Drive-By Teases

An often unremarked (partly because it goes against the reigning feminist narrative) structural unfairness between the sexes is the amount of effort the average man has to put into dating and relationships to keep them going, compared to the feeble efforts women usually expend on dating momentum and relationship management. The fact is that men (without game) *do* have to commit more energy to courtship and relationships because young, fertile women are the sex in higher demand. Women have to do all of not messing up their looks. (The effort to apply make-up and buy stylish, sexy clothes is nothing compared to the psychological, provisioning and logistical efforts men bring to the table.)

But as we here at the Chateau are fond of saying: life is unfair. Get used to it. Double standards exist and aren’t going anywhere because many of them are emergent properties of fixed, innate sex-based characteristics. Men have no more moral basis to bitch about dating energy expenditure than do women about slut shaming.

But thanks to the wonders of game, men can limit their relationship energy requirements while maximizing the impact each unit of spent energy has on women’s interest levels. In layman’s terms, men can easily spice up relationships (and dates) with almost no effort by employing the drive-by tease. Examples:

• Flush the toilet when she’s in the shower.
• Snap wet towel at her butt. (Should just barely cross line of genuine pain.)
• “Happy Valentine’s Day!” [give her a wrapped box of condoms]
• Put a “pinch my butt” post-it note on her back as she’s heading out for work.
• Slip her car into neutral when she’s driving. (Note: not recommended on women with exceptionally bad driving skills.)
• Turn the light off or unplug her dryer when she’s doing her hair.
• Pretend to throw her cat out the window. (A full throwing motion accompanied by frantic mewing will boost dramatic effect.)
• Never miss a chance to turn a serious question into a glib answer.
• Pretend to accidentally cut off your finger in the kitchen. (Use gobs of ketchup.)
• Replace her cosmetics with crayons.
• Put her panties on her cat (Don’t put them on the dog if the dog is yours. There are some lines not meant to be crossed.)
• Draw smiley faces or penises on her tampons.
• Paint a picture of her. With great fanfare, unveil a stick figure drawing.
• Pull weeds from the yard. Put them in a vase with a sincere love note attached. (Act offended if she doesn’t swoon for your weeds. Keep up the pretense for weeks.)
• Place a giant stuffed animal or clown doll in bed, facing her. When she wakes up, she’ll freak.
• Walk around casually at home with your dick hanging out of your jeans crotch. Call her a perv for noticing.
• Turn her shirts inside out.
• Put a Baby Ruth in her shoe. “Omg, I think the cat pooped in your shoe.”
• Dutch oven. Shower oven. Car oven.
• Honk her tits. Make loud honking noise. Bonus points if you use an air horn.

The drive-by tease is, typically, the non-verbal equivalent of the cocky/funny neg. More elaborate forms qualify as pranks. The DBT subliminally asserts male dominance as well as creativity, both of which are catnip to women. Dominance assertion is telegraphed in any act where the subtext is “I don’t care if you’re offended by this.” Girls like men who don’t walk on eggshells around them. But why?, you ask. Well, because men like that are interpreted by women to have options, that is, a take it or leave it attitude toward women. And a man who can walk away without much fuss is a desirable man. That doesn’t sound very romantic, but in practice when you act like this type of man your life will feel romantic as you are showered with women’s loving romantic love bombs.

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The Reality Of Male Choice

Satoshi Kanazawa, a popularizer of evolutionary psychology before Psychology Today canned him for insufficiently footnoted and massaged crimethink, has frequently been fond of asserting that women exercise ALL the choice in the mating market. Men are just along for the ride, hoping to be one of the chosen. (Kanazawa’s absolutism on this matter is particularly galling, since he should know better. His claim is easily refuted. For example, I’ve had chubby chicks come onto me, and I’ve turned them down. Direct, stone cold rejection must feel a hundred times worse for women than it does for men.)

A certain breed of slutty tankgrrl feminist likes to claim the same thing; that women can have all the sex they want, whenever they want, and with whomever they want, and men have no say in the matter. A willful ignorance — or, more accurately, a clinical self-delusion — about the wall and men’s attractiveness standards is required to hold this position.

Then there are the beta and omega male trolls, a truly abhorrent species who occasionally squirt their tepid loserjizz in the comments of this blog when they announce — almost gleefully — that women rule, and men are hopeless horndogs who happily fuck fat and ugly chicks, making life difficult for the betas who have to deal with ego-pumped fatties.

They’re all wrong. Men do exercise choice in the dating market, and men with options — the men most desired by women — exercise the most choice of all, usually with extreme prejudice.

A simple program of getting out of the house and mingling in a social context should suffice as all the proof of male choice that you’ll need, but since a significant percentage of internet theorizers appear to be shut-ins or trollish cranks, it sometimes helps these wayward souls if a scientific study or two is posted to clear their muddled musings. In this study, evidence is given that men with more resources raise their mating standards.

Resources are a cardinal component of male mate value in the sexual exchange between men and women. Inspired by theories and research suggesting a link between mating and resource constructs as well as studies linking money and valuations of others, the current study tests the hypothesis that cues to resource availability may lead to higher mating standards for men, but not women. Participants were exposed to either stacks of paper, a small sum of money (104 Singapore dollars ∼USD$84), or a large sum of money (2600 Singapore dollars ∼USD$2100). Consistent with the hypothesis, after male – but not female – participants handled a large sum of money, they raised their minimum requirements for a date. [Physical attractiveness requirements drove this effect most significantly.] We discuss how the results are consistent with an evolutionary perspective on mating and how future research can further investigate environmentally contingent self-assessments and strategies.

The short and sweet of it: when men get more money, they start to screen for hotter chicks. That is, men with cash CHOOSE better looking girls.

I’ve no doubt similar studies that examined the relationship between social status, fame and game would find that men who acquired more of these positive traits would also begin raising their standards in what they will tolerate in a sex and love (but I repeat myself) partner.

It should be noted that studies like this demonstrating the reality of male mate choice do not imply that men exercise as much choice as women. That is false. Women are, by virtue of their more expensive and scarce reproductive life source, the more discriminating sex. It is absolutely true that a lot more men are willing to dump a lazy fuck in a fat chick than there are women willing to spread for a degenerate omega male.

But it’s simply a mistake to then extrapolate this relative leniency of male standards into evidence for a total lack of any male mating standards. Girls do experience rejection by men. The rejection may be more often indirect than direct (i.e. girls rarely approach, so when you don’t return their eye-play, or when you ignore their flirting, it subconsciously registers as the equivalent of a direct rejection to them), but it’s rejection nonetheless. Men with a thing or two going on will reject plenty of less attractive, older, sluttier and fatter women in their lifetimes.

The men having sex with all those fatties, fugs, sluts, single moms and cougars are not the high value, in-demand alphas that whiny beta trolls like to claim they are. It’s the loser males and the expedience cads — the men either most desperate for sexual intimacy or most uninterested in long-term commitment and a woman’s “special qualities” — who drop their standards to roll with a hippo for a night.

So the common trope that fat chicks are getting laid with no trouble is misleading; they’re getting laid, but it’s not with quality. And for women, quality is job one. Few women except the most deluded freaks feel good about themselves or confident in their sexual market value after enduring years of excessively short-term hookups with losers, or repeatedly failing to extract long-term commitment from the occasional dumpster diving winner. This is why it’s more common for ugly women to go years without sex; women, far more than men, prefer the life of celibacy to the life of being reminded of their low value by loser lovers.

For men, standards rise and fall with one’s relative status, social savvy, charisma, looks and resources. When any or all go up (looks being somewhat age-dependent), men tend to filter out less attractive women more aggressively, and pursue hotter chicks. When any or all go down, the opposite happens. A man’s options will dictate how ruthlessly he weeds out unacceptable women.

For women, standards are mostly set by conception, and cemented by birth after the hormonal chaos in the womb has been integrated. The looks a woman is born with will, with minor exceptions (for instance, sex ratios), determine her mating standards later in life, up until the age when her appearance begins to abandon her.

This is the one, intrinsic advantage that men have over women in the eternal and escalating reproductive arms race: a man has the opportunity to improve his lot in life, or improve his attributes, and mate up the attractiveness ladder. With this opportunity comes risk; a man can also find himself mating down the ladder. Women, by contrast, have no such opportunity. They are issued a short list of achievable standards at birth, and this list cannot be altered; it is only revoked at such time that she has exhausted the mate capital she was bequeathed before she even gained consciousness.

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Period And Ovulation Tracker As Seduction Tool

A while back, Chateau proprietors urged male readers to start tracking their lovers’ menstrual cycles. The reasoning was solid: women are more prone to cheat during their ovulation with an alpha male, and, if they are on the pill, their disrupted cycles will cause them to favor the company of emotionally stunted sensitive beta providers.

Gentlemen, this is powerful stuff that science is giving us. Knowing your lover’s monthly cycle will help you identify if and when she’s likely to cheat, when she is horniest and most likely to put out with no concern for protection, and when she might grant a sexually deprived beta male with a shoulder soaked from the thousand tears of aggrieved asshole-chasing hot girls a shot at her furrow.

The problem with tracking a lover’s monthly cycle — aka fertility awareness — has always been the inconvenience. You need diligence and pluck to uncover when she is on the rag. Are you prepared to search for incriminating evidence? Can you wheedle that information out of her without creeping her out?

And once you have the coordinates for her march of the red army, are you conscientious enough to commit it to memory, and recall it when needed, month in and month out? It’s a difficult task when fertility awareness competes with other information typically stored in a man’s head, like baseball stats and experience points needed to reach the next level.

Luckily, the good nerds who write Apple apps read this blog and have taken the message to heart, devising a clever tool for easy and worry-free tracking of a lover’s cycle, cryptically named ‘I Am a Man.” You just set it, and forget it!

The app allows you to mark the calendar days when your fling, girlfriend or wife is menstruating, PMSing or ovulating. Here is a screen capture:

Think about the ramifications of using this tool. Now, every man can know:

1. when he should go to the pool hall and avoid his lover’s raging PMS

2. when he should contact his FB because his main is in full menses

3. when he should ramp up the asshole alpha treatment because his lover is ovulating and staring harder at strange men

4. when he should bring romcoms home and cook a meal or two because his lover is in the needy, weepy part of her cycle

5. when he should send a private eye to watch where she goes after work because the odds of a cuckolding are higher.

Let’s say you get back from a dinner with your girl. You go to the bathroom and quickly scan your ‘I Am a Man’ app. You see a blue diamond on today’s date. Eureka! You rush out to the bedroom naked, erect member ticking like an upside-down metronome, and she strips off excitedly, anticipating your penetration. You don’t bother with the condom, because you know she won’t put up a fuss about it. Her body wants your seed, now, and reason has jumped out the window.

But wait, you surprise her by pulling out at the last second. Foiled!

Thank you, ‘I Am a Man’ app, for the opportunity to raw dog free of consequence!

You can even use the ‘I Am a Man’ app retroactively to determine if your child is legit or the underworld bastard spawn of an alpha interloper. Was the brat conceived on a day she was ovulating and you weren’t around? Swab the cheek!

Of course, the app loses its predictive power if she’s on the pill. But you should still keep it up-to-date in case she ever goes off again. Women go off the pill for many reasons, not least of which is an empty bank account. If she goes off the pill in the middle of a relationship or marriage… watch out! Her body will scream for alpha seed as soon as that initial rush of ovulatory hormones careens through her veins. But with this app in hand, you’ll be better positioned (heh) to alphafuck the disloyalty right outta her vagina. Then you can breathe easy once the ovulation threat has passed, and go back to tenderly caressing her hair as she watches you iron her panties.

Now all the world’s men need is an app that can analyze women in the field for signals of ovulation. Perhaps a heat-signature device, or something along those lines. PUAs with a bit of muscle can hone in on ovulating targets for same night lays, while PUAs who are stronger in the comfort stage can zero in on women who are at the tail end of their menses and pining for romantic gestures.

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The Handsome Man-Ugly Woman Couple Syndrome

I was participating in a mobile conference which included question and answer periods, and I noticed an odd couple standing to my side. He was youngish and good-looking — most women would agree on his physical attractiveness — and his wife was a snout-nosed, inbred-looking, stringy-haired, big fat pig dressed in sweatshirt and ill-fitting jeans. In other words, the typical American woman. I assumed they were married because I saw their rings and she had her hand on a stroller with an infant tucked away in it.

What abomination is this! I thought. But then the reason became crystal clear after only a few moments watching and listening to them interact.

Speaker: Any questions?

Big Fat Pig: [nudging her hubby with her elbow] Honey, remember…

Handsome Husbandry: [tentatively raising his index and middle finger, and haltingly talking] I have a question… I have a…

Speaker: Yes?

Handsome Husbandry: [his question-asking hand lingering in mid-air, other hand stuffed in pocket] What did [X] bring to the event that caused [Y] to happen? It seems like.. it seems as if…

As he asked his question, he kept looking over at his wife — in fact, staring at his wife more than the speaker, although he was ostensibly addressing the speaker. One would be forgiven for having the impression that he was seeking constant real-time assurance from his wife that his question was acceptable for public discourse. Nervously shifting from one foot to the other, leaning into his wife, gazing downward when the speaker responded to him, his body language was so beta it was painful to watch. No, it was repulsive to behold, almost as repulsive as the visual effrontery of his wife’s blubbery carcass.

The wife, meanwhile, assumed the posture and countenance of the alpha male. (Never trust a power vacuum to be left unfilled by man or woman.) She looked straight ahead when her husband was simultaneously asking his question of the group leader and craning his neck to her for approval, and she never once softened her expression into a sympathetic, let alone loving, smile at him. (Some men go through life never knowing the exquisite pleasure of a woman’s appreciative gaze of admiration.) There was no unspoken, feminine job well done crease of the eyes on her porcine face. Just stone cold indifference, spiced with a hint of contempt.

Yep, like I said… CRYSTAL CLEAR.

It’s illuminating to compare our reactions to different mismatched couples. Think about what you say to yourself when you see the following pairings (remember that you have nothing to go on except what they look like):

Handsome man with beautiful woman

All is right in the world. You infer the man has alpha characteristics to complement his good looks, and he has cashed that in for a hot babe. You would be surprised, were you to talk to him, if he wasn’t charming and a bit arrogant. You do not doubt the woman’s judgment.

Ugly man with ugly woman

All is right, if depressing, in the world. You infer the ugly man has beta or even omega characteristics, and that an ugly woman was the best he could do. You assume the ugly woman resents him for having to settle, but knows she has no other options. Love between them is less about passion than it is about task delegation and avoidance of suicidal loneliness.

Ugly man with beautiful woman

Wow, he is shooting out of his league! But then, thinking on it a bit, you recall that you saw quite a few couples like this mismatched pair during the week. It’s less rare than popularly imagined. You may ask yourself “What does she see in him?”, and from that you infer the ugly man has compensating alpha attributes to snag such a hottie — maybe he’s wealthy, or slick, or funny, or a dominating asshole, or some combination of each. You assume this ugly man has options to be able to choose a beauty for a girlfriend.

Handsome man with ugly woman

Whoa, what is he thinking?! An uncommon sight, (occurrence less frequent than its polar opposite), you presume the handsome man has some debilitating personality flaw — maybe social awkwardness, or shyness, or micropenis — that prevents him from fornicating with his true potential. Unlike the mirror image couple of the ugly man with the beautiful woman, you do not give the ugly woman the benefit of the doubt in assessing why she was able to catch a handsome man. You simply conclude, reasonably, that the handsome man is not the alpha male on the inside that he looks like on the outside, and therefore the ugly woman is not really dating out of her league. There must be something wrong with him, you think.

***

The last mismatched pairing is the subject of this post because it so powerfully illustrates a fundamental tenet of game: a man’s looks are of limited utility as a measure of his alphaness and, hence, his attractiveness to women.

When we see couples out and about we usually resort to sizing them up based on immediately discernible criteria like looks and style. This judgmental shorthand works well on women for whom looks are their most salient sexual currency, but shows its limitations as a method of discerning a man’s dating market value, as exemplified by the couple in the story above.

This is why most people have a tendency to assume the best about ugly men who pair up with beautiful women, and assume the worst about handsome men with ugly women. There is an instinctive, deeply primitive understanding chugging away behind the prefrontal cortex in every one of us that women sexually respond to a suite of male attractiveness traits, of which looks are only one desirable male quality. It is therefore not inconceivable to most non-brainwashed observers that an ugly man might have other characteristics that appeal to a beautiful woman on his arms, or that a handsome man might be crippled with weakness and self-doubt that constrains his ability to attract no better than a big fat pigwoman.

Contrast that instant appraisal we all have of the men in mismatched pairings with how we think about the women in such relationships. A beautiful woman with an ugly man does not have beta characteristics; she is simply drawn to other attractive attributes in him which we are not as privy to as his looks. (E.g., He must be a rich/famous/funny/charming dude!) An ugly woman with a handsome man does not have positive compensating alpha female attributes; she is simply settling for a beta who happens to look good. (E.g., What’s wrong with him?)

In the mismatched couple I witnessed, it was clear that whatever good will or tokens of desire that the handsome man had inspired in his pigwoman were completely squandered by his beta behavior. It was easy to see by her loathsome demeanor that his looks no longer held — if they ever did beyond the first couple of dates — any sway over her feelings for him. But being the big fat pigwoman she is, she knew she could not do better.

And that is why the generational increase in human beauty is a slow, painstaking process, punctuated by tragic reversals to a sloping brow norm (see: Appalachia, Detroit). Handsome betas are polluting the gene pool with pigwoman blood.

Maxim #59: We tend to defer to looks as a judgment of a man’s sexual market value because that is what is most easily observable given situational and time constraints, but a man’s looks are only one male attractiveness trait among many that account for his desirability to women.

Corollary to Maxim #59: A woman’s sexual market value is more accurately judged solely by instant appraisal of her looks.

The next time you see a handsome man with an ugly woman, before you scratch your head in confusion remind yourself that you are not seeing the whole picture. A beta male’s soul is not always judged by his cover.

Then parade your hot girlfriend in front of him and his pigwoman. Hopefully, it will ignite a spark of manly fortitude, and his sack will grow three sizes that day.

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Feminist Gets Pumped And Dumped By PUA

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He made me laugh.

“He made me tingle.”

One drink turned into two,

Candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker!

two neighborhood bars into three,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’d never understood the reasoning behind that voice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The group Samantha.

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

The group fatty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m still going out with guys and getting tipsy

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

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Plan B

Roosh has a good post about date backup plans. I have little to add to the wisdom of having a Plan B for any first date, except to mention one thing I like to do. I sometimes have dates meet me at a bar on Trivia Night. (Yes, I’m a trivia nerd.) This is something I would have done regardless of the date, so I never feel like I’m going out of my way. This small tactical maneuver puts me in the right frame of mind of de-emphasizing the importance of the date. A woman likes to think that you have so many options that no one date means very much to you. Until she proves otherwise.

I usually show up before the trivia game starts and five minutes after the designated meeting time for the date. (Make it a habit to show up a little late for a first date. Women complain about lateness, but they can’t help being sexually intrigued by a man who flouts polite social convention.) If, on the outside chance, she flakes, I’m not out any of my time since I would have been there anyhow to play a game of trivia and drink good scotch. If the date doesn’t go well, I cut it short and head over to the other part of the bar where I can play. (If the girl awkwardly lingers in the bar after I say goodbye, I don’t let it fluster me. I know she feels a lot more awkward and will hightail it out of there once she sees that I have staked my ground.) If the date does go well, Trivia Night affords me an opportunity to have some fun with her, and showcase some of my most alpha trivia moves.

It helps to have friends who go to Trivia Nights regularly, because you can just join them in the fun, but it’s not necessary. I’ve played solo and with the staff, and joining other groups is not a big deal if you ask. Trivia Night is like a free love commune — superficially welcoming.

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An Old Chateau Concept Confirmed By Science

Years ago, the writers of this blog made the bold and controversial assertion that female economic empowerment and growing government largesse were helping to fuel the desire of women to ride the alpha cock carousel in their 20s, only to settle down with a beta provider later in life when their sexual peak had been passed.

Bleeding heart compassion has cursed blessed the country with layers of safety nets that subvert the natural cleansing of losers from contributing to the next generation. The result of all this government largesse is the substitution of handouts for husbands. When provider males who are predisposed to marry and support a family are worth less on the market than they used to be they are slowly replaced by playboys taking advantage of the sexual climate. Women who have their security needs met by Big Government (in combination with their own economic empowerment) begin to favor their desire for sexy, noncommital alpha males at the expense of their attraction for men who will foot the bills.

Prediction: As women’s financial status rises to levels at or above the available men in their social sphere, they will have great difficulty finding an acceptable long-term partner. The men, for their part, will turn away from emphasizing their ability to provide as they discover their mediocre-paying corporate jobs are no longer effective displays of mating value. They will instead emphasize the skills of “personality dominance”.

This blog = perceptive. Prophetic, even. Now science has come around to the Chateau point of view with a new study that shows women with money problems prefer softer, beta men who would make good resource provider candidates.

Those [women] primed to worry about their finances showed the least interest in the macho men, the Royal Society journal Biology Letters reports.

This, according to the Australian researchers, suggests that when money is short women are attracted to gentler types, who are seen as good providers and more likely to stick around when times are tough.

The macho men, however, were most attractive to the women made to worry about their health.

This may be because masculinity can be a sign of good genes – and a man who will give a woman strong and healthy children.

The researchers concluded there are evolutionary advantages in a woman’s taste in men being flexible.

This would allow women ‘to adapt their preferences to rapid changes in the environment such as pathogen outbreak or a famine’, they said.

Or to adapt their preferences to rapid changes in the environment such as the introduction of the Pill, feminism and economic self-sufficiency.

So here we have scientific evidence proving a core Chateau concept that women who are materially comfortable — as many women became after their assault on the workforce and colleges beginning in the 1970s — are less likely to seek out beta providers and more likely to indulge their hypergamous drives and sex it up with studly alpha cads; that is, until Father Time cruelly etches the first of his brandings on delicate, feminine faces. This would go a long way to explaining why age of first marriage has been steadily climbing since 1970; more years devoted to schooling to make the middle class money, yes, but also more years to slut it up with the high status alphas women truly desire but don’t need for material resource procurement.

Women who missed the big feminist bandwagon of the last 40 years and didn’t go to college or make a decent salary are the ones who pine for gentle, beta herbs to take them under their wing and provide a home, food and shopping money. So feminism has indeed been a boon for alpha males who want sex on the cheap with a harem of hypergamous concubines, and a living hell for betas who have been left out in the cold, waiting their turn for the ladies to age into their late 20s and 30s before getting a chance to drop on bended knee for the last ditch lock-up.

Also of note: Women who worried about health problems were attracted to the masculine studs. So if you are an alpha male with game and a goal to bed as many women as possible before kicking off, your best bet is to target hypochondriac careerist chicks.

If you are a beta male who would love nothing more than to snuggle after gently executed missionary sex and debate which color to paint the foyer, your best bet is to target in-shape athletic women who come from poor families and have crappy jobs.

Best,

Yours in politically incorrect but bracingly truthful dating advice.

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