Unmanliness from a Woman’s POV

I checked out a link to this woman’s blog and she has a useful chart listing the differences between traditional men and metrosexuals.

I really liked this part:

Traditional Man
Ignores or disapproves of feminism.

Metrosexual Man 
Claims to be supportive of feminism with women, but inevitably disses it when drunk with his male pals at the pub.

She’s pretty as well.  I could see myself becoming vulnerable in her presence.

Of course, whenever I read a woman’s opinion on what she likes in men I always ask if these are the men she claims to want to sleep with or if they are the men she actually sleeps with.

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Unmanliness

If you sit at a sidewalk cafe in DC and people watch you’ll eventually see hints of civilizational decline.

mommy took our allowance

There I was enjoying a manly tap water when something so magnificently wrong assaulted my visual field.  A father carrying a baby in a papoose that he wore across his front.

The front.

It would be bad enough if he were usurping the natural maternal role by hauling around his kid in the traditional style with papoose in back.  But the front?  He may as well have swished his womanly hips while he walked.

Seriously, grow a set and get some self-respect, man.  If you can’t find it in you to do it for yourself, at least think of society.  With the child dearth and populations contracting throughout most of the first world it might help if you weren’t a big flashing negative ad to young men to avoid marriage and fatherhood.  Put that papoose on the mother where God intended it to be.  If you have more than one kid, throw the other one on the dog.  There are big dogs you can fit with a saddle.

Which got me thinking.  Is unmanliness a harbinger of the fall of great powers?  I think it is.  Look around and it’s easy to notice plenty of ominous unmanly trends.

I’m beginning to hear men use trendy truncated miniwords like fab, deet, obvi, fave, vom.  This makes me vom.  My ears can only take so much foppery.  If you are a straight man who doesn’t tuck his junk in between his legs posing in front of the mirror then using these cutesy-isms is very homosex.  I expect women to annoy charm me with baby talk, not grown men.

Men (and I use the term loosely) with trendy truncated minidogs.  I’ve gone on about this before.  If your dog’s legs are missing a joint and it is shorter from snout to tail than the length of your forearm and lighter than your 10-rep maximum dumbbell weight, then you’ve got creampuff issues.  Trade it in for a pet that’s supposed to be that size, like a gerbil.

Gym “classes”.  No man worth his yarbles should take a spinning, pilates, step or, heaven forfend, stroller class.  Butch up and hit the weight room.  Try not to pee yourself when you see the squat rack.  Yoga is acceptable as long as you understand why you are there and situate yourself in the back row for greatest viewing pleasure.

Lovers’ quarrels.  It’s not unmanly to get into a fight with your girlfriend at 5AM banging on her apartment door piss drunk.  It IS unmanly to do all the above while sobbing “BUT I LOOOOOOOOOOOOVE YOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUU!!!” over and over.  What happened to the good old days when drunk guys got into fistfights, not confessionals?

If you order your martini from a color-coded menu you may as well butter up your ass, funboy.  Men’s hard liquor drinks come in two colors — brown and clear.  And don’t drink from the straw.

When you canoodle your girl in public, do not bury your face in her lap and raise your hindquarters in the air like a cat getting stroked.  I actually saw this once.  This is about as unmanly as a man post-coitally resting his head on the chest of his woman.  You should be fitting yourself for a bra.

If you are a man bleating on about how great feminism is please do us all a favor and strangle yourself with your bloomers.  You are not sophisticated, evolved, or intellectual.  You are a sackless tool.

So there you have it.  I’m sure examples of unmanliness abound.  Is it a coincidence that as American women are becoming manlier American men are becoming softer, immature, and vaguely androgynous?  No, it is not.

Update:
Probably the biggest sign of the growing trend of unmanliness is the celebrity blog.  No man should write, read, or even tangentially discuss celebrity gossip, unless it’s to make a point to some hardened feminist how fame and power encourages men turn in their aging wives for young pussy.  Celebrities and the deets of their lives are black holes of irrelevance and idiocy.  It’s enough for one gender to get sucked into eight-balling celebrity sludge right into their limbic systems.  Men have a duty to shun it.  Gay men run the risk of flaming out into a red giant from this wasteful activity.

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Help Not Wanted

“Damian, don’t bother.”

“I’m not going to sit here and watch this.”

Damian and I had been enjoying an evening of camaraderie drinking beers on the trunk of his car in the parking lot.  According to Fodor’s, this particular parking lot was a popular destination for camaraderie and drinking; well, it was for us, until that evening.

A man and woman were arguing vociferously about a hundred feet off.  They looked exasperated with each other.  Lots of aggressive hand motions punctuated their heated row.  His voice quickly got angrier and he grabbed her forearm with great flourish while berating her.

fuck you, cunt! you’re a fuckin worthless whore! you just follow your pussy! maybe you should suck that guy’s dick.

Then the slap.  Right across her cheek, bullseye.  I used to think that face slaps in the movies were way too loud; that the soundman was having fun exaggerating the effect for the audience’s shock and awe.  But this real life slap echoed throughout the empty parking lot like a crack of lightning.  I put my hand to my face in ghost sympathy.

Damian is normally a guy who takes amusement in the foolishness of humanity.  His philosophy (well, one of his quite frequently contradictory philosophies) is “I don’t care what people do to each other as long as I can sit back and ridicule them for it.”

He wasn’t laughing this time.  This got me worried.  He stood and put down his beer bottle.

“Dude, do NOT get involved with this.  Trust me, it’s pointless.”

“Get my back in case there’s trouble.”

Oh boy.  No time to talk him out of it.  He was dead set on white knighting.

I watched as he marched purposefully toward the fighting couple.  A few words were exchanged.

what’s your deal, motherfucker?
“Leave the girl alone.  Cowards hit girls.”
why don’t you mind your own business and go fuck yourself.

Damian got in his face.  “You’re a fucking loser taking it out on a girl.  I’m not leaving.”

The girl was crying and stamping her feet.  The loser took a step back from Damian and shoved a hand into his back pocket.  A split second later a metal object glinted from the lamppost light as it slashed a downward arc through the air.  Damian’s hand went reflexively up to his face.

I ran to them, my veins pumping with delirium.  The girl screamed and the guy jumped in his car and peeled off.  Blood seeped between the fingers Damian had pressed against his left cheek.

“Jesus, man, are you OK?!”
“I’m fine.” He looked at the girl. “Are you OK?”
She had hysteria in her eyes. “Why did you do that?”
“Huh?”
“You shouldn’t have come over!  This wasn’t your business!”
I spit at her “That’s the thanks my buddy gets?  Go fuck off!  Your loser boyfriend is going to jail.”

At the periphery of the parking lot I saw Knife-Guy’s car idling.  He had driven around and stopped there.  She turned and ran toward it and got in.  They drove away.

Damian stared blankly at the nothingness in front of him.

“Hey, man, I’m taking you to the hospital.”

We drove in stony silence.  Bleeding face wound or not, Damian finds it hard to keep his yap shut for more than five minutes, so this was extraordinary.  A little too extraordinary for comfort.

“I guess you were right.”

“Hey, look, you did the right thing.  She was fucked in the head.  Don’t let it get to you.”

“Sure, whatever.”

I wanted to believe my own words, but I couldn’t.

Many police report filings and stitches later, we mused about that night.

“I’m disappointed.”  Damian did not look disappointed.

“Why?”

“The cut was not deep enough for me to impress the ladies with a cool scar.”

I sympathized.  “Perhaps you can impress them with the story instead.”

“I’m done impressing.”

He was wrong.  The cut was deep enough.

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Bailing on Dates

I don’t use tricks during dates like having my cell phone ring with an “emergency” call, saying I’m going to the bathroom and then escaping through the window, or telling my date “I think I’m falling in love with you” to give me an out in case it’s not going well.  It’s incompatible with being a man who doesn’t make excuses for his actions.  If a date is bombing I smile warmly and simply tell her “It was a pleasure meeting you.  Good luck with everything.”  No need to wait around hoping for sexual attraction to magically appear.  Walking off like this can even make a girl suddenly hot for you.  Don’t be surprised if you get a conciliatory call from her the next day.

Dating a lot of women gives you a sixth sense to know within minutes whether the girl is connecting with you.  If she’s not, cut the cord — time saved is time earned toward gaming new women.  I once walked away from a bad date and number closed another woman on the walk home.  There is no worse thing a man can do than to continue buying drinks and yapping for hours with a girl who is not warming up to him physically.

When a date is going particularly badly, or the girl is someone of especially poor character, I’ll get a dig in before walking off.  It’s petty, true, but it gives me pleasure to inflict cruelty on a deserving victim.  On a first date with a Desi girl she talked (unprompted) non-stop about her Indian ex-boyfriend and how her father didn’t like him and how he was overly ambitious in his career and yada yada.  After she finally came up for air I asked her a series of seemingly innocent questions about her values and her past relationships.  I then began to psychologically deconstruct her, picking apart her psyche and painting a picture of her personality.  I leaned back and waited for her reaction.  Offended, she snapped “I really don’t like you drawing conclusions about me.”
Pay dirt.
“But you make it so easy.”

Since single girls, like guys, act to hide their personality flaws when out on the town looking to hook up, and since it is hard to discern all of a person’s unsavory traits in fifteen minutes over gin and tonics in a dark lounge, I always try to insta-date the first night I meet a girl.  Bouncing with her from the club to the bar down the street to the pizza place or pool hall gives me a better opportunity to learn about her without putting in the extra effort to arrange a future date at a specified location.  This ultimately saves time and feels more natural.  Plus, same night multiple venue changing operates on the principle of time distortion, where you two feel like you’ve shared more time together getting to know each other in different environments than you actually have.

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Separate Species

I recently heard this story about two girls, good friends, who were spending time together catching up.  They decide to help each other rub on self-tanning lotion (not the spray kind, but the wipe-on kind).  So what did they do?  Why, they stripped naked of course!  Two heterosexual girls sat butt naked together and rubbed self-tanner all over one another, including those hard to reach nooks and crannies, like it was no big deal.

Now, a quiz for the guys reading this.  Think of your best guy buddy.  The guy you get drunk with and wing for when he makes a sloppy pass at a chick.  The guy you discuss baseball stats with or bust on for throwing a football like a spaz.  Now try to picture sitting naked with him in extremely close proximity rubbing self-tanner on his hairy dimpled ass, making sure to get an even application.  Maybe he lifts a cheek so you don’t miss a spot?

Not happening, is it.

Two separate species.  There isn’t a better explanation.

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Big Fat Phony Smile

If the eyes are the window to the soul, the smile is the neon vacancy sign outside the motel.

I don’t *feel* high maintenance.

Girls love to smile, whether it’s justified or not.  A broad smile illuminates the face and makes the world notice her.  There is probably some Freudian oral delights aspect to it as well.  The next time you are walking outside, try counting the number of people you see smiling or who smile at you as you pass.  It’s usually no one.  For a girl during her peak beauty years, every waking minute is a good reason to smile and advertise her exalted place within humanity.

There can be too much of a good thing.  The smile’s impact wanes when it becomes a fixture on the face, like the nose.  It loses any meaning and begins to suggest mental vacuity.  So many American girls (European girls seem to be immune to this affliction) have such inflated self-esteems that they flash insincere smiles constantly lest anyone forget to be entranced by them.  The impossibly wide phony smile is the tool in trade of the attention whore.  Now when I see a girl like the one in the photo above smiling like a prom queen I conclude she is a vapid girl with a non-existent inner world who will need to be gamed high-energy style.  The problem with dating girls who smile obsessively is that if you ever give them a reason to drop the smile they will hate you for life.

True sexiness is a lost art.  A woman is incredibly sexy when she balances her time smiling with the detached expression of a relaxed mouth.  She lets her eyes pick up the slack left by the smile.  When I’m talking to a girl whose eyes do most of the subcommunication I get the sense the hamster has not fallen off the wheel in her head.

You won’t see guys smiling as much because the pursuit of women is serious business.  Or maybe they think a straight face looks tough, cool, and emotionally self-contained.  In the dating field, guys who smile just a bit too much are approval-seekers rather than approval-givers.  They want the girls to notice how good-natured and fun-loving they are.  In other aspects of life, men who smile too much are looked upon with suspicion.  In fact, there is a word for perpetually smiling guys — used car salesmen.

One thing the naturals do well is the friendly smile when approaching women.  This automatically sets them apart from most men.  But they drop the smile before it gets stale.  The smile alternates with the serious face and is punctuated with the occasional cocky smirk — it all plays into the girl’s desire for an unpredictable man.  If she’s smiling because of some deliberate action on my part, all is good.  If she’s smiling like a retarded billboard ad, I tell her she has a piece of food stuck in her teeth.

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Where Guys Falter

The best way to do well with women over the long haul is to think like them, understand them, and put yourself in their shoes.  The man who can empathize with a woman’s frustrations will know better how to make her happy.  All the great seducers of history co-opted to some degree the psychology and the courting tactics of women.  They used women’s pyschological weapons against them.

This is why European men have a reputation for smoothness with the ladies — they spend more time than American men in the company of women, participating in activities and intellectual pursuits that appeal to women, learning about them.  American men bemoan their dating hardships, but spending all their free time watching sports, drinking beer, video gaming, and golfing, where no women are present, only to take a flailing Saturday night stab at getting laid in overheated bar environments, is not a good way to learn how to turn women on.

The inexperience of many guys around women shows in their ham-fisted come-ons.  They often act so counter-productively that it’s a wonder any girls give it up to them at all.  Verbally gang tackling a group of girls at a bar is one example.  Which guy, in a moment of reflection, really believes that approaching two girls with five of his buddies in phalanx formation and swarming them like vultures over a carcass will win their affections?  Guys who don’t have the sack to approach women on their own should not advertise their weakness by storming in with a giant cock posse for battlefield support.  Two guys maximum.  If necessary, hold off on waving the rest of the crew in until after the set has been warmed up in a non-threatening way.

Guys also do not listen.  Well, not in the way that women want to be listened to.  A guy should listen to a woman with the same intensity he listens to his buddies talk about football or German hookers.  The focus that a nerd brings to tackling a coding problem is the same focus that a guy should have when listening to an attractive woman speak.  The trick is to do it with the distracted aloofness of someone not hanging on her every word.  It’s very alluring to a girl when a guy off-handedly recalls some inconspicuous detail he picked up about her while she was talking without looking like he worked hard to remember it.  It subconsciously says to her “This guy is not desperate, but wow I must be making an impression because he remembers how I felt when I danced at my sister’s wedding.  We connect!”

This isn’t meant as mealy-mouthed John Gray relationship pap; listening intently to a woman will give him all the information he needs to successfully seduce her.  Women reveal so much about themselves in conversation — they can’t help it because they are self-obsessed creatures by nature — but they only do it in subtle read-between-the-lines ways, feminine ways, that to the uninitiated man will pass right under his radar.  It’s a double curse that boobs and pretty eyes cloud his efforts to stay engaged with her words.

To seduce women, you must seduce yourself first.  You are the guy who will be everything she needs.  How will you know what she needs?  Get inside her head.  Become her.

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