when confronted with danger. Psychological mechanisms which 30,000 years ago saved our ancestors from being devoured by saber-toothed tigers and other fierce animals continue to be at work today, explaining, among other things, why people vote as they do along the left-right continuum.

“There are evolutionarily important reasons for the structure of our psychology. Our ancestors had to make a decision about which leader to follow, and it was crucial for their survival and reproduction that they picked the right one. As a species we are pre-programmed to think in a certain way about who we would like to be in charge. This affects choices that we make even today,” said Petersen.

Antibiotics and two oceans have enabled the rise of the American Leftoid.

Is this knowledge useful for the politicians? For example, would it be helpful for conservative politicians to tone down their dominant, masculine personality traits in hopes of snatching voters further to the left who tend to find less dominant features more attractive?

“Democrats are often seen as empathic, compassionate types. Republicans, by contrast, are often considered as strong leaders with a moral compass. This kind of subjective views may have real importance in cases where a Republican candidate is seen as more empathic than his Democratic opponent and trespasses into his territory. Perhaps he can gain some votes there,” he said.

If Trump can successfully merge themes of closed borders, White dispossession, and oligarch wage gutting, while connecting with the White working class Democrats and Independents, he will walk into the White (again) House.

In related news, effete, rich liberal Democrats are the only group that wants hordes of Muslims streaming across the nation’s borders, and eventually across their rectal borders.

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There’s no better way to start your week than getting down into the slop with squealing pigs, but in the porcine annals of oinkery this magnificent squeal must rank as one of the most try-hard, butthurt boar bleats ever to disgrace a social media trough. The title alone could convince the judges to give her straight 10s for porkingsthatneverhappened.txt.

I’m Fat And I Have Sex With Hot Strangers

Mic drop. Or should I say, meatloaf drop.

I could just post her photo and stop there, nothing else needing to be said.

If bed frames could cry.

This human-pig hybrid’s shrieking id is a sight to behold. She must have the fattest rationalization hamster in the known universe. (Obligingly, CH crowns her the Hamster of the Month winner.)

First, she tries to lull the reader into complacent acceptance of her wild claims to come by throwing out a morsel, or twenty, of preemptive candor.

I am fat — not curvy, fat. I have a fat stomach and I jiggle when I walk.

“jiggle” = flesh tsunami. Now I’m not saying she’s fat, but when she wades into the ocean Indonesians head for high ground.

Society tells me that this is a radical notion.

Did we sleep in class during all those years of stentorian Chateau inculcation? Society tells you nothing, moocow. It’s the God of Biomechanics who deems your lard disgusting to the vast majority of people. Even to fellow fatties!

It’s not. There are more girls like me out there. We just aren’t given space to be visible.

How much space do you need? The Great Plains?

I feel like I was put on this earth to be colorful and take up space

So were landfills.

and I am not ashamed.

Keep telling yourself.. and everyone else.. that.

We are told by the media that we need to live in shame, stop eating seventeen cheeseburgers,

That’s an oddly precise number.

We are told to wear something “more flattering” and “not to show so much skin” and “put your boobs away Melissa, you are scaring the children.”


Oh, I’m sorry, I would have cleavage even if I wore a turtleneck and I’m sick of trying to hide it.

Fat pigs love to assert a phony pride in their tits. But sacs of amorphous blubber don’t an attractive bust make. That’s not cleavage, Miss Piggy, that’s a sandworm lair.

My own father told me when I was 10 years old that no man would ever want to hold my hand unless I lost weight and stopped biting my fingernails.

Father of the Year. Not kidding. She only had to listen…

LOL@dad, they want to do so much more than hold hands now.

F YOU DAD, giving blowjobs in the dark to drunk losers is where I’m at now!

I am fat and I have casual sex with strangers, attractive strangers even.

That “even” is such a deadweight giveaway. Translation: once, a long time ago when she wasn’t yet fully fattened for the slaughter, she scissored with a lesbian who actually made the effort to trim her bush and shoo the parrots and monkeys out.

It was an impromptu mini vacation before I move to Portland to go back to school for my art degree, start a boudoir photography business and live amongst other body-positive, sex-positive women like myself and the beautiful beards that love us.

Who can tell parody from reality anymore?

I started swiping right on men and women on Tinder as I waited to deplane at LAX.

“Deplane, boss, deplane!” “No, that’s not a plane, Tattoo, it’s a fattie.”

I follow Amber Rose on Instagram and I find it infuriating watching other women tear each other down for what they choose to do with their own bodies.

The shunning of disfigured mental disease vectors is required.

I also find equally disturbing the entitlement some men demonstrate when a woman chooses to display any amount of skin or overt sexuality in their presence.

Men’s attractiveness standards are required. (Overt female sexuality is only offensive to men when it emerges like a reverse fat caterpillar from a size XXXXXXL chrysalis (a hard-shelled fupa).)

To me, being called a slut isn’t degrading.

The extra 200 pounds set her degradation bar high.

I see it as empowering and symbolic of me taking ownership over what I choose to do with MY body.

Stuff it full of cheap carbs until her days are an endless bloat parade of joint pain, labored breathing, smegma farming, and romantic failure.

My fat beautiful curvy soft body.

Ya know, slender women have curvy, soft bodies, too. So you don’t have that going for you, fatty.

Much to my surprise, people in LA utilize Tinder’s “Super Like” option like nobody’s business, making my quest for adventure that much easier.

Like pizza delivery.

Before I got to my first hotel I was talking to six or seven very attractive strangers.

“very attractive strangers”. The porky pig’s try-hard protestation is so transparent. Reality: these very attractive strangers looked like extras from the Star Wars cantina scene.

I have found that most men who want casual sex aren’t creeps or rapists.

Fat woman standards are very flexible, unlike their joints.

They just want to feel pleasure and make a connection however brief, just like me.

“however brief” :lol: :lol:

Sex doesn’t have to be a big deal. Sex doesn’t need to equal love for it to be mind blowing.

The grapes, they are sour.

It can also be about mutual pleasure and the way two or more bodies fit and complement each other.

with the help of a crowbar.

I have a pretty strict vetting process for picking up men and I have never had any problems.

“Zero alternative dating options? Check.”

I have pictures on my Tinder profile that are quite suggestive.

of a rhino birth.

If a man can have a normal conversation with me without getting gross and demanding, I give him the green-light and we keep chatting for a bit until we agree to meet up.

Men, you don’t need game to pick up fatties. You can talk about the weather with her, if you want. What are you waiting for? (“a hindbrain transmutation”) oh, right.

I find it’s easy to pick up on the entitlement factor, and that is a major red flag.

Total loser goes out with uglyfat, has the gall to think this means she’ll put out for parking meter change.

Just because a woman is showing skin doesn’t mean you have the right to expect sex from her.

That’s not why the losers who go out with you expect sex. (hint: it’s the lsmv corpulence)

Sometimes we meet for coffee, sometimes we go on an actual date, sometimes I go to their house and we are having sex within 15 minutes and sometimes they come to my hotel room at 2am and we bond over Louis C.K. and then laugh a lot and start going at it and it feels like old friends.

I.e., she has given up on the dream of love and marriage.

This bed won’t stay empty for long.

The chicken wing bones will see to that.

I had my own multi-city-state Slut Walk in a different city every night, with my mom staying in a hotel room right across the hall.

Ever notice the typical Slut Walker is the kind of woman least likely to have the opportunity to slut it up with men? Something else to notice: mothers of grossly obese daughters are so despondent for their child’s romantic future that any display of sexuality, however skanky and soul-crushing, fills them with pride.

Oddly enough, two of my hookups visit Portland rather frequently. Round two has been discussed and I am sure will happen at some point in the future.

The triumph of hope over pump and dump.

Each guy was attractive in his own way

All of the men I have ever talked to have been nothing but complimentary about my body.

Fatties will believe anything.

I have never had anyone see me in person and walk away or stand me up.

They spotted her on the approach and darted into an alley for a quick, unnoticed escape.

I am currently the biggest I have ever been and at the same time I feel the sexiest and most present in my body that I have ever felt in my life.

What a coincidence.

I am no longer afraid of my desires or being naked in front of others.

I own my sexuality and my choices.

So do slender women, and they don’t have to lie about feeling sexy.

I have a certain number of sexy individuals to thank for that.

And those individuals are Channing Tatum, Brad Pitt, and Barack Obama.

And no, I’m not telling you my number.

(it’s large and in charge)

Well, fuckin phew, that was a hot mess.

The purpose of posts like this one, besides the slaking of very special hedonistic and aesthetic urges, is to brutally shame these shoggoths off the internet forever. Their fat pride is poison, their phony self-esteem is propaganda, and their feminist platitudes are comfort to fellow misfits providing rhetorical rationalizations to avoid taking any steps to genuinely improving themselves.

Shaming uglyfats into oblivion is not just fun, it’s a righteous moral imperative.

Whenever you read some fatty going on about how much men love her “””curves”””, and all the “””great sex””” she’s having with “””hot studs”””, you’ll know she’s lying to protect her ego from the Day of Mirrors. There are no hot studs in her bed. She is not having any sex, let alone great sex. And she will never know love in the way that a slender woman will know love.

This is the message fat chicks should be receiving, loud and clear and continually, if truth and beauty are your scene. Anything deviating from this cruel to be kind message of realtalk will only increase and amplify the ugliness, of body and mind and soul, in the world.

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Contrary to blue pill unwisdom, it’s not mom jeans-wearing beta males or conspicuously dysfunctional omega males whom girls shit test the most; it’s greater beta/lesser alpha men striving for quality in their mate choice who are the primary targets of female shit tests.

And it’s not the hottie girls who most frequently deploy shit tests; it’s the mere-cute girls who have a reasonable uncertainty of their place in the sexual market hierarchy. (The fugs and HB10s are confident of their place in the henpecking order, but the girls in the middle have a lifetime of SMV status jockeying to look forward to.)

The dynamic isn’t hard to grasp. When a low to middling sexual market value man hits on a legit hottie, she will let him down easy. There’s no benefit to her from harshly rejecting lsmv suitors; she gets to feel a warm magnanimous glow from treating her obvious lessers well, AND she affords herself a measure of personal safety by not unnecessarily antagonizing potentially vengeful losers.

But when a middling to above-average SMV man hits on a borderline cutie with delusions of glamour, the female shit test protocol is activated with extreme prejudice. The shit test is a subconscious program initiated in a woman’s hindbrain which helps her determine if that striver greater beta male or lesser alpha male is really the sexy stud he is trying to project, or if he’s a paper pickup artist who will crumple under the withering assault of her snarky banter (which of course she thinks is flirting but which men of tender constitution will mistake for bitchy rejection).

Why is the borderline cutie the most egregious abuser of the shit test? The reason is because she doesn’t possess the incontestable beauty of a genuine hottie to buttress her self-conception; her relationship material attractiveness to men is less certain and more dependent on contextual variables such as how her competition stacks up and the motivations of the men expressing interest in her. To the borderline cutie, then, the shit test is a valuable courtship tool which serves the dual purposes of 1. propping up her shaky ego when men come to her yard to judge her milkshake worth (c.f.: sour grapes fallacy) and 2. determining if the men at or above her own SMV are legitimate ZFG contenders for her ZOMG heart, or if they are boring beta herbs in cad’s clothing.

All girls shit test when the suitor stars are aligned, but it’s the girls in the gray zone of pulchritude — the 4s, 5s, 6s, and 7s — who resort to the practice with the greatest alacrity. The homely girl may shit test the loser man, but any other men breaking the 20th percentile in SMV status will never hear a shit test from her, not as the shit test is commonly understood. (They might hear a grunt or a brusque cockblock interjection or a feminist diatribe, but never a romantically pregnant, eye twinkly shit test.)

The beautiful girl will likewise infrequently shit test, but when she does her targets will be men at the other end of the SMV spectrum: the alpha males and the men aspiring to alpha maledom. All other men (the great majority) will receive asexual banter or gentle brush-offs from the beauty… or, if they’ve made a real nuisance of themselves, eye rolls and verbal signals to girl friends for escape assistance.

It’s those desperate darlings in the fluid middle of the belle curve who level shit tests at just about every man who shows interest in them. Only upper echelon alpha males get a pass from the borderline cutie’s shit tests (for obvious reasons). Omega dregs also get a pass from shit tests (but not from shrieks of horror).

So why are aspiring greater beta males and lesser alpha males striving for the lass ring the most frequent recipients of female shit tests?

BECAUSE they strive.

Aiming for something better than what is assumed the due of the mediocre masses marks you out as a man to take seriously. A man an uncut above the rest. A man, therefore, with high sexytime value. Once you have pinged a cutie’s romance radar and tickled her tingle repository, she will reflexively lob a fusillade of shit tests great and small to happily confirm, or regrettably refute, your coalescing poonslayer profile. (Obligatory NAWALT placeholder here.)

The man who SKILLFULLY STRIVES for the best girls gets the most shit tests because he is perceived both as a man of self-regarding rarity and as a man capable of quickly bursting the neurotically self-doubting cutie’s carefully manicured ego.

The greater beta/lesser alpha SKILLFUL STRIVER — aka the bold man of intention possessing a nascent social savviness that evades the typical beta — is a man the cutie strongly desires, because he is also a man the cutie strongly perceives as attainable, as open to long-term relationship possibility, and as the best she will get in that moment.

THAT is why she shit tests him so eagerly. Pulses of white hot love have melted the neural bonds governing her propriety.

There is a field-tested premise that applies: girls only drop shit tests on men for whom they feel a budding attraction. It is a true fact. If you are getting shit tested by a girl, there’s a good chance your company has elicited in her rudely intrusive thoughts of your bangroom, as envisioned through her inner eye’s swirl of prophetic ecstasy, and of your gleaming conquest bed on whose sheets she twists.


NB: the shit test is a separate concept from the neg. You neg bona fide hotties even when they aren’t shit testing you because they come pre-equipped with an SMV self-awareness index topping 100. You don’t necessarily need to neg girls who are shit testing you, if those girls aren’t ultrababes. The neg is not meant to be a response to a shit test (in fact, using it as such can backfire on you); the best responses to shit tests are ones adhering to the Agree&Amplify or the charming jerkboy formats.

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The tankgrrl careerist shrike demands that men desire her for her careerist shrikery. The obstacle to her demands is the basic biological constraint of male sexuality that compels men to be attracted to relatively less accomplished, more feminine women. At best, a woman’s career is neutral background noise to a man’s desire; at worst it actively undermines love.

Ollie passes along a story that demonstrates this sexual market reality quite well.

What amazes me about this story is the number of idiots that are dumbfounded as to why Mr. Rossdale has been boffing the lookalike nanny instead of his “awesome superstar real thing” wife.

To any man with even a hint of red-pill awareness (and the ability to be honest with himself) the reason for Mr. Rossdale’s dalliance is as obvious as the mid morning sun:

His wife was a Diva.

Why is this so bad?
1. She has spent years constantly being marinaded in a bath of non-stop adulation and fan worship. Even the most noble woman will eventually succumb to the spiritually toxic effects of that attention bath, and become an insufferable narcissist, utterly incapable of loving anything but her aging reflection.

2. She has a full time job as a recording artist. This kind of job is designed to destroy relationships like a cruise missile, with its potent combination of time-consuming recording/promoting sessions, long distance separation (touring), and surrogate attention heaped on by adoring fans. A relationship needs to have some degree of contact to exist.

3. She also has a job as a TV show judge, and a fashion design company to run on top of that. As often remarked in these hallowed halls, a woman obsessed with her career is a woman who is fundamentally damaged. The precious little free time Gwen had left over from her recording job is furiously consumed like the last slice of cake at a hambeast convention. Ergo, the nanny, whom I’m pretty sure has spent an order of magnitude (or two) more time loving and caring for Gwen’s own children than “Amazing Superstar” Gwen herself has.

Now, think about the 25 seconds or so of yearly photo-op family time Gwen can afford her progeny and subdivide it by 50. That’s the amount of time Gavin gets for intimacy with his bombshell wife. Essentially, being Gavin Rossdale is like owning a Bugatti Veyron with welded shut doors, or having a 3-star Michelin chef prepare you a sumptuous feast that is then placed in a sealed glass box for you to watch as it slowly rots.

Throw on top of this the fact that Mizz Stefani’s career and identity were conceived during and directly through the height of 90’s Doc Marten ball-stomping riot grrl feminism, and we have a recipe for marriage disaster that makes the Hindenburg look like a minor fender-bender.

Gavin probably did the math at some point, figuring “Why am I, a famous rock star, getting laid less than Elliot Rodger?” and took action, getting what a man needs in life from the nearest available source.

What men really want from women, aside from those oh-so important physical attributes, is a sweet, caring, loving helpmeet. We’re talking the kind of woman who adoringly reads her children lullabies and makes her husband a home-cooked meal. Pop superstardom is as useful to a man’s heart as an ice machine is needed for residents of northern Alaska.

I know this subject has been already covered in the “Dating Market Value Test For Women” section, but I really think it is time for the Chateau to once again spotlight the incredible attraction-killing power of high female achievement.

Aging famous women have it rough in two ways:

The alpha males they want don’t really care about women’s career goals or accomplishments. In this respect these alphas are no different than any man, and once the bloom on the rose starts to wilt, their men’s eyes will start to wander more frequently.

The alpha males they want have a lot of SMV, and thus a lot of sexual market options. No matter how famous, rich, and beloved she herself is, her high status husband/boyfriend has more options to trade up, because aging does not affect his SMV like it does hers, and his careerism does not negatively affect his SMV like it does hers.

Female hypergamy is a bitch, but it’s bitchiest to those high-powered aging women who must suffer the smallest pool of equally or higher-powered men acceptable to her mate match algorithm. Maybe if those men had no other options…. but then they wouldn’t be the sort of men desired by the Gwen Stefanis of the world.

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Continuing on the theme of “WOMEN…THEY REALLY ARE NOTHING LIKE MEN”, another study (h/t Arbiter) finds that not only are rape fantasies common among the female of the species, but, contrary to conventional tradcon wisdom, it’s the HIGH SELF-ESTEEM women who have the most frequent and pleasurable rape fantasies.

This study evaluated explanations of rape fantasy in a sample of female undergraduates (N = 355) using a sexual fantasy checklist which included eight types of rape fantasy, participants’ detailed descriptions of a rape fantasy they have had, a rape fantasy scenario audio presentation, and measures of personality. Three explanations of rape fantasy were tested: openness to sexual experience, sexual desirability, and sexual blame avoidance. Women who were higher in erotophilia and self-esteem and who had more frequent consensual sexual fantasies and more frequent desirability fantasies, particularly of performing as a stripper, had more frequent rape fantasies. Women who were higher in erotophilia, openness to fantasy, desirability fantasies, and self-esteem reported greater sexual arousal to rape fantasies. Sexual blame avoidance theory was not supported; sexual desirability theory was moderately supported; openness to sexual experience theory received the strongest support.

It appears women have rape fantasies because… wait for it… it TURNS THEM ON. Which makes sense. Fantasy is based on real desire. (For proof of this, ask yourself when was the last time a woman admitted she fantasized about sex with a dutiful beta provider.)

Rape fantasies aren’t reactions to negative real life experiences or evidence of imbalanced psychologies; quite the opposite, rape fantasies are the domain of women who think highly of themselves and are comfortable with their sexuality.

Arbiter interjects,

Yet another finding that contradicts the feminist worldview. The women who like sex the most and are the most daring, are the ones who fantasize about rape the most. These are the toughest women, the most independent women.

Feminists claim that “rape is about control”. It is “a way for men to control women”. In that case it should be the women who feminists consider traitors who have the most rape fantasies, shouldn’t it? The women who are the most “submissive”, women who are obedient slaves to the evil men, shy and afraid, quiet as a mouse, “seen but not heard” and all the things feminists imagine about conservative women since they don’t know any. Instead it’s the toughest women who enjoy rape fantasies the most, since rape is about sex, not the “patriarchy’s” control.

What’s equally interesting is why women who are lower in sociosexuality and in self-esteem have fewer reported rape fantasies. Maybe they are less honest about their true desires, thinking them shameful? Or maybe they simply have lower libidos than more erotically feminine women, and this is reflected in their lower incidences of the sorts of sexual/romantic fantasies that preoccupy the female hindbrain.

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