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Archive for the ‘Self-aggrandizement’ Category

Emma Sulkowicz, that psychocunt NB4 who lied about being raped and still carries on as if her lie hadn’t been exposed, is back for more hard shivving (quite literally). She made a porno “””documenting””” her fake, totally made-up ordeal. Reader Pepe alerts the CH audience,

Remember mattress girl? Well, she made a porno *reenacting* her struggles:

http://www.cecinestpasunviol.com/

This woman has unlocked a new level of crazy. Like you can’t be this ugly and crazy at the same time.

Yes, ugly and crazy, that’s one unattractive combo. The upside is that not many men will be tempted to stick their dick in ugly, so they don’t have to worry about sticking it in her crazy either.

From the rape fantasist’s website:

Do not watch this video if your motives would upset me, my desires are unclear to you, or my nuances are indecipherable.

This is a Nimitz Class Attention Whore (and Control Freak; she wants to shove her smelly snatch in men’s faces and sadistically deny their male sexuality by demanding their desexualized consideration). And there’s no doubt she’s the type of chick (there are an uncomfortably large number of them) who gets off dreaming about a rapist having his way with her.

In the past, attention whores of this magnitude would violate only a handful of people’s lives… those closest to them. And they would be discarded once their friends and family caught on to their sickness and gave up showering them with the sympathetic ardor they crave. We see with the rise of the internet and social media that the insufferable attention whore has a new lease on her vampiric, emotion-sucking malevolence. The online world has enabled her like no BFF or doting mother could; it has not created a monster, but turned a monster into a contagion, devouring cultures whole.

America will fall like Rome did, but it will be much quicker, and more cataclysmic, thanks in no small part to social media and the rise of a night army of attention whores.

PS Eskimo.

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Steve Sailer contemplates the riddle of women and their whoring for handbag status. It’s a worthy topic, because handbags appear to confer no sexual market advantage to women, and yet women spend inordinate time and money acquiring the latest trendy makeup container. “Hey, sexy mama, I noticed your Birkin handbag, and it is turning me on!”… said no straight man ever.

“But, CH…” you ask, “if, as you claim, the sexual market is the one market to rule them all, how do you explain women and handbags?”

Easy there, brosephus. I think the best explanation is the one Steve gave: Women use handbags as a signal they can carry with them everywhere to advertise the alpha male-ness of their husbands/lovers, and the women’s ability to secure commitment from their alpha men. Since most people will presume the burn money for the handbag came from a soulmate wealthy male donor, the pricey handbag serves as a relatively inoffensive proxy for a woman’s own SMV.

Why the connection between alpha males and HSMV women? Because we subconsciously know in our ape-shaped brains that the more attractive a woman, the better able she will be to land herself a high status man who, himself, will have the options open to him to capture the interest of beautiful women.

Why doesn’t the kept woman just flaunt her pretty face and sexy body to send the same signal more directly? Because in the world of alpha males with sexual market options and the women who circle them like hawks, that is a little too threatening to other HSMV women in her social milieu. She risks total social ostracism from other women if she sluts it up beyond the acceptable norm for her group.

I have another theory about women and handbags that parsimoniously bridges their behavior to the primary demands of the sexual market: Handbags are a sort of runaway sexual selection module gone haywire, similar to brawn on men, a secondary sexual display in men that is still attractive to Western women despite the environmental conditions having radically changed so that male muscularity is no longer needed for survival. But some men take it too far, bulking up in the gym well beyond the point of usefulness, and most women don’t have any special preference for men with bloated roid muscles.

The handbag, under the female inverse of this theory, is just an extension of a sexy, hip-hugging cocktail dress and beautifying makeup. The former do increase a woman’s sexual appeal to men, and women, knowing this on a deep limbic level, have evolved to maximize their efforts at improving their appearance. This evolution for female self-beautification has “spun out of orbit”, resulting in the modern predilection for collecting and showcasing feminine accessories like handbags, despite male indifference to them.

***

Philomathean adds some heft to the sexual market primacy theory of female handbag collection,

Handbagism is a signal of aggression females employ to communicate the accumulation of tangible and intangible resources.

This is a good point. Women can be aggressive with one another, but their particular brand of aggression doesn’t make headlines or rouse moral umbrage because it isn’t delivered through fists and projectile weapons. “Handbagism” is aggressive signaling to other women who could be potential poachers of husbands and boyfriends. An expensive handbag is one way a woman intimidates her competition from entering the arena. It says, “Hey, my man is fully committed to me, and deeply in love with me, as you can see by all the stuff he lavishes me with, so you’d be wasting your time trying to seduce him away from me.”

Remember, sexual infidelity is a man’s worst fear, while love and resource infidelity are a woman’s worst fear.

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First, we had the Disingenuous Shitlib. Meet his right-hand woman, the Sophistic Shitlib.

Another one of those UGH THE RIGHT WING outrage articles dropped in the CH combox. Every time I permit myself to wade through a frothy feminist menstruation, I can’t help but get the feeling the implied bogeyman in these articles is none other than yours truly. But they never come at CH directly, even though I’m certain they have stopped by here to get a taste of my meaty instruction. I wonder why they’re so reticent…

Anyhow, this particular article is worth flaying scalp to sole because it’s written in that quintessential sophistic shitlib style, sounding superficially plausible but full of moving goalposts. straw men, evasions, and red herrings. It will be my pleasure to detox this cunt’s id box.

The Right-Wing War on Lena Dunham

Author: Amy Zimmerman

The right-wingers obsessively document and chastise her every move.

…unlike the lefty feminists who obsessively document and chastise the Realtalkers shitting on their icons.

Why are conservatives so threatened by a 29-year-old TV showrunner and author?

“Threatened by” is shitlib smoke and mirrors for “disgusted by”, a classic, and by now ineffectual, leftoid reframe. Dunham despisers, aka normal well-adjusted people, aren’t threatened by her any more than they’re threatened by a steaming wet pile of dog shit they almost stepped in. But they’re still gonna make a face and demand that the dog owner clean up the mess.

But isn’t this a major mental block with leftoids, always confusing disgust for fear? Their grasp of basic human emotions isn’t very… nuanced.

In honor of Memorial Day, Lena Dunham Instagrammed herself in a lacy bra and panty set, and captioned the sultry snap

The only thing snapping in that photo is Dunham’s bra strap, and not for the right reason. You can tell a feminist coven is about to begin their occult clitual when one of them salutes the “sultriness” of the homeliest skank in the group.

Dunham clearly presents her exhibitionism as a celebration of personal and political freedoms

Clearly a strained defense of mundane attention whoring.

but certain fringe elements of the right-wing media have taken the peaceful photo

“Peaceful photo”. What a weird turn of phrase. Is she celebrating in her duties as a State Department liaison a historic accord between Israel and Palestine? Yet again, we see the dullard feminist, utterly lacking in self-awareness, contradict herself within the span of two sentences. Is Dunham in peaceful repose, or is she stridently celebrating her personal and political freedoms?

as further evidence of Dunham’s personal war on male retinas, Republican values, and the American Dream.

Dunham is ugly, so, yeah, “male retinas” will suffer the sight of her, especially since she loves shoving her near-naked ugliness in everyone’s faces. And then acting all aghast when men sensibly recoil at her misshapen figure.

As you read, you’ll start to notice the aversion feminists have to using the word “men”.

The friendly folks over at Breitbart even took it upon themselves to share the photo on Facebook along with a PSA: “DISCLAIMER: Breitbart News is not responsible for any emotional, spiritual, or psychological damage that might occur as a result of viewing this article.” Because trigger warnings are a liberal tool used to infantilize and over-coddle—unless they’re giving big, strong men ample warning that the nude woman they’re about to ogle and objectify is not a piece of eye candy constructed exclusively out of the world’s most physically arousing, dude-approved lady parts.

Amy Zimmerman agrees with horrible right wing males that some women are more physically arousing than others. Amy, I am deeply… deeply… triggered. Warm up the breaking wheel!

While hating on Lena Dunham is, at this point, an odd national pastime, conservative Dunham demonization is particularly widespread and cruel.

Cruel to be kind… to impressionable younger women who might be tempted to follow Dunham’s path to premature spinsterhood. Dunham could always stifle her exhibitionist urges, remove herself from the internet, and lead a reasonably private life like most women do, if she doesn’t like the negative attention.

It’s also strange—for all the fuss Breitbart & Co. made about Lena in her lingerie, you would think Instagram had published a picture of Obama’s REAL birth certificate.

We’ve got a snarklord here. So edgy, so gotcha!

But the far right has been picking on Lena Dunham her entire career, for various slights ranging from her insistence on sharing her personal narrative to her insistence on not walking around in a potato sack with a paper bag over her head.

This is her leftoid straw man. “Lena Dunham doesn’t wear a paper bag over her head, and this infuriates RIGHT WINGERS.” Of course, Dunham sans paper bag isn’t the problem for Dunham haters; it’s Dunham pinching a loaf granny panties bunched around her cankles; Dunham flaunting her undulating fat rolls on everything but a Wheaties box; Dunham sharing the narratives of her endless feminist cunt lies, her sexual perversions, and her antagonism toward normal male sexuality. It’s all that, and her grating, sanctimonious shitlib personality hitched to her bulbous fat man physique, that inspires her enemies.

Not that a potato sack and paper bag wouldn’t be an improvement.

In 2012, Dunham appeared in an Obama campaign ad about her “first time” voting for the Democratic nominee. In the ad, Dunham quipped, “You want to do it with a great guy…somebody who really cares about and understands women.”

Like her gay boyfriend.

Republicans were shocked and irate

FUCK YOU DAD

both by Dunham’s political affiliations as well as her insinuation that she knew what sex was.

No, I think pretty much everyone knew Dunham was an empty-headed leftoid from the get-go. And obviously the consternation of the Core wasn’t directed at her familiarity with sex, but at her insinuation that President Butt Naked would actually be interested in sex with a woman.

Imagine the backlash when this “over-sexed starlet” actually started to use her celebrity to campaign on behalf of Planned Parenthood, in keeping with her pro-choice beliefs.

Her mother disappointed the world by letting Xenomorph Dunham burst past the third trimester deadline.

While Dunham’s ideological deviances from the conservative value system were well-documented from the start

So were Rethuglicans shocked and irate by Dunham’s political affiliations, or were Dunham’s ideological deviances well-documented from the start? Surprisingly, it took four sentences this time before Amy Zimmerman, Feminist Esq., contradicted herself. Progress!

they hardly justify the ensuing right-wing witch hunt.

Criticism is not a witch hunt, dingbat. Now for examples of modern inquisitions suited to the witch hunt metaphor, check out the latest fashion trend among your SJW ilk for getting people fired for crimethinks against humanity.

The outcry surrounding Dunham’s 2014 memoir Not That Kind of Girl illustrates some of these fringe conservatives’ cruelest tactics.

So fringe, she had to compose a passionate, lengthy comeback.

In the memoir, Dunham details a sexual encounter she had as a college student, which she now identifies as an assault.

“Dunham details”. “she now identifies”. “assault”.

Mind-blowing journalistic standards by Mz Zimmerman. So clarifying. For the record, Dunham completely made up her rape story. That is, it was a lie. A lie… meaning the opposite of the truth. She nearly fucked over an innocent man’s life to feed her insatiable, egomaniacal appetite for attention, and to suture whatever cunt-shaped ego wound bleeds out her sense of self-worth.

She later explained her reasoning for going public with the story, citing the bravery of other survivors who have spoken out and asserting, “I don’t believe any of us who have been raped and/or assaulted are to blame.”

She explained her reasoning for going public with her big lie, so that makes everything A-Ok. A good lawyer might make the defense work for a murderer. “Ladies and trannies of the jury, my client is innocent! He explained his reasoning for going public with his story about blowing a man’s head off with a shotgun, and cited the bravery of other killers who have spoken out as victims of a system prejudiced against the hot-tempered.”

Does it sometimes feel like America has entered a parallel universe where all the laws of logic and coherent argument have been turned upside down? Forgive me, I’ll try to explain this without using the word “logic”, which is clearly alienating to many women.

Does it sometimes feel like America has entered a parallel universe where babbling nonsense has substituted for any kind of remotely human-like communication?

Although the number of men and women who have been bold enough to challenge the patriarchal and silencing culture surrounding sexual assault does appear to be rising, the far right never fears.

Define patriarchal. Define silencing culture. Points will be deducted for use of academese poopytalk and tautology. Whatever “silencing culture” exists, it obviously sucks at its job, because Dunham’s gums haven’t stopped flapping. And her advocates sure aren’t shutting up about her.

Got a troublemaking young woman using her visibility to encourage empowerment?

Got an emotionally broken, sociopathic liar using her equally broken fan base of urban millennial bitterbitches and their manlet lapdogs to encourage more lying?

Just dim the lights, put Fox News on mute, and blast the greatest hits: victim blaming, reputation trashing, and an insistence on false rape accusations.

Behold wit!

Two points: Dunham actually made a false rape accusation and therefore trashed her own reputation, and Amy Zimmerman writes like an idiot.

Keep playing these classics on loop and eventually someone will have to issue a statement!

Damaged fatties just wanna be free to smear, libel, and slander men without consequence.

In Lena Dunham’s case, the conservative reckoning was perpetrated by

Translation: She was called out on her lying.

Of course, if Dunham hadn’t insisted on being raped by a Republican (and telling the world about it), the conservative right might have been a little less ardent about insisting that she had made the whole thing up.

Amy Zimmerman agrees with Rethuglicans that Lena Dunham made the whole thing up.

Naturally, they would protect a perceived member of their own tribe by attacking her story—she was practically asking for it!

Tribe projection.

In the National Review, Kevin D. Williamson published a now-infamous review that culled two passages from Dunham’s memoir, asserting that they were proof that Dunham molested her younger sister. Dunham took to Twitter to offer a number of choice replies, including, “I told a story about being a weird 7 year old. I bet you have some too, old men, that I’d rather not hear.”

“weird 7 year old” = “i shoved stuff up my sister’s vagina”. You know, just the sort of weird thing all 7 year olds do. But hey, it’s a choice reply, so Dunham wins.

While sexual assault and child abuse are two thorny, nuanced issues,

Like rape is a thorny, nuanced issue, right, Amy?

the conservative vendetta against Lena Dunham is as uncomplicated as it is undeniable.

Deep. Profound. I read in awe as insight after insight illuminates my world.

More troubling is the manner in which she is so utterly dismissed, an ignorant misreading that’s got everything to do with Dunham’s political views and, more importantly, her gender.

And her vapidity, crassness, banality, and penchant for lying about rapes that never happened.

Lena Dunham was not accepted as a survivor in the same way that so many young women aren’t.

Survivor of what? Diabetic shock? Herpes Simplex 1, 2, and 50? Self-empowered public embarrassment? A malicious fantasy rape concocted in her melonhead? Her dignity?

Similarly, her tales of sexual exploration could never be read as such by a conservative culture that actively denies the sexuality of young women in favor of their sexualization.

Shitlib semantics. I’ve red this line three times and I still can’t make sense of it. Deny women’s sexuality while approving their sexualization? Every word is unintelligible and unfalsifiable in context.

To these right-wing critics, Lena Dunham’s every-woman sexuality

“every-woman sexuality”. :lol: How many women get a thrill from pummeling viewing audiences of them taking a dump, or waddling around the kitchen naked, pretending their carb-fueled gunts are brimming with the gift of new life?

isn’t just disgusting, it’s downright threatening

There’s that assertion against all the available evidence. Amy, toots, no man is “threatened” by the Dumpham Pork Roll, unless he happens to be one of those unfortunate men about to get anally rammed by the dildo she used on her sister. Precision in language, dearie. Muslim terrorists are threatening. Baltimore wildings are threatening. Lena Dunham’s impersonation of a shawarma spit is just revolting.

According to conservatives,

According to normal, psychologically sound people,

Lena Dunham isn’t hot enough for Vogue,

True.

and she isn’t even hot enough for her own Instagram account.

Truer.

She’s a liar, a molester, and an all-around vulgar chick.

True^3.

From challenging standards of beauty

Sisyphus wept.

to acknowledging her sex life

Why does Dumpham need to publicly acknowledge her sex life? Is she afraid people will think she’s a nun?

from standing up for survivors

of public exposure of their false rape accusations.

to speaking out against victim blaming

Why are you blaming conservatives for being victimized by Dunham’s exhibitionism and celebration of child incest, Amy?

Lena Dunham isn’t afraid of much.

Oh, I think her self-imposed disgrace is starting to get to her.

Meanwhile radical right-wingers

Paging 1995, Amy. “Radical right wingers” is no longer the height of edgy labeling.

when faced with change in the form of a lady who talks too much and wears too little

I thought Lena was being silenced by a silencing culture?

are almost comically frightened.

You don’t sound like you’re laughing, Amy.

Maybe they’re afraid that their wives and daughters will join the revolt, or maybe they’re just really not attracted to empowered women.

Or maybe… just maybe!… Dumpham is the antithesis of an attractive, feminine woman that appeals to the vast majority of men.

Whatever the reason, Lena Dunham has a message for the conservatives who have endlessly mocked and maligned her: I probably wouldn’t fuck you either.

Dick is abundant and low value.”

Is The Daily Beast the bottom of the journolister barrel? That was some of the worst-written, incoherent, callow garbage I’ve read coming out of fevered feminist fantasyland in a while. And that’s saying something.

The propaganda arms in charge of disseminating Narrative agitprop are falling prey to a bad combination of incompetence and self-admiration. I wonder how much lower media organs will debase themselves before their undying shame compels radical change in their occupation? Will that shame ever come, or will they have to be forced off the plantation for sins against their ethical code of conduct?

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Ah, dat jerkboy charisma. Chicks dig it. If you’ve been a regular guest of the Chateau, you’ll know why chicks dig jerks, and you’ll know why cultivating your inner jerkboy is a pillar of Game teachings.

For a long time, CH was out there, a retreat in the deep wood willing to preach the Rude Word to any lost and yearning soul stumbling along the stony path leading to the ancient oak doors. Few knew of our secretive hideaway, fewer still could grasp the revolutionary nature of our message.

But our mischievous proselytizing has finally breached the sound barrier of the mainstream information gatekeepers (and from the reaction to their first line of defense crumbling, they don’t like it). As one reader who forwarded the following article wrote,

The substance of this article will present no surprises.  The tone of the author, apologetic and disturbed by the findings, will also present no surprises.

Not at all. The Atlantic is the latest Hivemind organ to hate itself for falling in love with Le Chateau.

Why It Pays to Be a Jerk

New research confirms what they say about nice guys.

The suspense is killing me! I hope it lasts.

At the University of Amsterdam, researchers have found that semi-obnoxious behavior not only can make a person seem more powerful, but can make them more powerful, period. The same goes for overconfidence. Act like you’re the smartest person [ed: or sexiest man] in the room, a series of striking studies demonstrates, and you’ll up your chances of running the show.

The Atlantic agrees with CH that overconfidence is the heart of game.

People will even pay to be treated shabbily: snobbish, condescending salespeople at luxury retailers extract more money from shoppers than their more agreeable counterparts do.

Seduction is the art of selling yourself to women. And just as it is in the realm of business sales, snobbish, entitled jerkboys are the most successful at selling their promise of pleasures to women.

“We believe we want people who are modest, authentic, and all the things we rate positively” to be our leaders, says Jeffrey Pfeffer, a business professor at Stanford. “But we find it’s all the things we rate negatively”—like immodesty—“that are the best predictors of higher salaries or getting chosen for a leadership position.”

Humans aren’t a rational species; they’re a rationalizing species.

“What happens if you put a python and a chicken in a cage together?,” Pfeffer asked him. The former student looked lost. “Does the python ask what kind of chicken it is? No. The python eats the chicken.”

“You’re like a big bear with claws and with fangs…and she’s just like this little bunny, who’s just kinda cowering in the corner.”

But, careful… all jerk and no softie makes Jack a d-bag.

In Grant’s framework, the mentor in this story would be classified as a “taker,” which brings us to a major complexity in his findings. Givers dominate not only the top of the success ladder but the bottom, too, precisely because they risk exploitation by takers.

All well and good. You can’t expect to lord it over all the people all the time without attention given to your reception. However… if you HAD to choose between being a niceguy and a 24/7 asshole…

ALWAYS CHOOSE ASSHOLE. To wit:

Consider the following two scenes. In the first, a man takes a seat at an outdoor café in Amsterdam, carefully examines the menu before returning it to its holder, and lights a cigarette. When the waiter arrives to take his order, he looks up and nods hello. “May I have a vegetarian sandwich and a sweet coffee, please?” he asks. “Thank you.”

In the second, the same man takes the same seat at the same outdoor café in Amsterdam. He puts his feet up on an adjoining seat, taps his cigarette ashes onto the ground, and doesn’t bother putting the menu back into its holder. “Uh, bring me a vegetarian sandwich and a sweet coffee,” he grunts, staring past the waiter into space. He crushes the cigarette under his shoe.

Dutch researchers staged and filmed each scene as part of a 2011 study designed to examine “norm violations.” Research stretching back to at least 1972 had shown that power corrupts, or at least disinhibits. High-powered people are more likely to take an extra cookie from a common plate, chew with their mouths open, spread crumbs, stereotype, patronize, interrupt, ignore the feelings of others, invade their personal space, and claim credit for their contributions. “But we also thought it could be the other way around,” Gerben van Kleef, the study’s lead author, told me. He wanted to know whether breaking rules could help people ascend to power in the first place.

Yes, he found. The norm-violating version of the man in the video was, in the eyes of viewers, more likely to wield power than his politer self. And in a series of follow-up studies involving different pairs of videos, participants, responding to prompts, made statements such as “I would like this person as my boss” and “I would give this person a promotion.”

“I would open my legs for this jerk.”

Ok, if being a jerkboy is so personally rewarding, the inevitable question follows,

Instead of asking why some people bully or violate norms, researchers are asking: Why doesn’t everyone? […]

“That’s a complexity of humans,” Faris says: it was not until after the human-chimpanzee split that Homo sapiens developed a newer, uniquely human path to power. Scholars call it “prestige.”

There are different kinds of ways to project power (and consequently arouse women). “Prestige” is better-known to students of Game as Demonstrating Higher Value.

The Atlantic even goes so far to wonder if the Game axiom “Fake it till you create it” is a real thing:

I did wonder, though: Could the apprentice actors [tasked with acting irrationally confident], given enough time, come to inhabit their roles more fully? Anderson noted that self-delusion among his study’s participants could have been the product of earlier behaviors. “Maybe they faked it until they made it and that became them.” We are what we repeatedly do, as Aristotle observed.

Ripped from the Chateau headlines.

In fact, it’s easy to see how an initial advantage derived from a lack of self-awareness, or from a deliberate attempt to fake competence, or from a variety of other, similar heelish behaviors could become permanent. Once a hierarchy emerges, the literature shows, people tend to construct after-the-fact rationalizations about why those in charge should be in charge.

“Once a woman falls hard for a charming jerkboy, she tends to construct after-the-fact rationalizations about why the jerk she loves should be her soulmate.”

Likewise, the experience of power leads people to exhibit yet more power-signaling behaviors (displaying aggressive body language, taking extra cookies from the common plate).

Success with women breeds more success with women.

It is possible, of course, to reframe Anderson’s conclusions so that, for instance, initiative is itself a competence, in which case groups would be selecting their leaders more rationally than he supposes. But is a loudmouth the same thing as a leader?

aka the “bustamove” theory of Game.

So what is that special sauce that jerkboys have which flavors a woman’s life? Or anyone’s life?

When I thought about whether I had friends or associates who fit Aaron James’s definition of an asshole, I could come up with two. I couldn’t pinpoint why I spent time with them, other than the fact that life seemed larger, grander—like the world was a little more at your feet—when they were around.

“I want more LIFE, fucker!”

Then I thought of the water skis.

Some friends had rented a powerboat. We had already taken it out on the water when someone remarked, above the engine noise, that it was too bad we didn’t have any water skis. That would have been fun.

Within a few minutes, an acquaintance I will call Jordan had the boat pulled up to a dock where a boy of maybe 8 or 9 was alone. Do you have any water skis?

The boy seemed unprepared for the question. Not really, he said. There might be some in storage, but only his parents would know. Well, would you be a champ and run back to the house and ask them? The boy did not look like he wanted to. But he did.

The rest of us in the boat shared the boy’s astonishment (Who asks that sort of question?), his reluctance to turn a nominally polite encounter into a disagreeable one, and perhaps the same paralysis: no one said anything to stop the exchange. But that’s the thing. Spend time with the Jordans of the world and you’re apt to get things you are not entitled to—the choice table at the overbooked restaurant, the courtside tickets you’d never ask for yourself—without ever having to be the bad guy. The transgression was Jordan’s. The spoils were the group’s.

The transgression is the jerkboy’s. The romantic spoils are the women’s.

Isolating the effects of taker behavior on group welfare is exactly what van Kleef, the Dutch social psychologist, and fellow researchers set out to do in their coffee-pot study of 2012.

At first blush, the study seems simple. Two people are told a cover story about a task they’re going to perform. One of them—a male confederate used in each pair throughout the study—steals coffee from a pot on a researcher’s desk. What effect does his stealing have on the other person’s willingness to put him in charge?

The answer: It depends. If he simply steals one cup of coffee for himself, his power affordance shrinks slightly. If, on the other hand, he steals the pot and pours cups for himself and the other person, his power affordance spikes sharply. People want this man as their leader.

Women want to join a jerk’s world because they want to be taken on a mutually satisfying adventure.

I related this to Adam Grant. “What about the person who gets resources for the group without stealing coffee?” he asked. “That’s a comparison I would like to see.”

It was a comparison, actually, that van Kleef had run. When the man did just that—poured coffee for the other person without stealing it—his ratings collapsed. Massively. He became less suited for leadership, in the eyes of others, than any other version of himself.

If you’re nothing but a niceguy, people will come to despise you because you will be giving away your generosity as if it was worthless.

[C]ould rudeness cause other people to open their wallets too?

The answer was a qualified yes. When it came to “aspirational” brands like Gucci, Burberry, and Louis Vuitton, participants were willing to pay more in a scenario in which they felt rejected. But the qualifications were major. A customer had to feel a longing for the brand, and if the salesperson did not look the image the brand was trying to project, condescension backfired. For mass-market retailers like the Gap, American Eagle, and H&M, rejection backfired regardless.

This qualification exists in the field of pickup too. Acting like an egotistic jerk while hitting on fatties projects an incongruence. Hotties will scorn you, and the fatties will feel even more “devalidated” than they did before you leveled your very special attention on them. Interestingly, this aspect of jerkitude verifies the game technique of peacocking. If you stand out in a little way from the crowd of betas, your jerky charisma will be better received because you’ll be projecting a “brand image” of a man who breaks norms.

Luxury retail is a very specific realm. But the study also points toward a bigger and more general qualification of the advantage to being a jerk: should something go wrong, jerks don’t have a reserve of goodwill to fall back on.

This is why you’ve gotta mix up your jerkballs with some slow pitches, especially if you want a long-term relationship with a girl. A jerkboy can keep a woman spinning in a dizzying drama orbit for a long time, but eventually, should a major fault line erupt, she’ll come back down to earth, and if you haven’t provided at least a little padding for her landing the crash could be spectacular.

([Being a jerk] is also marginally more likely to fail you, several studies suggest, if you’re a woman.)

Contrary popular but embittered feminist belief, men don’t dig bitches (unless they’re smoking hot).

Yet in at least three situations, a touch of jerkiness can be helpful. […] The third—not fully explored here, but worth mentioning—is when the group’s survival is in question, speed is essential, and a paralyzing existential doubt is in the air.

Jerkitude is really helpful to your game right at that precarious decision-making point of your first meeting with a girl. When she’s wondering if you’re an interesting man she’d like to get to know is when being a jerk will nudge her in the direction of wanting more of you.

But can you become the jerk women love? There’s an anecdote in the article about an entrepreneur whose life changed after he joined the Marine Corp. His time in the Marines made him more aggressive. He learned how “to go from 15 to 95 real quick”. He did this so often that his personality permanently changed to a new, jerky valence, and it carried over later into business success.

Learning to become a jerk is just like learning Game,

Without that kind of modulation—without getting a little outside our comfort zone, at least some of the time—we’re all probably less likely to reach our goals, whether we’re prickly or pleasant by disposition.

You have to get outside your comfort zone. Not a lot. Just a little push against your comfy boundaries is enough to mold you into a better man.

He believes that the most effective people are “disagreeable givers”—that is, people willing to use thorny behavior to further the well-being and success of others.

No man is a jerk store unto himself. Speaking of “disagreeable givers”, that appellation fits a lot of natural players I’ve known. They are rude and shocking and arrogant, but are also sometimes surprisingly generous, and the recipients of the jerks’ generosity value it so much more than they would from a niceguy because they are preconditioned to assume the jerk had to sacrifice a lot more “character capital” to be generous with them. It’s like getting a pat on the back from the CEO versus getting slavish praise from the mailroom grunt.

Smile at the customer. Take the initiative. Tweak a few rules. Steal cookies for your colleagues. Don’t puncture the impression that you know what you’re doing. Let the other person fill the silence. Get comfortable with discomfort. Don’t privilege your own feelings. Ask who you’re really protecting. Be tough and humane. Challenge ideas, not the people who hold them. Don’t be a slave to type.

Game 101.

And above all, don’t affix nasty, scatological labels to people.

I dunno about this one. I’ve found that girls love my occasional streaks of sadistic cruelty. Ever play the “marry fuck kill” game with a girl you’ve just met?

It’s a jerk move.

And…

wait for it…

chicks dig it!

(this post was very meta-jerk.)

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Reader Corsair astutely notes that the “outdoors work” options for urban men are severely limited, and this means urban men have fewer avenues for displaying that crucial masculinity which is universally attractive to normal, healthy women.

Re: Heartiste’s comment about swinging a splitter vs. cleaning a shitter –

An interesting implication of the correlations described in this study is the impact of opportunities for men to engage in masculine displays. I have observed that in crowded cities like L.A. and NYC (to name just two of many), where land is scarce, where rent is high, and where a good proportion of married couples with or without kids live cheek-to-jowl in high-density neighborhoods of apartment buildings, the daily living situation for men does not lend itself to running the man script.

If you’re living in a city, you’re very likely not hunting game animals for food or sport. If you’re living in an apartment, you’re likely not using power tools for repairs and maintenance, because the building management takes care of that for you (if you let them). Also if living in an apartment, good luck doing any serious woodworking or automotive work (yes, it can be done, but it’s a pain in the ass – personal experience here). If you have no lawn to mow, no garden to plow (heh), no lumber to split, no horses to shoe, no deer to dress, your opportunities for showing your masculine side are constrained.

In this sense, cities, and especially apartment buildings, are de-masculinizing, while country living is masculinizing. I have experienced both. I have often wondered, given this distribution of MDO (masculine display opportunity) along the city-country spectrum, whether a reproductive regulatory mechanism arises as a result. I.e., country-living men get more sex, have more children as a result. Here where I find myself these days, any such reproductive regulatory effect is overwhelmed by the competing forces of over-education and religion: Less-religious (as a whole), mostly White Master’s Degrees holders have 0-2 kids, while more religious, mostly-Hispanic high school/G.E.D. types have 4-5 kids. But I’d bet that if you control for race and religiosity, you’d see greater fecundity in areas of the country where a man has room to swing a splitter. As those areas tend to be more red-state leaning, that may give some hope to those of us who’d like to see the constituency of the Hivemind wither and die off over time.

What does this mean for the sex-desiring man who finds himself living in a crowded apartment building? Obviously learning how to spit some Game will help, but I’d suggest buttressing your cool stories and Cube routines with some Man Stuff. BE SEEN doing the following: Drive a truck with an in-bed toolbox. Volunteer with Habitat for Humanity and use a circular saw and hammer. Get a motorcycle and learn to take apart and rebuild the engine, then do this on the front sidewalk of your apartment building. Or park your truck on the street and do maintenance work on it at the hour when the career girls are getting home from their HR jobs (or near a coffee shop or popular brunch spot on weekends). Buy a rifle, learn how strip it down and clean it (be seen doing this your wife or girlfriend –> hotter sex, more often) (hat tip to … maybe SouthernMan ? Read that particular tip here at CH several years ago). Learn how to quarter a whole chicken and barbecue it; makes a great cheap date at your place or hers. If she doesn’t faint at the sight of you ripping the backbone out of a chicken, TINGLES.

Some of this is a regurgitation of ol’ Zombie Shane’s “get thee to a Red state” talking points, but inverted – I say bring the Red state to where *you* are. It works for me; it can work for you to, especially if you’re surrounded by manboob libtards and fake tatooed Bros who don’t know a spark plug from a butt plug.

Bring the red state to the blue city. Great advice, Corsair.

Cities are inherently de-masculinizing. And never more so, because cities have become soft degree employment agencies for yuppie chicks in yoga pants, who now make more on average than their urban male counterparts. How does the crimson-pilled urban man regain some leverage in this emasculated dating ecology?

All of Corsair’s suggestions are good, and most are workable. (Some ideas, like truck ownership, are not feasible in many densely populated SWPL dandy districts. Motorcycles are a better choice.) Not only are all these masculine chores and hobbies appealing to women observing the man performing them, but the habits of this kind of work will create a feedback loop that will straighten a man’s spine, boost his T, harden his erection, puff his chest, engage his hunter instinct, and enlarge the aura of his confidence.

Tell me, men, for those of you push papers as well as fix cars, which activity makes you feel more manly? Rhetorical. About the closest approximation to traditional man-work that the office cubicle environment can offer by way of masculinity display is being at the top of a corporate hierarchy, bossing around underlings. Power is also inherently manly, and we see this via proxy by how lustfully women respond to powerful men.

Other ideas for fighting the estrogenic tug of city living:

– Rent a warehouse space in an “edgy” part of town and crank up your guitar amp. Lots of sexually loose hipster girls live in these inexpensive areas, and they will melt for a shredder.

– Get a dog. A big dog. You know how fear and gina tingles complement each other so well.

– You don’t have a phone, you have a hunting knife. Strap it to your belt. (Consult local ordinances first.)

– Store a few photos on your phone of you knee-deep in deer guts and camo gear. (Ok, you still have a phone.)

– You want curious stares from smartly coiffed robowomen? Take a day to stroll around the gentrified boutiques in heavy work boots and dirty jeans caked with earth.

– Wifebeaters are your best bud. Don’t wear them ironically. Masculine men aren’t ironic, they’re sincere.

– Stop being a pudgeball, hit the iron. Sorry fatsos, but squeezable manboobs have become the signature asexuality cue of the beaten-down white collar white beta male. Good news! There’s a ripped mammoth hunter hiding underneath your Charmin bod; he’ll wake up quick once you give him a little air to breathe.

– Communal (communist) gardens are all the rage in SWPLvilles. I think this fad is driven partly by soft liberal men who feel a twinge of shame for their rootless (heh) effeminacy, and getting their hands into soil helps them feel less like a eunuch. But, communal gardens are also lesbian havens, and plots are tiny. If you have a square foot of private land, grow something cool for yourself, like giant squash.

– It’s the ne plus ultra of granola liberalism, but using your apartment building’s roof to raise small farm animals is panty-wetting if you aren’t doing it to “save the earth”. You just like raising your own meat and eggs. Crack the chicken’s neck in front of a girl, for an additional two hours of mind-blowing orgasms later.

– Become a handyman. You don’t need to know much; a little knowledge in the parched wasteland of useless SWPLs crying like babies when a light bulb goes out will reap amazing side benefits. As your reputation circles the condo halls, watch in amazement when cute neighbor girls are constantly stopping by for a helping hand.

– Don’t parrot urban leftoid boilerplate that masks itself as polite conversation. You may as well punch yourself in the dick until it collapses into a vagina.

***

You don’t have to do much to leap over your competition. American blue cities are non-breeding conglomerates of the weakest, feeblest, most effeminate, doughboy whyte men you will see anywhere in the world. Even through their hipster doofus beards. If you can change your car’s oil, you’ll have demonstrated more manly moxie than 90% of the liberal SWPL men around you. If anything, you should be careful of overkill. Maybe save that splitter for weekends at the farm instead of carrying it over your shoulder to the cuffed skinny jean coffee shop. “You wanna split the check? Yeah, let’s split the check. WHACK!!”

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If you observe women without rose-colored glasses tinting your impression or a shiny pedestal obstructing your view, you’ll easily notice patterns in their behavior that abjectly defy their spoken intent. Sometimes, not often though, women will admit in moments of candor the true shape of their desire that they otherwise spend inordinate energy and time concealing under layers of obfuscation and guile. Russian women, bless their cynical souls, have a habit of divulging the secrets of the da!da! sisterhood. One of these pre-babushkas, an avowed golddigger, confessed to the yearning she and other women have for men who are “walls of stone”. Dominant men.

“There are three types of men,” she tells her students. “The creatives. The analysts. We’re not interested in those. The ones we want are ‘the possessors’,” and she repeats the tell-all, prison-intimating phrase, “a man behind whom you feel like behind a wall of stone. We all know how to spot them. The strong, silent men. They wear dark suits. They have deep voices. They mean what they say. These men are interested in control. They don’t want a forceful woman. They have enough of that already. They want a girl who’ll be a pretty flower.”

The alpha male. Every woman wants one, few will nab one. Supplies are limited. Most women, average in looks, will spend a lifetime with men they don’t fantasize about seducing.

Oliona came to Moscow with next to nothing when she was twenty and started as a stripper at one of the casinos, Golden Girls. She danced well, which is how she met her sugar daddy. Now she earns the basic Moscow mistress rate: the apartment, $4,000 a month, a car, and a weeklong holiday in Turkey or Egypt twice a year.

The rewards are good for women born with a fortuitous commingling of DNA.

Oliona’s playing fields are a constellation of clubs and restaurants designed almost exclusively for the purpose of sponsors looking for girls and girls looking for sponsors. The guys are known as “Forbeses” (as in Forbes rich list); the girls as “tiolki,” cattle. It’s a buyer’s market: there are dozens, no, hundreds, of “cattle” for every “Forbes.”

The line between soft and hard polygamy blurs in totally liberated sexual markets. Thanks to female hypergamy, the choosiest sex isn’t women; it’s alpha men. Bring in the cows.

“So many eighteen-year-old girls,” says Oliona, “breathing down my neck.” She’s only twenty-two, but that’s already near the end of a Moscow mistress’s career. “I know I’ll have to start lowering my standards soon,” she tells me, amused rather than appalled.

Glasnost.

 “Today we will learn the algorithm for receiving presents,” the instructor tells her students. “When you desire a present from a man, place yourself at his left, irrational, emotional side. His right is his rational side: you stand to his right if you’re discussing business projects. But if you desire a present, position yourself by his left. If he is sitting in a chair crouch down, so he feels taller, like you’re a child. Squeeze your vaginal muscles. Yes, your vaginal muscles. This will make your pupils dilate, making you more attractive. When he says something, nod; this nodding will induce him to agree with you. And finally, when you ask for your car, your dress, whatever it is you want, stroke his hand. Gently. Now repeat: Look! Nod! Stroke!”

Game for women is essentially methods for maximizing the allure of their beauty and their child-like vulnerability.

(“They think they’ve won something when they get a dress out of us,” one millionaire acquaintance tells me when I tell him about the lessons at the academy. “I let them win sometimes. But come on: What could they ever, ever take from us we didn’t actually let them?” “You know what my word for them is?,” asks another. “I call them gulls, like sea-gulls, circling over garbage dumps. And they sound like gulls, you know, when they sit and gossip in a bar together. Kar-Kar! Kar-Kar! Gulls! Funny: isn’t it?”)

The men sitting in the drivers’ seats know how to play this game too. If you’re a billionaire, gifting a hot piece of ass with a $4K/mo apartment is chump change in exchange for sexually spoiling her prime fertility years and dumping her when her four-year expiration date has been reached. (Female product expiration dates tend to arrive much sooner for men with more market options.) In gambling, this golddigger strategy is what is known as a sucker’s bet.

“Russian men are completely spoilt for choice; Western men are much easier,” she says earnestly, like one carrying out market research. “But the problem with westerners is they don’t buy you presents, never pay for dinner. My German guy will need some work.”

If you’re an American dating an ex-pat Russian girl, don’t buy her stuff. Sure, she’ll lash out occasionally at your stinginess, but she’ll keep coming back for that one roll stuffed in your pocket that really matters. In other words, ACT like a man spoilt for choice.

“He’s handsome as a God,” Oliona tells me, whispering with excitement. “He was giving out hundred dollar bills to girls for blow jobs. Kept going all night. Imagine his stamina! And those poor girls, they don’t just do it for the money you know; every one of them thinks he’ll remember them, that they’re special, so they try extra hard. Of course I refused when he offered: I’m not like THEM… Now we’re seeing each other. Wish me luck!”

Super alphas get a train of blowjobs in da club for pennies on the ruble. The women, naturally, deceive themselves that they’ll be the ones to “convert” the alpha into relationship material, aka sponsorship.

The one thing Oliona will never, ever think of herself as is a prostitute. There’s a clear distinction: prostitutes have to have sex with whomever a pimp tells them to. She does her own hunting.

You have to admire a whore’s honesty about the nature of the deal.

‘Do I really have to go home with him?’ I asked my boss. ‘Yes.’ I went back to his hotel. When he wasn’t looking I slipped some Ruffinol in his drink and ran off.”

Russia is in an anti-feminist alternate universe.

Finally, the shiv that twists guts in the platitudepuses:

“But what about love?” I ask Oliona. It’s late; we’re taping an interview in her apartment. We’re drinking sticky, sweet Prosecco. Her favorite. The nervous little dog snores by the couch.

“My first boyfriend. Back home in Donbas. That was love. He was a local authority.”

Authority is a nice word for gangster.

Chick meets jerk. Chick falls in love. Real love. Fin.

Oliona’s relationship with the Pushkin-loving Forbes didn’t last long. “I thought at first he wanted a bitch. So I played that role. Now I’m not sure, maybe he doesn’t want a bitch. Maybe he wants a nice girl. You know, sometimes I get confused, I can’t even tell which one I am, the nice girl or the bitch.”

Women will bend over backwards to appease an alpha male exactly like beta males will do to appease a cute girl. The difference is that women prostrate themselves for a shot at a relationship, and betas for a shot at sex.

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Kate writes a primer on histrionic personality disorder,

We had post about this on our blog. There is an actual term for what CH calls AWS and it is called Histrionic Personality Disorder.

It occurs at estimates of 1-4% in the general population.

And women are 4 times more likely to have it than men, One female psychiatrist said, “Society doesn’t tolerate this behavior in men like it does in women.”

And it is estimated that over 15% of those in treatment can be diagnosed with HPD.

So this means given women are 50% of the population then it can occur at something like 4%-16% in women and that up to 30% of women in treatment have some form of HPD. [ed: is this math right?] The women may be being treated for depression or another mood disorder, but often these are the result of the life choices and actions that the women take due to HPD. Depression is caused by repeated failures and constant fight or flight situations. These women tend to place themselves in more “Flight” situations than other people.

And the typical woman that has HPD is typically in the low 5 to low 7 SMV range. A more attractive woman needs not generate attention and the less attractive woman finds that nobody actually gives a crap when she does attempt to generate attention as a coping mechanism.

There is a very long list of symptoms but the two key symptoms are “impressionistic thinking” and “everything is a crisis”, often manufactured or caused by the HPD woman.

Impressionistic thinking is characterized by “feelings”, and a lack of quantification, a lack of actual data. So in the cause of this “harassment”, it is a “feeling” that men are overly harassing them and that this is a “crisis” that someone need to deal with.

One other key is that the HPD woman goes on the attack when challenged or the attention seeking behavior doesn’t result in the desired attention or response. Her responses can quite vicious.

I’ve known women like this. At turns charming and nasty creatures. Learn to identify them quickly and move on.

Our article actually used the woman in the linked CH article that had filmed her abortion. The entire film had her and her face in the center of the frame and the stills that accompanied the article often looked like selfie shots with her making eyes and smiling at the camera. Even in the beginning of the video, when she is driving to the clinic, the camera is on the dash, focused on her face. And the other examples in the article all had the same effect, the woman raising the issue had the image of the woman at the center point of the piece and not the issue itself. I think another example was some woman who had gotten fat after having two kids, some former bodybuilding competitor, itself a form of attention whoring, and the theme was how she was suffering now she was a pig in such a horrible thin-centric world. The stills released with her articles were of her naked in some sort of pose where her “ladyparts” were not shown to the camera.

So it could be questioned that any woman that releases videos or posts like this might be a woman that could be diagnosed with some form of HPD. And further, it could be proposed that a good number of female feminist bloggers have HPD, given the prevalence of it among women, and any activity in a public forum would tend to attract more women from the attention seeking side of the spectrum. So basically we could question if the whole internet feminist movement has been hijacked by women that could be clinically diagnosed as mentally ill.

-Mark

So basically we could question if the whole internet feminist movement has been hijacked by women that could be clinically diagnosed as mentally ill.

Heh heh heh.

Questions:

Is HPD on the rise? I bet attention whoring tech is causing the condition to explode in prevalence (or at least to explode in perceived prevalence).

Why does it afflict women more than men? AW/HPD is like “social butterfly syndrome” on steroids. Kind of reminds me of Williams Syndrome, which is a genetic disease that cause the sufferer to become highly sociable, emotional, and naive. The opposite of autism. (Williams victims also have very low IQs. HPDers share Williams traits but without the depressed IQ hit.)

Can HPDers ever be “fixed”? I doubt it. Getting old and invisible to men is about the best remedy there is.

***

Commenter blogster adds an anecdote of AW/HPD in the field,

I have seen this at my local cafe near where I work. Nice, leafy upmarket neighbourhood filled with consulting firms, boutiques, cafes, creative industry types etc. Filled to the brim with pandering beta types. Two guys make the coffee, another cooks meals and the one chick on every shift? Her job is to flatter the betas and get the validation of attention whoring.

She was a very leftist, cute(ish), but opinionated feminist type. her approach was dramatic gesticulation, tonal changes, using her loudish voice to be all dramatic and stuff. Seeing what was happening, I deliberately ignored her and only offered minimal acknowledgement and talked to the two guys, as they were interesting and had something real to say. One day she realises I don’t know her name and she is crushed. There was visible disappointment in her eyes because I had not acknowledged and played into her frame of awesome awesomeness. There was mock shock and pouting for not knowing her name. I started to say, “we’ll may be you should introduce yourself like most adults” and she quickly changed the subject to my coffee order.

From then on she works overtime to engage me, start conversations etc. It was quite hilarious and I gave her the distracted and brief attention of someone in the middle of something more interesting and would turn back to talk to the guys. And each time, she would try to insert herself in the middle. Pathetic.

So in short, chick offers nothing but dramatic phony interaction and expects acknowledgement. It would be like me just standing there and expecting her to blow me just for existing. But that’s how women think.

The tragic part is when women continue thinking like this long past the age they can plausibly get away with it.

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