…that older Middle Eastern men all walk the same, with their hands clasped behind their backs, bent over a little at the waist, shuffling slowly, heads nodding theatrically to punctuate very important points in their conversations? They like to walk shoulder to shoulder in big groups, so they take up a lot of space on the sidewalk.
Archive for the ‘The Big City Life’ Category
Despite the glib title, this is a serious post.
Men have problems approaching women for makelove and pieceinourtime. Ok, the men from the ice people races, mostly. This is a fact. There are theories why men find it so difficult to cold approach women and chat them up with the goal of bedroom hijinks, some of which might have predictive power. Finding the source of men’s approach anxiety would help motivated and aspiring womanizers figure out plans of attack to overcome the AA psychological hurdle.
(It is plausible that approach anxiety evolved from a reality of the distant EEA past when chatting up a strange woman in your tribe or a neighboring tribe could easily get you killed by her brother, father, lover, or the jealous cavebeta orbiter.)
Most pickup sites recommend immersion therapy: learn to love the crash and burn and the preemptive exit as you small talk your way through hundreds of women in a week’s time.
This is not a horrible strategy compared to the alternative for most men: staring at a cute girl from a distance and later masturbating to the cortically embedded visual of her enticing form. But it suffers from one major drawback. There’s no getting around the perception that you are the pursuer, and she the pursued. Not normally a big deal for more experienced men, but for beginners this heavily biased pre-pickup perception means they face an uphill battle getting girls invested in their spiel. Conversations will wind up being short and curt, and that’s no good for a newbie who needs the face and tongue time to improve his social mechanics.
There’s a better beginner exercise that won’t mentally tax your average frustrated neophyte as much as the immersion strategy does. Do you live in a city with a lot of street hawkers and open air social justice hucksters? You know, Greenpeace granolas, Planned Parenthood slutolas, Black Lives Matter shinolas, constantly soliciting passersby with supremely earnest requests for support and thrusting pamphlets or donation list clipboards at you?
These are the shitlib randos you should approach. They aren’t going anywhere, they won’t reject you, and they are pursuing YOU not the other way around. You should practice your conversational chops on these Merchants of Mewl, especially the cute girls.
It will be much easier to get feedback on your game from them because their instinct to insta-reject you for a clumsy blurt is neutralized by the preexisting social dynamic. Go ahead and neg that Occupy Wombchute girl, tease her, flirt with her. She’s been loitering on that sidewalk corner all day, desperate for a little attention and a little love for her cause. She’ll be more forgiving of your beta bumblings, but she won’t stop being a woman, which means you’ll still get honest feedback from her mannerisms, her smile, her eye gleam, and the direction of her body sway, all of which will betray her arousal, or lack thereof, under the tutelage of your incipiently alpha presence.
An addendum: I would bet 90% of the male readers who are interested in improving their charisma to attract and date cute girls won’t do a damn thing with the knowledge droppage that happens at CH. So, it is with a note of bittersweetness that CH continues to pump out posts like this one. Yet we soldier on. Why? Because 90% isn’t 100%. If someone saved a beta today, it will all be worth it.
The streets are getting overrun with hipsters puffing limp-wristedly on electronic, cigar-shaped vaporizers. Now the unmuscled, orally-fixated white hipster signals his approach with a little blue LED light and a swirl of nicotine/weed steam emanating from his smelly beard. Are there that many former hipster smokers trying to quit, or is the vape pen just another SWPL attempt to ape actual coolness in an age of anti-racism schoolmarms and sexually ambiguous male feminists? “Vape bars” aren’t far behind.
I recently bought a foot-long vape pipe. I don’t intend to smoke it. I’ll just have it worked into an illustrious pendant worn as a mating cue to passing ladies. Vape rape. 😎
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!!”
A hilariously droll response to that Shoshana Roberts catcall-baiting (s)troll through the heterodusk community was recently uploaded to YouTube. It features an attractive white woman taking a 10-hour walk through predominately white Auckland and having her experience recorded by a companion operating a concealed GoPro camera.
Nothing much happens besides a few head turns by men as she walks past them. I suppose a deranged feminist would use that as evidence of eye harassment. Dem man eyes boring holes through women’s souls… eye rape!
The first interesting reaction starts at 0:25, when she struts past a construction site. Two brown men stare at her for a while, but say nothing. It’s hard to tell if they’re very tanned white men, or nonwhite laborers; nevertheless, the scene is reminiscent of the CH observation that the colorful excesses of “diversity”, whether of the race or class variety, tend to be kept in check if subsumed into a larger culture firmly in control by a self-assured and demographically dominant white majority. Some would call this an example of a people “owning a space”.
At 0:37, she receives a very aggressive eye rape from a mustachioed man who, it should be noted, looks conspicuously nonwhite.
The dramatic climax starts at 0:44. A white man notices her as he walks in the opposite direction, does a turnabout, and skips ahead to her side to drop some indirect day game on her. He stops her and asks if she’s Italian. Is this guy a Yad or Krauser acolyte? No mention is made in the video if he got her number. Her GoPro companion keeps walking, possibly to give her some privacy to exchange numbers with the bold pickup artist.
Which leads to another point: Catcalling is anti-game on white women. You will actually lower your chances more by sloppily catcalling a pretty white girl than you would by doing nothing except posing and hoping she digs your contrapposto. White men either intuitively know this and therefore deliberately refrain from the practice, or white men are constitutionally averse to picking up women like a carnival barker. Catcalling is one of those male mating dances that appears to be mostly race-specific; that is, blacks and pedros love it, and their women might very well enjoy it and even occasionally reward it. These guys will also catcall white women, but mostly because they don’t understand that white women don’t vibe with that style of primitive machismo.
Catcalling is also qualitatively different from game-savvy street pickup, the latter which is honed and practiced by, mostly, white men. Hooting at a girl to “show some love”, or “smile more”, or following on her heels for blocks without saying a word except a mewling “Am I too ugly for you”, is not game. Walking up to her side, stopping her, asking some nonsexual question with plausibly innocent intent, and swiftly moving the topic of conversation into more fertile ground leading to a number or kiss close is game that works, and importantly it’s game that works on the world’s most desirable women: Slender white women. (The qualifier is, tragically, more necessary than ever.)
Other than the white PUA flashing some game, and a flabby beta foreigner asking her for directions, she manages to walk the entire city unmolested by white men with active sex drives.
Lesson of the tape: White men don’t catcall. If you are a woman who secretly wants catcalls to feel attractive to men, and you don’t care about catcaller quality or courtship skill level, your best bet is to have a steatopygic ass stuffed into fuck-me jeans and a parade route through Harlem during work hours.
The datanauts at OKCupid ran the back channel numbers for New York City to find out who among the city’s 400,000 users on the dating site were the “most desired”, an appellation that relied on the simple metric of which users received the most messages from lovelorn horndogs. (More on that later.)
CH has taken issue before with OKCupid’s liberal-leaning data crunching team for sampling bias and misinterpretation of their findings. Analytical flaws aside, this very rough measure of “most desirable OKCupid user” does offer us a glimpse into the radioactive, hyperventilated, full metal jacketed sexual market of New York City, the American city with, arguably, the greatest concentration of 9s and 10s after LA and Miami. What does the crude sampling of OKCupid messages received say about New Yorkers’ sexual tastes?
I’m afraid, not anything flattering. However, there’s nary a fatty in sight, so at least NYC cleared that low hurdle.
First up, the NYC woman “voted” most desirable by OKCupid message ballot count is a heavily tattooed courtesan with a FUCK MY STARFISH cumdumpster gaze:
Cutting to the lace, this chick, as seen here, is a 7.5. CH deems her in her present state totally bang-worthy. But what does she look like underneath her three layers of industrial grade make-up and complimentary lighting? Drawing on my vast reservoir of expertise, I bet she drops to a 6 in the sunshine-y morning sans artificial face. The tats, of course, are a major slut giveaway. Not that sluttiness is necessarily a bad thing; it depends on a man’s perspective. Does he want a faithful girlfriend, or a bedroom adventure?
The impression this girl wants to leave on potential suitors is 1. I’m a fucktoy, 2. I will keep you at a distance and never let you know the real me, and 3. I’m an attention whore with a burdensome and unnecessary high female IQ and a low self-esteem nurtured by doubts about my ability to get a real alpha male player to commit, and so I will pretend I’m the one choosing my inglorious cad-chasing, pump and dumping lifestyle.
If you don’t believe my astute psychological diagnosis, here’s some choice quotes from her:
It doesn’t hurt that Lauren, after getting out of a four-year relationship with a “pathological liar” [ed: chicks dig… ah fuck it, you know the drill] who had a drug problem, isn’t necessarily looking for anything serious. So, in OKCupid’s searchable “I’m looking for …” section, she, like most women, selected “long-term dating,” “short-term dating,” and “new friends.” Unlike most women, she also selected “casual sex,” figuring she might as well tell the truth.
“At first, I thought if you listed ‘casual sex,’ guys would realize that even though I don’t want to be in a relationship with you, we can still go out, get drinks,” she says, but it triggered a vulgar explosion of come-ons. “It’s like, I’m not a prostitute. But they don’t get that.”
The attention, she admits, has been flattering—an ego boost after a rough breakup. She also confesses that she was “never the pretty girl” growing up and appreciates being in the position to approve or ignore other people.
Online dating: Inflating the egos of subclinical headcases since… I dunno, when did this clitshow start?
The finding of Lauren as most desirable NYC OKCupid girl also tells us a lot about what men value in women they meet online: namely, quick sex. Undoubtedly, there are hotter girls than Lauren peep toe-ing along the city’s sidewalks, but they’re not on OkCupid. Or if they are, they’re not as likely to create an image of themselves as around-the-way gothgirls. Lauren’s incomprehensibly vaunted position in the OKCupid universe is symptomatic of the problems with online dating, for both men and women: One, users (especially female users) are a self-selected bunch of marginal SMV participants. The really ugly and the really pretty are, respectively, too dispirited or too romantically successful in the real world to bother with the hassle. Two, women who dress like they spread faster than melted butter will naturally attract the eyeballs of a lot of men looking for a good time. Try to explain this common sensical functioning of the dating market to an SMRT, HIGH IQ city sister and you’ll get an earful of feminist boilerplate in return.
And don’t forget the probable demographic of OKCupid’s male users. Whom do gothgirls with NASA links attract? Nerds. What’s a nerd’s dating life like? The vast empty cosmos. Put the two together and you get a Lauren-sized ego relishing the desperation of 8,000 loveless nerds. 8,000 smart, economically productive nerds who don’t stand a chance against pathologically lying, badboy drug addicts.
I’d fuckin laugh if it weren’t so banal. No wait, I am laughing. Shitting on nerds’ hopes still puts a smile on my face.
Next up, the lesbian found to be most desirable dyke in NYC:
Justin Fuckin Bieber! Lesbians may all be grossly obese and tolerant of their scissor partners’ fatness, but judging by the photo above of most desirable lesbian in NYC, lesbians would prefer to be with very skinny women. Obligate lesbians (as opposed to cute chicks who experiment sometimes) are ugly and go out of their way to look like men, but they retain particulars of the heterosexual female mind, such as a preternatural ability to overlook physical flaws in a lover. Now I wonder if perhaps lesbians secretly desire the love of thin women, just like straight men do, but don’t give enough of a shit to bother with the effort since they know that gardening and softball sublimate nicely for bed death.
Anyhow, enough of this lesbian. I can’t stand looking anymore at those two bones passing for an ass on her.
For prolapsed giggles, here’s the photo of New York’s most desirable gay man on OkCupid:
Can we stop prancing around the subject and just admit that gay men are borderline Peter Panny pedophiles who love dat schoolboy charm? Not that I’d give them too much shit for it. If straight men had the option and the social sanction, we’d all be banging barely legal girleens.
One of the “winners’ was a straight man, but I see no reason to include his pic here. Not much to say, except he’s decent-looking and appears to have a sense of humor and knows how to demonstrate higher value, (of which the latter two traits are likely the greater attributing factors to his OKCupid popularity).
At a dark, candlelit West Village bar, James Hawver, a 29-year-old real-estate agent and New York’s most popular straight guy, is the living embodiment of his OKCupid handle, MyTiesAreSkinny. Preppily handsome, he’s dressed in a well-fitting H&M blazer with, yes, a skinny black tie and matching pocket square. James’s profile is peppered with references to his travels in Nepal and China and self-deprecatingly confident jokes like: “Ryan Gosling could play my stunt double. That is, if I didn’t already do my own stunts.” The whole profile is self-aware, right down to his height, which he lists as five-foot-nine, though he’s an inch shorter. “They say most guys add two inches,” he says, quoting OKCupid’s statistics blog, OKTrends. “I’m already behind!”
He also has a practical grasp of “law of large numbers” game.
But James has a few simple hacks to further improve his odds. He uses both OKCupid and Tinder, an app that is almost solely photo-based. Both are owned by IAC, the company that also owns Match.com. In the three and a half hours we spend talking, the phone will ping 47 times: On Tinder, 35 women will match with him; 12 women on OKCupid will either message or favorite him. The week before, he took a screenshot of a Tinder notification: 890 new matches, a personal record. And he has a basic strategy. Like a lot of guys, he was wasting time studying the profiles and photos of women who would never respond. Then a friend shared a deviously simple online-dating trick.
“You ready for the secret?” James asks me. “Not to blow your mind, but it’s disgusting …” He picks up his phone. “So, every couple days, I will do this,” he says. He opens the Tinder app, but before
I can see the first woman’s face, he swipes right: interested. If the woman he likes also swipes right, he has an official match. In short: He never swipes left (not interested).
“I will say yes to every single person,” James says. And he never follows up with someone who hasn’t already confirmed her interest. On OKCupid, he does the same thing: He gives everyone five stars (and if someone gives him four or fives stars in return, the site will notify him of a match). By doing so, he exposes himself to less risk, an appealing upside to James, who’s had two difficult breakups. He’s since had thousands of matches—so many that he’s had to refine his strategy.
By the way, you’ll note that James receives FAR fewer messages from women than Lauren receives from men. A handsome man simply can’t expect the same kind of lustful stampede from hordes of women than a pretty woman signaling sexual availability can expect from men.
“The last person I matched with was Allison,” he says. If he were to send a message to Allison on a Sunday, Monday, or Tuesday, it would read: Hey there Miss Allison. What kind of trouble did you get into this weekend? :) “That’s exactly what I do, every fucking time,” he says, laughing. For Wednesday: Hey there Miss Allison. What sort of trouble are you getting into this week? :) Thursday or Friday: What kind of trouble are you getting into this weekend? :) And if it’s Saturday: What kind of trouble have you been getting into? :)
Kind of a cheesy line, but if you drop it on fifty girls a week you’re bound to hit pay dirt on a couple.
The overall vibe one gets from the current online dating scene is one of self-protectiveness and exploitation. Not that it hasn’t always been like that, but these two trends have accelerated since I entered the plunderdome as a pre-teened, continuously turgid stripling. Some men are wising up to the mechanical nature of female sexuality, and women, in response (or as causal agents) are building emotional, snarl-fueled barriers around themselves, and sometimes even physical barriers like tattoos, which intimidate the beta saps and signal the alpha players to swoop in for the thrill. Women bitch about this state of affairs, but, like always, watch what they do. The vagina speaks louder than a million words.
It’s helpful to keep in mind when trawling online dating site data (you listening Rudder?) that “desirability” and “hotness” are not necessarily the same. A slutty 7 will get a lot more messages than a modest 10 for the simple reason that most men, average by definition, consider attainability in deciding which women to hit up for a romantic evening of ass eating.
And the same is true in real life. It may seem paradoxical, but the hottest girls actually get hit on less often than ordinarily cute 6s and 7s. If you want an explanation why 7s seem to have bigger egos than 9s, or why that fantastic 9 tossed you a lascivious look while that chubby 5 steamrolled right past you, there you go. This doesn’t mean really hot girls don’t know their own sexual value. 8s, 9s and 10s may not get directly hit on, but they experience plenty of indirect attention from men in the form of shell-shocked stares, furtive glances, craning necks and nervous fidgeting. Hotties subconsciously pick up these cues, but consciously may remain unaware just how awestruck men are in their company, which contributes to their frustration with not being approached as often as those subtle attraction clues from men would indicate.
It’s been said on other pickup sites, and it bears repeating: As a student of applied charisma, you’ll be surprised to find yourself having more success with hotter girls than you’re used to rather than with the plainer girls which have been your self-limiting expectation.
We may be entering an era when the romantic fortunes of the Renegade Alpha reach a zenith. A culmination of culture shocks will magnify the appeal of the nonconformist cad, energizing a state of illicit affairs which could last for twenty years before the pendulum swings back into the camp of traditional alpha males.
Who is the Renegade Alpha? It helps to know the context within which he lives. An elegant description of the male socio-sexual hierarchy exists deep in the CH archives.
Make no mistake, at the most fundamental level the CRUX of a man’s worth is measured by his desirability to women, whether he chooses to play the game or not. Pussy is the holy grail. That is why the obese, socially maladroit nerdboy who manages to unlock the gate to the secret garden and bang a 10 regularly is an alpha male. And that is also why the rich, charming entrepreneur who, because of an emotional deficiency or mental sickness lives mired in parched celibacy, is not an alpha male.
Due to this enduring confusion about what makes an alpha, I submit the following system, in the form of a handy chart, to help clear the air. It hits on the three major factors influencing male rank — how hot are the women he can attract, how strong is that attraction for him, and how many of those women find him attractive.
Some readers unhappy with this reductive (and thus clear-eyed) partition of male sexual worth balked at this definition, claiming it was circular. But great truths often distill as tautologies, which is why the CH definition of the alpha male is so sweeping in its scope and yet unassailable in its detail.
The blogger Vox, an esteemed member of the realtalker shock troops, has his own delineation of male status based off of the original CH socio-sexual classifications, which he has said is a refinement of the original, but which CH guardians of the Good Word of Game say amounts to an aesthetic rewording of the primeval texts. Vox’s male ranks could easily superimpose onto CH’s ranking system, because the CH hierarchy is not, as is commonly assumed by readers who have barely skimmed the ancient writings, a stark dichotomy separating alphas from betas, but rather is a continuous SPECTRUM running the gamut from the lowly omega dregs to the zero-point-one percenter super alphas. Within that spectrum there is room for every male socio-sexual rank, including the mysterious Renegade Alpha, which Vox names the Sigma Male.
Sigma: The outsider who doesn’t play the social game and manage to win at it anyhow. The sigma is hated by alphas because sigmas are the only men who don’t accept or at least acknowledge, however grudgingly, their social dominance. (NB: Alphas absolutely hate to be laughed at and a sigma can often enrage an alpha by doing nothing more than smiling at him.) Everyone else is vaguely confused by them. In a social situation, the sigma is the man who stops in briefly to say hello to a few friends accompanied by a Tier 1 girl that no one has ever seen before. Sigmas like women, but tend to be contemptuous of them. They are usually considered to be strange. Gammas often like to think they are sigmas, failing to understand that sigmas are not social rejects, they are at the top of the social hierarchy despite their refusal to play by its rules.
Lifetime sexual partners = 4x average+.
In equivalent CH terms, then, the Sigma Male would fall somewhere between a Greater Beta and a Lesser Alpha. An ample supply of cute girls are attracted to him, and some of those girls want to be with him exclusively. He oozes badboy allure, and he’s been known to make a girl or two cry in despair, and perhaps to have had his heart broken in return. So he is, by most men’s paltry standards, a successful predator of poon. (A noodle-armed emo crooner fronting an indie band is a well-known Renegade Alpha archetype.) But he doesn’t have the broad social leverage that a traditional “leader of men” alpha male has at his disposal, and this somewhat limits the Sigma Male/Renegade Alpha from monopolizing the attentions of a large pool of 9s and 10s, or of enjoying the distaff fruits of a wide and deep social circle of admiring friends and accomplished business partners eager to play matchmaker.
However, that same outsider status and rule-breaking dereliction of the Renegade Alpha also frees him from having to live up to the expectations of an insular social group. This freedom is especially nourishing if that group is a cult of winners with an unforgiving, judgmental distaste for deviance from the norm. Oftentimes, the libidinous and romantic urges of a traditional alpha male are straitjacketed by the conventional demands of his peers, and he looks with envy upon the Renegade Alpha reclining with some starry-eyed scenester who didn’t go to Harvard but who loves to take loads to her pink hair-framed face.
Very loosely, the Renegade Alpha is a seducer of women first, and a leader of men second, if at all. Though in fact the two conditions are not mutually exclusive. A cad bounder who defies the rules can also lead a small contingent of men, although the sweep of his influence may be constrained by his chosen hedonistic lifestyle.
So what does the present American sexual market tell us about the fortunes of the Renegade Alpha? For one, this is his moment. He thrives in formerly stable cultures that are experiencing paradigm shifts which shake up the old rules and create disincentives to social cooperation. Confusion, ennui, distrust, discord, fear and uncertainty — these are the conditions that craft his playground of poon. Where there is emerging chaos, you will find the reign of the Renegade Alpha.
Probably the best historical example of this reality is Casanova, one of European history’s greatest womanizers who pursued his passions during the Age of Enlightenment, a time in the West of tumult and change, leading eventually to the French and American Revolutions.
Will something similar happen in our lifetimes? America today is also experiencing tumult, and a new dark enlightenment is set to crash the scene like an unwelcome guest, upending tribal affiliations and cherished beliefs alike. Something strange and frightening is a-blowin’ in the wind, and the Renegade Alpha is there to take your hand, comfort you in your time of need, lead you to a better place, arouse you with intimations of transcendental escape, seduce you, and evade rebuke under cover of urban anonymity and social atomization.
It’s no coincidence that the Pickup Artist movement, spearheaded in the 1990s by intellectual revolutionaries (yes, really), came to prominence when it did. The eroding culture was primed for it. Frayed social cohesion and rapid advancement in communications have allowed the PUA and his message to flourish. The PUA, a creature of his environment, is a specialized Renegade Alpha.
So the Renegade Alpha, or Sigma Male in Vox’s terminology, excels at exploiting cratering cultures and the tender, psychologically scarred minds that inhabit them. Societal collapse is his serendipity. The cri de coeur of broken souls his symphony.
When the actual collapse comes, delivering real pain to the old order and its pathetic servants, the Renegade Alpha will retreat from the scene, his services no longer needed by sufficient numbers to warrant his active, daily participation in the hunt. Post-collapse, the weepy, suddenly straight-thinking women will crave the firm footing of authorial alpha males and predictable beta males. The female desire for romantic excitement will be quenched by the real excitement of destitution, decay and doom.
Oh, he’ll always have a place at the pussy table. When the Leader of Men alpha males rule, the Renegade Alpha finds niches within which he can profitably work his magic, posing as the “outsider” who provides subversive entertainment in times of mundane prosperity and social comity. But under those conditions his numbers are necessarily inhibited by the checks and balances that are naturally emergent in a strong, high trust culture that believes in itself.
In weak, low trust cultures that have lost the faith… he dines tonight.