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Archive for the ‘Fashion’ Category

I have a shirt that is Pure Shitlord Energy. Its pec-framed artistry is set to maximum triggering; no fatty, frump. or fug SJW can see it without shaking violently on the inside. I wore this shirt recently at an outdoor event filled with the libbiest libshits, and every SJWhale and problem glasses fishmouth snarled as I passed by them. But the hotties….woowee they smiled and loitered in my vicinity. The beauty of the shirt is in its humor. The message is in-your-face antediluvian alphatude coated with a soothingly humorous shell.

Shitcocking serves three useful purposes:

  1. It filters the noxious cunts from bang consideration
  2. It attracts the curious cuties
  3. It provokes curious cutie shit tests that allow you to demonstrate your grace under pressure

It seems the HSMV girls relish the triggering. They get a kick out of a man who triggers them; this is a stark contrast to the puritans and schoolmarms and twatalitarians who can’t tolerate dissent from their straitjacketed, dreary world view, and frown and scowl at any man who dares mock their prudery.

The catch is that if you’re gonna shitcock, you had better be fearless. The second you disclose through word or body twitch the slightest doubt and discomfort with your chosen form of shitcockery, the girls will eat you alive. Even the once-curious cuties. But if you are overflowing with overconfidence, the girls worth your attention will reel from sudden blasts of arousal. They will poke and prod, but it will all be done with a presumption of your attractiveness. Poking and prodding is a good thing; it’s when they frown and look the other way that you’ll know you rubbed their hindfur against the grain.

Mass triggering a large public gathering of shitlib cunts is one of life’s finer pleasures. But doing so while feminine fillies flirt with you, and your un-wipeable smirk steals the show, is a sensual shiv incomparable. If you’ve got the cahones, one mesmerizing shirt can substitute for one hundred cold approaches.

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It used to be that a woman would don an oversized men’s button-down shirt bathed in the afterglow of a mighty jackhammering, so that she could putter around in the kitchen for a post-coital snack. It is a sexy look, and was supposed to be meant for her man’s eyes only.

Somehow, in the past year, the shirt dress has migrated from the privacy of the bedroom to corporate boardrooms. The boardroom has become the bedroom. There are women wearing the equivalent of “I just got fucked” clothes in public. It’s not any less sexy to look at, but it is jarring to see it all over town. And most of these shirt dress-wearing women aren’t hedging their hedgerow with shorts underneath; that’s nothing but hip bone and panty peeking out from the high and tight shirt dress seam.

I’ll leave it as an exercise for the reader what the shirt dress trend says about our currently operative sexual market.

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I gotta get something off my privileged pale pecs. Male urbanwear/street fashion/business casual has really taken a nosedive in the last few years. Skinny pants that hug the leg and ankle or end halfway up the calf? Jeans so tight and femininely contoured that men wearing them sashay and look like they have birthing hips? Sweatpants cuffed at the ankle and leaving enough saggy material in the rump to hold a deuce? All-day pajamas?? Worse, pajama tops that don’t even match the bottoms?

WTF is this infantile androgynous shit? I can’t understand how any woman would be attracted to this look on a man. It’s as if the world’s fashion designers got together and declared, “How can we make men look as unmasculine as possible?”

Related, at about the same time male fashion started sucking androgyne nub, the amount of floor space clothing retailers have devoted to the men’s section has shrunk considerably. Either men aren’t buying clothes for themselves because they have no money and no hope of attracting a woman, or fashion has gone 100% gay homosexual. Or the internet has allowed the vidgya game-playing, porn-fapping, dropped-out generation(s) of men to subsist on the barest clothing essentials: t-shirts and underwear.

They way we’re heading, men’s underwear may soon be out of style, replaced by manties or an arrow and a “gloryhole input” sign.

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On my travels to the four corners of the globe, I’ve noticed something very telling about the casual fashion choices White women make within different contexts. Yoga pants, as most of you know, have been staples of the White woman wardrobe for years. Basically, yoga pants are underwear, worn in public. Most styles are extremely tight, some have thigh cuts that are see-through, and all display the camel toe in its full glory, leaving little to the imagination. A few styles cut a crevice so deep in the ass cheeks you can just make out the rusty starfish.

So yoga pants are the striver class-approved slut outfit for SWPL women who want to flaunt their sexy bodies and then bitch about beta males, who have the gall to possess functioning libidos, ogling them. See, proles and SWPL ladies are more alike than not; their goals are the same, but they choose to achieve those goals via different pathways of expression.

Anyhow, to the chewy center bursting with Bartholin’s flavor. In the blacker neighborhoods — the ones gentrifying but still menacing enough to put a pep in the step of Whites who venture out after 7pm or have to walk past throngs of friendly “teens” — you will rarely see White women in yoga pants. They are more conservatively dressed. Jeans are common. Leggings with a long-ish dress or skirt over them are also common. In the heat, shorts are tasteful; no underbutt. I’m talking about SWPL White women here; the ones with mid-paying jobs, sterling Women’s Studies credentials, and big brains they drown in mimosa juice. I’m not talking about the mudshark dregs with the tattoos and needle marks.

In contrast, in the Whitest huetopias, the skin-tight, labia-compressing yoga pants are everywhere. Where da sluttily-dressed White women at? In White neighborhoods. What’s going on here?

I have a thought. Striver White women soaked in a lifetime of feminist tankgrrl indoctrination dress to attract alpha males (while having to deal with the risk of sending the wrong advertising signal to beta males), and they dress to flaunt the power inherent in their number one asset (their figures, culminating to a point at the mons pubis). In White neighborhoods filled with hirsute hipster goons concealing weak jawlines, White women feel unrestricted freedom to flaunt their creases and cracks. This freedom makes them power-drunk, and they love the torment (or thought of it) that they can cause to erupt in the silent skullcases of fearful beta males ogling them from a safe distance.

In the blacker zones, this strategy doesn’t work. Way too risky. Black-on-White women rape is epidemic (leftie White women know this even though they’d never admit it). A darkpool of dindu nuffins loitering on a street corner, veins coursing with the liberating elixir of low impulse control, will not let a yoga pants sloot, with looks that shame the mammoth black beasts the brothers are used to boffing, walk by unmolested. One thing blacks don’t do: cast sidelong, shy glances from a distance while pretending not to notice the lingerie show strutting down the street. They will let a slutty White women know, in so many jungly hoots and howls, that her goods are the sheeeeiit, and they intend to sample them.

Naturally, there will be no White hipsters to white knight for her. And justifiably so. What noodle-arm would risk a five-on-one swarm because he stood up for the honor of some cunty careerist feminist White woman who thought it would be a good idea to display the contours of her vagina to the Congo line?

This, of course, scares feminist White women. Scares them enough that they shelve the yoga pants in favor of more modest attire when blacks are a significant part of the outdoors scenery. Then, in their spite and resentment and bitterness at having to concede the core reactor of their female power to a stronger force (naggers), they will go home and spew a river of Tumblrrhea about misogynist, racist White guys who oppress the POC.

One solution to this impasse: White beta males can start hitting on yoga panties and make them pay at least a small psychic cost for their skanky exhibitionism. The results of shifting White women’s expectation bias are a positive development for White men: Either a more chaste White womanhood emerges that defers as obsequiously to White men as to Machete-Americans, or White betas start scoring more poon which boosts their confidence and swagger and thereby coaxes some respect from the SWPL White women who for now can only spare their respect for the urban orcs that forcefully extract it from them.

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Welcome to AndrogyNation, where women are turned into feminist lackeys and start to comport themselves in ways that betray a venomous loathing of natural male desire. Exhibit A: Jennifer Lawrence post-locks:

Still smashable, but here she is from a bygone era with long hair:

499 out of 500 doctors of love agree… so much hotter.

Boycuts optimize the looks of vanishingly few women. The best you can say about a woman with short, cropped hair is that she looks almost as good as she does with long hair. Audrey Hepburn was a classic representative of the ingenue who looks impishly sexy with short hair. But long-haired photos of Audrey prove that she looked even better with her tresses out and about for a playful romp.

Given the near-universal preference of men for longer-haired women, it is then a mystery why women chop their hair off. Don’t women want to please men? They do, but cultural and sex ratio shifts can influence how weakly or strongly women feel the need to appease the sexual preferences of men.

The last period short hair styles were widely fashionable on women (as well as flapper dresses which concealed the female form) was the Roaring Twenties, a time of feminism, suffrage, intensified status striving, and growing wealth inequality. Sound familiar?

A social milieu in which protector and provider beta males economically fall behind, home and hearth become secondary considerations to riding the cock carousel, and status whoring among women reaches a crescendo is also a milieu wherein women don’t feel much need to look and behave in the demure feminine manner that is attractive to men. We are again ovaries deep in that androgynous America zeitgeist, one defined by masculinizing women and feminizing men. Expect it to get worse before it gets better (if it ever does).

Avowed feminists loathe male desire because most feminists are ugly and resent that they aren’t the objects of male desire. These loudmouthed bitterbitches drag normal women in their wake, and a general antipathy toward men and men’s sexual preferences, already pushed in motion by larger social forces, coalesces as malign media propaganda and institutional lunacy.

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This isn’t the first CH style post, but it is the most scientifically validated. The optimal color coordination is only moderately matched.

Fashion is an essential part of human experience and an industry worth over $1.7 trillion. Important choices such as hiring or dating someone are often based on the clothing people wear, and yet we understand almost nothing about the objective features that make an outfit fashionable. In this study, we provide an empirical approach to this key aesthetic domain, examining the link between color coordination and fashionableness. Studies reveal a robust quadratic effect, such that that maximum fashionableness is attained when outfits are neither too coordinated nor too different. In other words, fashionable outfits are those that are moderately matched, not those that are ultra-matched (“matchy-matchy”) or zero-matched (“clashing”). This balance of extremes supports a broader hypothesis regarding aesthetic preferences–the Goldilocks principle–that seeks to balance simplicity and complexity.

Excessively color matched people look try-hard and dorky. Color clashing people look unkempt and imperceptive. The sweet spot is looking like you took some care to put yourself together, but not too much care. You look good in the whole, but glimmers of rebellion and inattentiveness adorn your aura. You might call this fashion rule the sartorial equivalent of the Careless Aloof Asshole attitude.

Interestingly, the color scheme that is most fashionable to the human eye is a metaphor for the social scheme that is most attractive to the female heart. Ambiguity is chicknip. Women neither want socially awkward (socially clashing) men, nor romantically obvious (sexually try-hard) men. Women love most those men who are smooth talkers acting on a boldness leavened with a plausibly deniable doubtfulness of intention.

Push-pull. Hot/cold/hot/cold. Good advice in matters sexual and stylistic.

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Another assembly-line lib tart crudely trying to impersonate a frat bro crossed with a flaming gay man wrote an article titled “Fashion mistakes women despise about men“. The definitiveness of the sartorial errors aside, “despise” strikes one as an unusually strong word to describe how women feel when they see a man with an undershirt poking out of the top of his button-down. Women despise supplicating beta males; they joke amongst their friends about poor fashion taste.

But in the spirit of the day — Be All The Cunt You Can Be — here’s the CH version:

Fashion Mistakes Men Despise About Women

it’s not a curtsy, it’s a girthsy

Fat.

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