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Archive for the ‘The Big City Life’ Category

A fey White hipster wearing a t-shirt that read “Blend out the world”.

My suspicion could be wrong; it could be the name of a band. But, I bet the t-shirt is a gamma ray explosion of antiracism virtue signaling intended to extol the benefits of blending away the divine White genetic lineage in a yolocaust of #WhiteGenocide miscegenation.

More generously, the t-shirt’s self-immolation slogan could be interpreted as a passive, backhanded insult to the world’s nonWhites, insofar as it implies the blending out of Whites would entail, conceptually if not arithmetically, the blending out of nonWhite races and cultures. And there’s nothing antiracist about a less than full-throated admiration for the world’s nonWhite cultures and commitment to their numerical dominance over the whole of the earth, subversive Millennial Manlet!

But no, I think the guy was just a garden variety hipster bitchboy who thought he could score some ass – male or female – with his edgelord anti-White-itude.

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One (hot) girl telling another (less hot) girl about her disappointment in a man she’s dating.

“He won’t do anal. Not like I asked or anything, but he kind of made a face and backed off when it started going there. He’s not adventurous with sex. Not at all. Like, so plain vanilla. White bread. *laugh* Do I want this? Am I crazy for wanting more? He’s got a big money job. But so what, that’s not gonna get me off.”

The best thing about overhearing this conversation was the other girl listening patiently. Her facial expression never changed from neutral. Not even a twitch. She sat and nodded her head solemnly, as if she was listening to a lecture on geopolitical trends.

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…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.

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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.

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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. 😎

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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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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.

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