Carolyn Hax, Man-Hating Algorithm

Ah, Carolyn Hax, Style columnist for that paragon of post-truth propaganda, The Washington Post, has been the subject of tender ministrations here at the Chateau before. Well, she’s back for some more very special lessons.

In her advice column, (goddamn she gets paid for this shit?), she dispenses her wisdom to an astute emailer who wonders why chicks dig jerks.

Washington, D.C.: How come if a woman has dated both “nice” guys and abusive guys, you’ll find out that in just about every case, her longest relationships have been with the abusive guys? Why do so many women require some form of drama to remain entertained in a relationship, and do you find this to be childish behavior?

Carolyn Hax: Not as childish as attributing this to women as opposed to people in general, and lumping all women as opposed to addressing some of them who have a similar set of circumstances, and blaming the victims instead of the abusers.

But other than that, I’m right there with you.

If you are a guy, and if you are angry that women aren’t receptive to you when you see yourself as a “nice” guy, and you believe these women are instead receptive to abusive guys, then maybe it would be productive to consider that you’re harboring attitudes about women (and men, for that matter) that aren’t really “nice” at all.

The emailer is, of course, correct. Any man with a lick of experience with women will know the score — hot babes often spend their prime years in the carelessly aloof arms of assholes. Hax surely knows this in the primitive part of her brain, but the sophistic hamster-driven part is the one writing her insipid advice columns, and so she squirts tepid fembot anti-generalization shibboleths right on cue when someone shines a glimmer of reality in front of her face.

Hax, the truth that makes you so uncomfortable, and which will now gleefully be retold to maximize the pain this will cause you should you stumble across this post, is this:

Chicks, particularly the hottest chicks men want to fuck the most, are irresistibly drawn to assholes. Uncaring assholes, to be exact. There is a simple explanation for why so many men of varying virtue and character and success with women make this oft-repeated claim, and no recourse to lame excuses about “blaming the victim” or “bitter beta males who aren’t really as nice as they say” are needed. That simple explanation which eludes you is that the observation is true. Occam’s Razor never did give nothing to the feminist, that she didn’t, didn’t already deny.

Let’s deconstruct Hax’s reply for shits and giggles.

“Not as childish as attributing this to women as opposed to people in general”

Fallacy of gender equalism. When forced to ponder female mating behavior that is less than angelic, feminists will often resort to the “Yeah, but he does it too, Mom!” form of argument. It’s not a very good debate tactic, but it’s made even worse by the fact that it’s a lie. Men are not attracted to asshole girls. Men are attracted to sweet, feminine, hot girls with minimal drama. The holy fucking grail of chickianity is the drama-free, faithful, feminine and beautiful babe. That more than a few of these beautiful babies bring drama with them is sometimes not enough negative externality to turn men off from fucking them. Or even marrying them.

Women, on the other hand, will often fuck assholes even when those assholes bring nothing else of value to the table except their aloof and indifferent charms.

Yes, Mz. Hax, chicks really do dig jerks. They love jerks so much that the bed bounces off the floor when they fuck them.

“and lumping all women as opposed to addressing some of them who have a similar set of circumstances”

Women, and especially fembots, cannot distinguish between rules and exceptions. Thus, they are prone to mistakenly and hilariously refuting general rules on the basis that exceptions exist using the highly Socratic argument known as “proof by indignation at lumping”. In this formulation, noticing a general trend is the equivalent of “lumping”, and lumping is the impotent brain blurt of bitter betaboys and losers. For no man who isn’t a failure with women could possibly notice general tendencies that the female sex shares. Right? See, it’s ipso facto all the way down.

“and blaming the victims instead of the abusers.”

If the girl is choosing to stay with the “abuser”, then she’s not a victim. Victims aren’t normally happily in love with their tormentors. And it’d help if you slippery cunts would clarify what exactly you mean by “abusive”. Plenty of assholes don’t raise a hand to their lovers, but tease, mock, and patronize them in such a way that polite society socialites would publicly denounce for the edification of their SWPL tribe, but then secretly masturbate to with the blinds drawn. If the man is truly bad news, then the girl who stays with him deserves some of the blame for her predicament. That’s right, mothafuckaaaaaa. I said it. I meant it. It’s out there.

“But other than that, I’m right there with you.”

Snark: the universal feminist response to anything that rattles their exquisitely manicured worldview.

“If you are a guy”

It’s time to take back the word man. “Guy” has become the semantical substitute for nebulous eunuch-type humanoid. It is a neutering affectation.

“and if you are angry that women aren’t receptive to you when you see yourself as a “nice” guy, and you believe these women are instead receptive to abusive guys”

It’s telling that she puts nice in scare quotes, but doesn’t do the same with abusive.

“then maybe it would be productive to consider that you’re harboring attitudes about women (and men, for that matter) that aren’t really “nice” at all.”

And here we get to the shriveled black heart of the archetypical thundercunt. If a man notices something about women’s nature that could be construed as unpleasant, he is a woman-hating loser. Since there are no negative generalizations — or any generalizations at all — that can be made about women, it stands to reason that men who do so have issues.

Hmm, now what other modern day leftie newspeak designed to thwart honest discussion about heretical social realities does this remind you of?

******

Update

The anti-SWPL in the exchange above who shocked the world with his plain speaking about what his lying eyes were seeing emailed Hax again for a clarification.

Washington, D.C.: So you’re saying that there’s no segment of women that require drama to be entertained, and I have an attitude problem for disliking drama? Again, when you confront a woman who has been in abusive relationships, which is relatively common, why are their abusive relationships the longest relationships they have? You’d think that the relationship with non abusive men would be the longer relationships, right?

Carolyn Hax: Not if you know anything about abusive relationships. If they were easy to resist and easy to leave, nobody would be in them.

And if you don’t see that men get into relationships with abusive women, and stay with them long past the point of reason, and generate enough drama per couple for a Lifetime movie marathon, then you’re not looking for information, you’re looking to score points.

Sounds like Hax is backpedaling on her original claim that the emailer is a bitter “non-niceguy” with woman issues. So she’s now agreeing with him that women enter abusive relationships. Hax, keep your feminist talking points straight. Is the man who generalizes about women a loser, or are women victims for being so honestly generalizable?

This canard that women can’t resist or leave abusive relationships is utter bullshit. Funny, women seem to have no trouble at all resisting the come-ons of non-assholes, or leaving relationships with beta boyfriends. Where will she go? To whom will she turn? What about the chance he might stalk her? Those questions never come up when the man she’s leaving is a man she doesn’t love.

And what is it with Hax’s contention that men get into relationships with abusive women? Is this imaginary belief supposed to refute the emailer’s original point about women devoting the best years of their lives to long term relationships with assholes? She sounds befuddled by the inconsistencies in her logic. Attention all planets of the fembot federation. The hamster has assumed control. The hamster has assumed control. *squeak!*

The projection by Hax is astounding. Is she looking for information, or is she looking to score points? So far, we have her on record as accusing the emailer of having an attitude problem with respect to women. Sounds like Hax is open to a bracingly fresh and candid discussion! Not.

Men prefer to get into relationships with hot women. Hot women, by virtue (or by vice) of their expanded options in the sexual market, sometimes have bitchier attitudes than less attractive women who must compete by winning men over with sparkling personalities and easier access to their pussies. This does not mean hot women are bitchy all the time, or to all men, but many of them will be bitchy to men they are dating if they feel the men aren’t the best they can get. Nor does this mean those men prefer their women to be bitchy to them; men would much rather hot babes not act bitchy, but will resignedly put up with the bitchiness if she is the hottest they can have at the moment. Men do not chase bitches for the sake of their bitchiness, but women will chase assholes for the sake of their assholery.

Hax, if this wasn’t clear enough, here’s a clue. The reason there are widely-held stereotypes about women chasing after assholes all out of proportion to a few anecdotes about fetishistic men who chub for bitches is because…

wait for it….

hang on…

here it comes….

it’s true!

Do you think stereotypes materialize out of thin air? Here’s another stereotype for you: cunty urban yentas are the last source of advice a man who wants to understand women should turn to.

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Proximity Alerts

Mystery discusses the attraction signals girls send when they are in the vicinity of a man they wish would approach them.

He makes a very good point toward the end of the video. In groups of two or more girls who are loitering near you, it’s the girl with her back to you who is the one who finds you attractive. In my experience, this is true almost all the time. It must be something subconscious which triggers a clutch of chicks to automatically arrange themselves in this manner. The advantage it offers the interested girl would be a chance to discuss with her friends — who have their eyes on you and are judging your reaction to their presence — whether you are checking her out and how alpha you are up close, while simultaneously giving her plausible deniability that she would like you to approach.

See, girls have game, too. It’s called coyness.

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Chicks Dig Jerks: Game Is Its Own Status

I love the chicks dig jerks series. Why? Because nothing better reveals the actual, instead of professed, sexual preferences of women than the real life men they boff. And quite often these men are the bunghole of society.

Today’s installment would be frickin hilarious if it weren’t also so bloody violent. Eh, it’s still a knee slapper.

Two pretty girls enter the ring to fight over one thug wannabe. One girl will not leave, killed when the other girl stabbed her in the chest with a kitchen knife and left her to die in the street.

It starts with a love triangle. Always best for bringing the drama.

He did it again, Sarah told her best friend.

Her boyfriend, Josh, kept saying she was the only one. He’d been telling her that the whole time they’d been together. More than a year.

But that day she found out he had been hanging out with his ex — this girl named Rachel.

All morning, while she suffered through school, Rachel was texting Sarah, boasting that Josh was with her. Again.

One of the leading indicators of alphaness is how many women fight over your asshole affections.

I’m so over it, Sarah said.

Maxim #73: When a girl emphatically insists she is so over you, she’s never been more into you.

He did it again, Rachel said.

Her boyfriend, Josh, had slept over the night before, then bolted. He swore he cared about her, but it didn’t feel that way.

Worst of all, she kept finding evidence that he was still seeing his ex — this girl named Sarah.

Playa gonna play!

For months, Rachel’s friends had been telling her to forget about Josh. She could have any guy she wanted.

It’s true. These pretty girls who pine for lowlife assholes have lots of choices in conventionlly defined high quality men. Yet they cling like baby chimps to their jerk lovers. Wazzup wit dat, B?

Rachel and Sarah hated each other, saw each other as competition. But they were more alike than either would have liked to admit.

And more alike to a hundred million other women. Once you strip away the packaging and the cocktail party fluff, women are essentially interchangeable. Players know this, which is why they swim in pussy while romantic idealists struggle to claim one overharvested plot of poon.

So who is this dashing Lothario the girls love with all their young hearts and open snatches? Meet Josh Camacho.

But the main thing Rachel and Sarah shared was Josh Camacho. […]

Josh had curly hair, the color of coal, spilling across sculpted shoulders. Black eyes, a long nose, wide lips curled into a sneer. His dark jeans hung low on his slim hips. He stood about 5 feet 5, but walked with the swagger of a bigger man.

Josh loved posing for cell phone portraits: flexing his biceps, waving a gun, showing off the tattoo that arcs across his back in inch-high Gothic letters: CAMACHO.

While seeing both Sarah and Rachel, Josh kept up a relationship with a third teenager, a girl he called “my baby mama.” They’d had a son together. He spent time with the baby but didn’t pay child support.

For a while, in high school, Josh cooked at Chick-fil-A and Pollo Tropical. But after graduation, he didn’t go to college, didn’t have a steady job or a car.

Chick-fil-A! That’s high status, ladies.

Here is a photo of the three lovebirds:

So what does this guy bring to the table? Let’s see…

Good looks? Not really. He’s got the skinny man six pack going for him, though. And of course the… ahem… exotic allure.

Money? Nope.

Job status? No.

Social status? Not any societally approved status. But he does have multiple women chasing him, which is a powerful form of social status. In fact, the most powerful kind.

Fame? Not when this was going down. But now he’s been preselected through the roof! Go long on his future lay rate.

Kindness, emotional support, and domestic chore splitting? No, no and fuck no.

Looks to me like this guy doesn’t offer women much of anything, if we go by what women — and the entire cultural apparatus — tell us that men should be offering them. But wait, there’s more. Here is what Senõr Camacho *does* bring to the table:

A cocky smirk. Slay lady, slay.

A righteous tattoo. Because how better to advertise your reproductive fitness than a self-referential tribute etched into your back?

A cool, unflustered demeanor. He knows the pussy is coming, so why sweat it?

And game. Oh yes, my friends, this kid has got game, and got it good. Keep reading for a prime example.

A lot of doubters of the efficacy of game insist that game is a charade that only works in the short term to fool women, and that women will eventually figure out the man doesn’t have “real” high status. Stories like this put the lie to that thinking. Game is its own status; the mere application of game is a demonstration of status, and not just a proxy for status. A cocky smirk and a devil-may-care attitude is as much real male status as a big bankroll. Often, it’s higher status. See: Mark Zuckerberg. This loser thug gets more and higher quality — yes, HIGHER QUALITY — pussy than a fucking billionaire.

And the continual application of game causes it to become second nature, an unthinking process, so that it is no longer a deliberate mimicking of the alpha traits women love but an extension of a man’s nature. Josh Camacho may have been born with some natural game, but undoubtedly his first successes with women reinforced whatever latent confidence he had, and the smirk that started as an affect soon became a subconscious reflection of his weighty ballsack and supercharged ego. Game will do the same for any man; the successes with women build on each other until your alpha pose isn’t a pose anymore. The opposite is also true: continual failures with women will build on each other until the latent, baby beta in you grows and consumes your soul.

Conclusion: if you want to nail good-looking women as efficiently as possible, and to keep them around fighting for your attention, start with learning game.

Game/charisma — One to six months to begin seeing results.

Money — Five to fifty years to earn enough to make a difference in attracting women.

High status professional career — Four to twelve years slogging through academia for the proper credentials.

Fame — Infinitesimally low odds.

Good looks — Luck. Or plastic surgery (see: money).

It’s a no-brainer.

Furthermore, if you want to bang the HOTTEST babes, learn uncaring asshole game. The hotter the girl, the more she will tingle for an unrepentant asshole. Corollary: if you want to date haggard cougars who’ve been plunged like a backed up toilet for twenty years and would settle for any old kind-hearted beta to help them raise their bastard spawn, then skip the asshole game. It’s overkill.

What was it about Josh that was so alluring? What made the girls swoon and dream of him at night and exclaim their undying love and tell their friends and family that “He’s special. You don’t see what I see in him” and stab a competitor in the heart in a jealous rage?

Well, here’s a telling glimpse at the source of his power:

Sarah texted Josh.1:06 p.m.: “Whatever Josh, you get so mad at me for everything but you don’t give a shit when she puts something up or says something. You always believe her.”

1:08 p.m. “It’s like no matter what I do she’s always that much better.”

1:13 p.m. “All we fight about is her or something that has to do with her, and it sucks. I hate fighting with you . . . I love you so much, but this shit hurts.”

Hours passed. Sarah tried again.

6:36 p.m. “You say you love me, but you don’t even have the decency to text me back?”

Finally, at 8:02 p.m., Josh typed, “Bring the movies.”

“Bring the movies.” Step aside, Skittles Man, there’s a new kid in town — Bring the Movies Man. This kid has mastered laconic text game. Overgaming man should take note. In the future, whenever I hit a stumbling block with a woman I’m trying to bed, I’ll remember the philosophy of “bring the movies”, and instantly my game will tighten and my ladykiller attitude will reassert itself.

Damn this chick isn’t calling me back? Wait… bring the movies!

Three dates and we still haven’t banged… bring the movies!

How do I reply to this weird text from her? Bring the movies!

She’s trying to make me jealous by flirting with another guy. Bring the movies!

She refuses to do anal. Bring the movies!

What else did Josh Camacho have going for him that girls found irresistible? He understood female psychology, and used that knowledge to his adavantage.

“When a teenage girl feels another girl is intruding on her territory, when she feels someone is disrespecting her, those are the things that upset them most.”

Josh Camacho may have understood this. Though he later denied saying it, his girlfriends remember him declaring, “If you love me, you’ll fight for me.”

Is this manipulation? Or romance? Whichever it is, in-demand girls can’t get enough of it.

Sarah was her dad’s sidekick. He took her to karate classes, Lightning games, Keith Urban concerts. She rode beside him in his cab, blaring the radio, singing country songs.

“Sarah loved to sing and dance,” said Danielle Eyermann, her friend since preschool. “She was always making up these crazy moves, pretending she was Britney Spears.”

Sarah also loved the cock of badboys. Like most hot chicks.

What I just wrote above is harsh, but necessary. The sugar and spice veneer needs to be stripped to the knotted wood below. Fathers across America need to understand what motivates their blossoming daughters, what primal forces shape their decisions and their reckless impertinence. For without that understanding, many parents will continue being hoodwinked by the predators in the weeds. And the predator isn’t who they think it is…

it’s their own daughters’ ids.

“[Sarah] just fell in love with [Josh Camacho], right then,” Amber said.

He said his name was Josh. Soon, he would be a senior at Pinellas Park High.

Two months later, Sarah told her parents she wasn’t sure she still wanted to be a veterinarian.

She didn’t know what she wanted to do, really. Except transfer to Pinellas Park.

Feminists wept. And yet, I’m sure they’ll find some way to rationalize the patriarchy for being at fault of dashing this young girl’s career dreams. Must be stereotype threat, or something.

Josh’s command of game is obivous:

Josh and Sarah flirted through the summer. But that fall at Pinellas Park High, he would hardly acknowledge her. He would just cut his eyes at her, Amber said, tip his chin.

In November, they finally got together. But even then, “he would never hold her hand or walk with her, claim her in front of other people,” Amber said. “When they were alone, he was all over her.”

PDA is beta. Josh understood this.

Everyone said Josh was Sarah’s first kiss, her first boyfriend, her first everything. He made her feel beautiful, like she mattered.

But her friends were worried. The first sign was when Sarah started wearing pants. Sarah always wore shorts. Even in winter.

“Josh didn’t want other guys to see her legs,” Amber said. “He started telling her who she could hang out with, who she could talk to.”

Chicks like to be led by men with psychosocial dominance. Josh understood this.

Sarah started spending all her time with Josh. She was so scared of losing him that she was losing herself.

Chicks love the drama of unstable relationships. Josh understood this.

Josh saw himself as tough and streetwise. Sarah pretended she was too. On her cell phone, she stored photos of Josh apparently smoking pot, Josh waving a gun. She downloaded hip-hop songs like Stop Callin’ Me and Chopped N Skrewed.

Chicks love men with strong identities. Josh understood this.

Where was Sarah’s father in all this?

She begged her dad for a pit bull. “You gotta be joking!” he remembers saying. He referred to Josh as “the rat.” He kept telling her, “That boy is no good.”

“But she was in love,” Charlie Ludemann said. “You can’t do nothing about a teenage girl in love.”

“The rat”. Pretty accurate description. Ok, so the father was aware the kid was a loser. But he sounds stupid — “can’t do nothing” — so it’s likely he didn’t have the brainpower to figure out a plan of action. Too bad, because there is something you can do about your teen daughter in love with a badboy…

You can ritualistically humiliate him in front of her. Nothing drains the passion from a girl’s love faster than a public diminution in her lover’s status.

Let’s see if the father took my advice:

He couldn’t keep Sarah away from Josh, so he invited Josh over for dinner, took him to ball games. To keep an eye on him.

“Don’t let nothing happen to her,” he said.

Nope. Instead, he elevated the kid’s status and welcomed him into the family. Dumbass. So how’d that “don’t let nothing happen to her” work out for you, pops?

Sarah had never been in any kind of trouble, but now that started to change.

In the first six months she was with Josh, police interviewed her six times, all over public confrontations. She and Josh screamed at each other at intersections. Yelled at Josh’s baby mama in the parking lot of the movies. Once, Sarah said Josh had punched her in the face and he admitted it. Her parents wanted her to press charges, but Sarah wouldn’t.

Chicks fall in love with men who hit them ALL THE TIME. It’s the dirtiest little secret about female psychology that the feminists try so desperately to keep hidden from public consciousness. I’m not surprised Sarah balked at pressing charges.

The next time her name was in a police report, Rachel’s was in it too.

Cat fights are sexy until someone’s pierced heart is spurting blood onto the street.

Soon a comment appeared under Rachel’s post. It suggested that Josh had “found better.”

It was from Sarah.

The biggest misogynists are other women.

Sarah didn’t feel she was worthy of Josh. Without a job or a car, how could she compete? Plus, she told her friends, she still had a curfew!

Rachel is so much prettier, she thought.

But she had already given everything to this guy — her senior year, her heart, her virginity. If he didn’t want her anymore, who would?

Rachel was cocky. How could Josh want anyone else? Look at her, she had her own car, her own apartment.

She was so much prettier than Sarah.

Camacho was playing these two girls like a fiddle. Master game. And all it required was an aloof attitude, an amused demeanor, and a terse communication style.

About 11 p.m., the time Sarah was supposed to be home, she and Josh were playing Wii at his sister’s house when headlights pierced the windows.

Josh recognized the car: Rachel’s red Saturn.

“Now I know why you’re not talking to me — because you got her,” Rachel texted Josh.

“That’s right,” typed Josh.

Alpha. No apology, no dissembling. If you thought that would turn off the girl, you thought wrong. The Betas of the Month winners could learn from this kid.

It’s a wonder [Camacho] had the dexterity: By then, he later admitted, he had thrown back five vodka shots and smoked seven White Owl blunts of marijuana.

“I don’t like you no more. Why are you down this street? Go home.”

I think I’ve ably proved the point of this post. To go on would be torture for the pretty lie pissants. I’ll just end on this game-unrelated note:

America is doomed. Way to go, progressive elites. GOOD JOOOOORB.

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Proof Of The Modern American Harem

Back in this post I tantalizingly wrote that the female predilection for having sex with a small cohort of alpha males was proven by the rates of venereal disease transmission.

Twice as many women as men have genital herpes. This could only happen if a smaller group of infected men is giving the gift of their infectious love to a larger group of women. Looks like female hypergamy is conclusively proved.

Some commenters, though, remained unconvinced. Well, there’s more proof of the universal law of female hypergamy, the sexual cornucopia of alpha males, and the near-celibate aridity of beta males. Did you think I was finished after busting one nut?

Exhibit A: 80% of women and only 40% of men reproduced in human history.

Recent research using DNA analysis answered this question about two years ago. Today’s human population is descended from twice as many women as men.

I think this difference is the single most underappreciated fact about gender. To get that kind of difference, you had to have something like, throughout the entire history of the human race, maybe 80% of women but only 40% of men reproduced.

If you were a man living 4,000 years ago and you knew that you only had a 40% shot at sweet sexual release with the women of your tribe, would you tend toward short-sightedness or have the temperament of someone with a well-developed future time orientation? Would you put more emphasis on learning how to swing a club or mastering the multiplication tables? Compare and contrast with today’s geographic distribution of sociosexual norms.

But maybe things have changed?, some of you will argue. Yes, I believe these ratios have changed with the advent of Christianity, the nuclear family, and Western civilization in general. How much the 80-40 ratio was altered by the preeminence of the rising West is subject to debate, but there’s no doubt that strong patriarchal norms and a social and religious proscription against infidelity and hoarding of women contributed to the increased sexual access of beta males. If I had to guess, I’d say at the high water mark of the kingdom of beta (1950s America? Victorian England?) 90+% of men had nominally exclusive low risk sexual access to unmarried, childless women during the women’s prime fertile years.

But that was then. As this blog has claimed for the past three years, there is change in the wind. The future is the past. The constraints on female, and to a lesser extent male, sexual choice are lifting and the hindbrain is reasserting itself, waving its banner of bloody tooth and claw as it crests over the hilltop. The pendulum is swinging back. The 80-40 ratio may yet return to claim its rightful throne.

That is, unless the reconstructed monogamous Mormoms and Orthodox outbreed the seculars and morlocks. It’ll be a demographic cage match between zealots and orcs as SWPLs haughtily congratulate themselves until there is no one left to admire their virtuous posturing. Fun for the whole family! Kinda makes the latest iPod release seem trivial by comparison.

******

Exhibit B: The rise of the “hook-up” culture among teen and college-age women may be a leading indicator of a forceful female hypergamy reshaping the sexual market, (or responding to it).

Abstract: “Hooking-up” – engaging in no-strings-attached sexual behaviors with uncommitted partners – has become a norm on college campuses, and raises the potential for disease, unintended pregnancy, and physical and psychological trauma. The primacy of sex in the evolutionary process suggests that predictions derived from evolutionary theory may be a useful first step toward understanding these contemporary behaviors. This study assessed the hook-up behaviors and attitudes of 507 college students. As predicted by behavioral-evolutionary theory: men were more comfortable than women with all types of sexual behaviors; women correctly attributed higher comfort levels to men, but overestimated men’s actual comfort levels; and men correctly attributed lower comfort levels to women, but still overestimated women’s actual comfort levels. Both genders attributed higher comfort levels to same-gendered others, reinforcing a pluralistic ignorance effect that might contribute to the high frequency of hook-up behaviors in spite of the low comfort levels reported and suggesting that hooking up may be a modern form of intrasexual competition between females for potential mates. […]

Popular media coverage may be sensationalistic, and undoubtedly influences attitudes and sexual behavior in adolescents and young adults. However, the hook-up phenomenon is not merely a creation of the media; rather, the media seems to be reflecting an actual shift in behavior. Such casual sexual experiences among college students are by no means a product of the 21st century; “one-night stands” and “casual sex” have been studied without the current “hook-up” context (Boswell and Spade, 1996; Cates, 1991; Maticka-Tyndale, 1991). However, the high prevalence of these behaviors, coupled with an openness to display and discuss them, appears to be recent, particularly with respect to women (see Reitman, 2006).

Now why would women be quick to believe that other women are more comfortable with hooking up than they actually are (pluralistic ignorance)? The study authors suggest evolution has primed humans to embrace pluralistic ignorance when the sexual marketplace changes and it is in the interest of the individual to do so.

We expect that because human psychological processes are the product of evolution, the capacity and tendency to exhibit pluralistic ignorance – particularly with respect to sexual/reproductive behavior – must reflect the evolved best interest of individuals, and thus be predictable on the basis of evolutionary theory and sexual selection. […]

Several predictions follow from these evolutionary sex differences. First, men are predicted to be more comfortable than women with all hook-up behaviors. Second, each gender is predicted to know the gender-specific strategy of the opposite gender. […] Third, individuals of each gender are predicted to know the gender-specific strategy of their own gender. […]

[M]odern Western women live in cultures in which there are simultaneously large differentials in male resources and status, and imposed marital monogamy, the combination of which is expected to provoke intrasexual competition among females for potential mates (Gaulin and Boster, 1990). Engaging in uncommitted sex may be one form of female-female competition. If this is so, we would predict that women attribute to other women comfort levels that are higher than they, themselves, feel; this would generate PI that would heighten women’s awareness of potential threats from female competitors and may motivate women to engage in competition.

Fascinating. Women are slutting it up because they fear competition from other women taking their men. This is another confirmation of my analysis of modern society: as the sexual revolution freed women and men to act on their desires outside of a marital framework, women’s sexuality became their primary, in fact their only, bargaining chip to secure attention and commitment from attractive (read: alpha) men.

And what about the male side of the equation? Well, it’s not betas this hookup culture is benefiting. At least, not while the women are young and at their hottest. Women don’t fight intrasexually for the gift of tepid beta spooge. They’re fighting for the choice cuts of meat. If the structurally numerous betas were getting pursued by women, then the market would reach saturation and there would be few unhitched women to compete against each other; but because women prefer dating up into the arms of de facto harem leaders, the female-to-female competition rages at a heated pitch.

Now it should be noted that a few upper betas may ride the hookup wave to more sex than they would’ve gotten in a less licentious culture, but for the most part it’s alphas that are enjoying the bounty of free pussy. This is why game has come at JUST THE RIGHT TIME in our culture’s hedonistic careen — it’s allowed men to fully capitalize on an already emergent trend toward hooking up with dominant, flashy alphas. In another time, game would’ve served the function of strengthening relationships instead of fostering hookups.

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Exhibit C: Our currently operational sexual market is influencing women to prefer short term hookups favoring alpha male harem builders over long term commitments favoring beta male nest builders.

Short-term sexual appeal largely rested on targets’ attractiveness, particularly among women with an unrestricted sociosexual orientation. Dating appeal was dependent on attractiveness, particularly among unrestricted women, and on ambition. Ambition and attractiveness synergistically influenced targets’ long-term desirability, and these preferences were not moderated by women’s sociosexual orientation.

The take home point: as cultural and biological constraints have lifted, women are giving more weight to their preference for short term hookups with bold, dominant alpha males. (The women would probably prefer long term relationships with these alphas, but if they are given free rein to choose between a flighty alpha and a commited beta, the alpha wins more often than not. That is, until the woman is past her peak and losing sexual leverage by the day.)

You’ll note a common theme in all the above studies: women’s sexuality is wilder and more dangerous than men’s, and absent social shaming and other similarly restricting mechanisms designed to encourage “acceptable” (i.e. civilization enhancing) sexual behavior, women will quickly revert to their more primitive 80-40 norm.

The $4.7 trillion dollar debt question: Is a reversion to the 80-40 norm inevitable? And, even more discomfiting, does the modern welfare state guarantee a return of the 80-40 norm as a sort of “cleaning house” that will purge the overpopulating dregs and filth and help continue human evolutionary progress as our one true god, the Lord DNA, intended?

We lament the betas, but we wouldn’t be the humans we are today if those 60% of bygone male rejects tossed to the icy wastelands in unrelenting pain and misery had instead gone on to enjoy sex and love in the bosoms of wonderful women who bore them children. Had our sympathies been retroactively indulged, we might still today be digging in the dirt for tubers and termites instead of arguing about the oppressive patriarchy.

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Commenters sometimes complain I don’t bring the science to back up my personal observations, honed as they are by a very keen eye, a finger on the pulse of cultural trends, and an empathic understanding of human psychology. If you want a steady stream of backing science, feel free to open an institute in the Chateau’s name and hack away. Meantime, I’ll be skipping the lab work and enjoying myself with the best pleasures of life. You can sleep easy that about 80% of my observations are eventually corroborated by scientific evidence.

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Of Manjaws And Furry Forearms

Have a cuckold fetish for relationships with sluts who are likely to cheat? Want to get into relationships with sluts who are likely to put out quickly, and to fuck like the energizer bunny? Date women with big chins!

If you have not already chosen your new love, researchers suggest you stay away from those with big chins as they have a tendency to cheat. Researchers from four universities across the US and Canada prodded into the sexual habits of chinny and relatively chin-less females to determine these results.

Kidding? No, they’ve published in the journal Personality And Individual Differences, so it must be true. Larger chins, especially on adult females, are associated with the male growth hormone testosterone and too much of that bad boy can lead to messing around. It seems on an unconscientious level men sense this trend and are biased against a more masculine chin. […]

“The findings are important in demonstrating that perceptions of women as desirable and trustworthy long-term mates can be reliably gleaned by men from viewing only the women’s facial features.

“Results suggest that information about women’s sexual unrestrictedness, which is related to their risk of infidelity, can potentially be conveyed by the masculinity of women’s faces.”

Hogwash you say? Perhaps you are already hooked up with said chin-cheater? Well, they may cheat, but you may also have found a sexual goldmine. Women (and perhaps men) with larger chins are also more sexually assertive and perhaps better in bed.

Yet again the science proves me right. Always ahead of the curve, I am. Over three years ago I wrote in this post about generalizing the sexual habits of women based on physical or behavioral traits:

Does she have lots of dark forearm hair?

Girls with this have more circulating testosterone.  They will be more likely to sleep with you by date 3.  Although forearm hair on a girl is unattractive, rejoice when you see it, because it means the moment of sexual congress is nigh.

Big chins, manjaws and dark forearm hair on women are all signs of exposure to high levels of testosterone. And women who have been thusly exposed like to fuck — hard, often, and usually with lots of different men. If you are doing a girl doggy style, and a thatch of thick ass crack hair is staring back at you, you can bet she’s exceeded the national female median of three lifetime sex partners. Have your fun, but don’t make the dumb mistake of marrying her. Or, really, spending any money on her, since she won’t require much male resource display before she’s willing to spread.

Thanks to the additional scientific evidence buttressing my personal observations, we can now add big chins and manjaws to the list of slut tells I outlined in my infamous post describing how easy it is to identify a slut. If you are an inexperienced younger man who wants to know if your girlfriend is marriage material, this blog will arm you with the knowledge you need.

To summarize:

Manjaws are more likely to:

• fuck on the first date
• fuck for hours in every room of the house
• cheat
• need a psychologically dominant boyfriend to keep her faithful.

Personally, as a normal man with normal tastes in women, I prefer feminine girls with dainty jaws and chins and soft flat bellies that aren’t ripped six packs. So Leno-chinned women of the world are not much concern to me, except insofar as their numbers in the general female population seem to be increasing of late, and thus causing the aggregate beauty in the world to shrink. As a lover of beauty, I consider this environmental destruction. Luckily, manjaws are less prevalent in younger women, so I will do my part to help the environment by casting out older women to the wastelands of solitary cougardom where their jutting mandibles can do no harm to anyone except 18 year old boys desperate to lose their virginity.

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Why You Should Leave After Sex

Because it will signal your high male mate status:

Chapter 5, “Green-Eyed Desire: From Guarding a Mate to Trading Up,” deals with other economic constraints relating to the human mating market. Women appear to use sex to help guard male mates by keeping them satisfied, reminding men what they stand to lose should they defect—or as many women in the study put it, “keep[ing] his mind off other women.” Women also seem to be motivated to sometimes have sex with other men as a way of gaining information about their mate value or to obtain a better partner—i.e., to “trade-up” in the mating market. Attracting a high-quality mate can allow a woman to enhance and evaluate her mate value, and many women cited this as a reason to have sex. The authors refer to research showing that women do this more often around ovulation.

So what does this have to do with leaving a woman’s company soon after sex? Much can be inferred from the study results in the quote above. For instance, if women use sex to keep a mate satisfied and his mind off chasing other women, then a hasty post-coitus skedaddle undermines her mate guarding efforts; she will be compelled to try even harder in the sack next time. And as I’ve noted before, a solid, healthy relationship rests on a foundation of the woman chasing the man. The day your woman succeeds at guarding you is the day you begin the slide into betahood, infrequent sex, cuckoldry, and eventual breakup.

More importantly, since women sometimes use sex with new men to enhance and evaluate their own mate value, a calculated quick departure after sex will disrupt her self-evaluative process, leading her to conclude that she isn’t as hot as she thought (which is exactly what you want her to think). While landing a charming SOB like yourself for sex will boost a girl’s ego, persuading you to linger afterward to cuddle will send her ego straight into the stratosphere. Since American women’s egos are already in the stratosphere, theirs will get propelled into distant galaxies. It’s critical that you keep a woman’s ego in check if you want to enjoy years of blissful love and sexual release.

This study, and its implications, confirms my everyday experiences. I have noticed that when I leave a chick right after sex — either directly by walking out or indirectly by nudging her out — she will text or call like a woman in love the very next day, or even later that night. The post-coitus premature exit (PCPE) is especially powerful when executed at two in the morning.

If you are at her place, many times a girl will invite you to stay for the night. She’ll couch it in plausibly deniable terms, such as “You’re welcome to stay if it’s too late for you to grab a taxi now.” If you need an excuse to drop a PCPE, just tell her you have to get up early for a business trip. If you and her are at your place instead, assume the PCPE by announcing soon after sex that you’ll be happy to walk her to her car or her home, and that she must be looking forward to sleeping in her own bed.

Whatever you do, avoid the post-coitus cuddle with a new girl who is above the average quality of girls you normally get. If you’ve had the good fortune, or expertise, to bag yourself the female equivalent of a 12 point buck, you don’t want to ruin your established high mate value and budding relationship momentum by snuggling and squeezing her tight as if she were your childhood security blanket. Post-sex cuddling is like a chemical reaction which drains your testosterone by the minute. Intimate cuddling will convince a girl to give herself high marks on her self-evaluation, and once she’s done this the odds she will see you as a worthy mate for the long haul — sexual or otherwise – drop precipitously. It’s all done on the subconscious level of course, but that’s the level that is most dangerous, since it operates by flying under the radar of our conscious perimeter defenses.

Looking at all my flings, one night stands, and relationships, the ones where I rolled over after sex and gave the girl my back, or where I got out of bed and put on my clothes to go home, were the ones I was in complete command of the direction of the romance. I never had to initiate texts or phone calls, or come up with date ideas, with those girls; they did all the legwork.

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She’s A Superflirt

“Yo man, let’s go next door.”

“Why? It’s good here. And the bathroom is only ten feet away. Very convenient.”

“There’s a new club next door. It caters to the international crowd. Last time I was there it was filled with Russian women. And I know how you are about Russians.”

“How is it I haven’t heard of this magical land before?”

“You’re out of the loop. Time to pack up and move to the burbs.”

We left to check out club eurotrash. It was as advertised; hot foreign-looking women everywhere. I heard three different languages spoken as soon as I walked in the door, two vaguely Slavic and one Spanish. My buddy and I sat at a two seater table near the bar. The bartenders were women. The only men working here were the DJ and doorman.

We had barely settled in when a pretty blonde flitted up to us, smiling broadly. She had a delicate feminine jaw and chin, and high cheekbones. Very slender with nice sized tits. She was a hard 8.5. Later I would discover she was American, but spoke with a funny generic euro accent that she said she picked up from all her foreign friends.

She put her hand on my knee. “You’re cute. Where you guys from?”

Before I could answer she continued. She craned her head slightly upward as she spoke.

“Let’s dance! Come on, get up! It’s my birthday this week.” (Are girls now celebrating week-long birthdays? Isn’t there enough female entitlement?) She had grabbed both my hands and was guiding me up off my seat, her hips in a perpetual wriggle.

I knew this type well. The superflirt. Not drunk, but buzzed. Exraverted. Superficially confident. Used to getting her way with men. Weaponized femininity. A classic eternal ingenue. Likely had a boyfriend somewhere else and a couple of mother hens in attendance to supervise her.

The superflirt’s frame is all-powerful. Few men can resist getting sucked into it. But resist you must. I had three choices before me.

1. Brush her off.
2. Refuse to dance but attempt to get her to join us in conversation.
3. Dance with her.

Number one is fine if you want her to leave. But don’t expect to pull a superflirt out of her euphoric frame with aloofness and indifference. She’ll just waltz to the next guy willing to entertain her machinations.

Number two is a battle of the frames. Can you convince a hyper happy chick to focus on you for more than a second? All her energy is pulling her onto the dance floor, into the embrace of an envious or horny audience. You have no value to her other than your looks, and that’s weak sauce to a cute girl. She has approached you, thus stripping you of the momentum and careful planning of a male-initiated approach, and she has thrown out a hoop for you to jump through which is rigged to ensure failure. You jump, you lower your value. You refuse to jump, you look like a stick in the mud.

Number three is jumping through the hoop, but with an eye on the long game. That’s what I did.

I got up and we all danced languidly around the bar, her leading the way. (I had tried to maneuver myself in front but obstacles prevented a smooth transition.) She introduced me and my buddy to her two friends, a sausage-shaped older, short Latina and a tall, big-boobed, meaty girl. The mother hens. I tried to preemptively neutralize any future mother hennery by asking the tall girl if she was responsible for babysitting Superflirt while she had all the fun.

“No way. She can take care of herself.”

Bullseye.

I danced with Superflirt on and off for fifteen minutes. Every few seconds she would saunter away to harass the DJ, dance on the bar, or drink a free shot, courtesy of the gawking older men gathering around us. She would return and put her hands on my stomach, exclaiming with delight how hard it was, or she would tickle me. A few times she leaned in and rested her cheek on my cheek, whispering in my ear. She smelled like concentrated estrogen. Then she would recoil in mock indignation, and, without my prompting, announce she had a boyfriend.

“I have a boyfriend, just to let you know. No, really, I have a boyfriend.”

I’ll admit I was enjoying the spectacle, regardless if it led anywhere or not. Of course, I would do my best to lead it somewhere, but the superflirt is normally quarry best left to shot-buying chumps who can convince themselves they’re going home happy having danced with a cute chick for a minute.

“That’s great. So does my girlfriend.”

She cocked her head and stared at me quizzically, then giggled. “I reeeeeeeally have a boyfriend. I’m supposed to go to his place later.”

I ignored her. She hopped up on the bar again. I figured at this point she was teetering close to the edge of outright drunkenness, so if I was to make a bold move, I had to execute quickly.

There are two ways to handle a superflirt. One, nuclear negs followed by a bold sexual move that shocks her out of her attention whore programming. Two, jealousy plotlines that flip the script so she is chasing you. I wanted to do the first option, but she had stopped clambering into my lap in between dance moves. All I could accomplish was a few negs.

“Hey, stop tickling me. Do I look like a piece of meat?”

“Yes!”

“Sexual harassment! Is this how you hit on men? It’s not working.”

She twirled. I tried to keep her focused.

“How would you like it if I did that to you?” I tickled her middle and she shrieked joyously like a little girl so loudly I though my ears would bleed.

This was going nowhere. She was in full-on attention whore mode. Out of the corner of my eye, I spied a leggy woman of exquisite beauty wearing a miniskirt that climbed past mid-thigh. Her makeup was expertly applied, and she didn’t smile. An expression of disdain swept across her purse-lipped face.

Had to be Russian.

I sidled closer to her table where she was standing with a couple girls and some men, and listened in; yep, Russians. She glanced in my direction. I realized why. Preselection. She had front row seats to me getting pawed by Superflirt. A man can go up as much as five points simply by being seen in the company of a hot babe.

This was one last opportunity to break Superflirt’s frame. If I could be seen by her chatting up the Russian, she might reengage and be open to a proper seduction. All her earlier boyfriend chatter suggested to me she was subconsciously looking for an excuse to step out with a new man. And nothing works like jealousy on an eternal ingenue. She has to feel a competitive threat from equally pretty women.

Unfortunately, this story does not have a good ending. I opened the Russian, asking her why she wasn’t embarrassing herself like the other girls by dancing on the bar, because it’s what all American women do. As we talked I would steal a glance at Superflirt to see if she was watching us, but she had fallen on her ass next to a bar stool, drunk as sin, and one shot away from puking. Three men rushed in to help her up. I didn’t budge. When I turned back to continue my conversation with the Russian, the doorman was saying something to her and she clopped in three inch high heels toward the door to make a phone call outside.

It was near closing time. Superflirt stumbled past me on the way to the door. She stopped to drape her arms over my shoulders, and I told her to give me her number. It was a last ditch effort that I knew had a low chance of succeeding. She was barely cognizant. But she stuck to her boyfriend script.

“Can’t. No I really can’t. I’m going to my boyfriend’s place right now! He lives nearby.”

Admiring her tight ass and perfect 0.7 waist-hip ratio as she wobbled out into the street, I figured her boyfriend either had very strong pimp hand to feel comfortable letting her get drunk by herself in his own hood, or they were heading for a dramatic breakup within the month. What a fucking headache it is dating a superflirt. Best way to keep them in line is to date two or more of them at the same time.

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