The Unfathomable Mind Of Man

Sweet Rosalie writes,

I don’t understand how the married guy is “happily married” if he drinks so much and sounds so desperate. If I had been his wife I would have divorced him not for cheating, but for being such a desperate clingy beta (for a 36-year-old who treats him like s#it nonetheless). I wouldn’t mind too much my husband having an affair if he acts like a grown-up, but the sight of my husband losing his head like a (drunk) teenager would be unbearable.

It’s helpful to remind oneself that the male mind is as, if not more, unfathomable to women as the female mind is to men, and this is particularly so when we speak of the primeval parts of the brain responsible for regulating romantic feeling. Rosalie is Exhibit A. She can’t understand how a man can be both happily married and desperate to bang an office hottie. But men are perfetly capable of compartmentalizing sex and love, something women can’t do or can only do with strenuous mental exertions that defy their natural psychological predisposition.

FACT: Most men can simultaneously love their wives and lust for their mistresses.

FACT: More men than women are capable of LOVING two or more romantic partners concurrently.

FACT: A man can sustain and reconcile a happy marriage and a romantic fling for decades without feeling an urge to give up on either one.

Women have trouble doing any of the above three axioms with the same ease of execution and peace of mind that men naturally possess. There are exceptions, but this is the way to bet.

Rosalie, therefore, is befuddled. And Rosalie should not be chastised (gently mocked, yes) for her befuddlement, because it is the nature of her sex to project her own desires and compulsions onto the motivations of men. It is a rare woman indeed with the self-awareness to understand men’s romantic desires and to predict men’s actions based on that understanding. It is the rarer woman still who will forgive men for following their desires in the same reckless manner that women unabashedly follow theirs.

Rosalie’s confessional blurt reveals something else of the character of women. It isn’t the cheating per se that offends her; it’s the man’s clinginess and betatude with which the hope of cheating is pursued that gets under her skin. This is in line with the CH contention that, deep beneath the reservoir of polite social expectation that wraps cortically around the id monster, women aren’t so scandalized by a cheating lover as they are emotionally traumatized by a cheating lover who cheats with sub-par fare and does so with the mien of a mewling betaboy in a rush of love. (That post, btw, garnered a response from a more optimistic man than I.)

Rosalie is woman. The sex act of the cheater is not the crisis of heart for her. The betrayal of *love* is what sets her off. Like most women, what she truly fears is infidelity of the heart, not infidelity of the groin. This is why it’s so jarring to her to hear about, or visualize, an older husband falling gaga in love with a younger woman, and reverting to a primordial beta prototype in the process.

Sweet Rosalie, if only there were more women like you who spoke truth to id, and understood that alpha husbands sometimes need sexual and romantic outlets, and that this male desire needn’t mean the end of their marriages. Are you French, by any chance?

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Alexis de Tocqueville’s Prescient Gaze

DAN IN ATL passes along wise words from a long-gone species of man: The keen observer of reality.

In his classic study “Democracy in America”, Alexis de Tocqueville included this gem:

“There are people in Europe who, confounding together the different characteristics of the sexes, would make man and woman into beings not only equal but alike. They would give to both the same functions, impose on both the same duties, and grant to both the same rights; they would mix them in all things–their occupations, their pleasures, their business. It may readily be conceived that by thus attempting to make one sex equal to the other, both are degraded, and from so preposterous a medley of the works of nature nothing could ever result but weak men and disorderly women.”

The twisted roots of American feminism trace back to the motherland: Europe. To find the malevolent pool of black goo that belched the feminism-equalism battleaxes-of-evil, you need to journey to the ancestral lands of your forebears. For most Americans prior the 1965 White Dissolution Immigration Act, that means the lands of Napoleon, Richard III, and Kaiser Wilhelm.

Weak men and disorderly women. de Tocqueville saw clear what many of us living in the grip of his realized dystopia cannot or will not. Time enough has passed; the weakness spreads and the binds of men and women fray. We had warnings. Why didn’t we heed them? Because, perhaps, free will is illusory. We crash in the machinery of these ageless, infinitely looping social cycles, rattling like loose nuts, dimly grasping the exhausted end we’re hurtling toward, but unable to do anything about it save rust within the decay. Our hopes and aspirations, it appears, exist in precarious balance with an ineradicable death wish.

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Freelance Comment Of The Week: Diversity Is Our Separation

Replying to a Steve Sailer review of the movie Her as a mischievous chain-yank of the exquisite sensibilities of white people who majored in humanities, commenter stari_momak pithily spits,

You notice how [as] America has gotten darker, white people have gotten fairer (or paler)?

One consequence of the CH axiom Diversity + Proximity = War is, ironically, a racial self-segregation that belies the media message drumbeat propagandizing the opposite. Her is very much a SWPL (Stuff White People Like) utopia: clean urban spaces, softening pastels, car-less mass transit, bicycle lanes, love affairs with an advanced Siri AI who sounds like the whitest white girl who ever whited, a noticeable lack of bling or vibrancy.

It’s almost as if the crushing weight of diversity (especially in LA) has freed upper middle class whites to wall themselves off in cultural compounds of their own making. Sure, they have to guss up their motives with doublespeak, but their actions — their revealed preference in economese — is strictly for a society of the whites, by the whites, for the whites.

It’s no longer affordable for liberal whites to walk their talk. The days of mingling with a token or two, or adopting some affect of the underclass, and patting oneself on the back are rapidly coming to a close. Diversity has expanded its reach to dangerous levels, threatening a core reactor meltdown. Its ominous, suffocating presence reminds leftoids on a daily basis the reality of a world that is being reshaped into what they have claimed is progress. In their personal lives, where chucks hit the ground, they recoil at this progress, and retreat to insulated social bubbles that align more closely with predilections formed by their genetic heritage.

Like the vast expanse of outer space, as America on the whole becomes less white, the pinpoints of whiteness glow more brightly.

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“The want of men was their ruin”

Aristotle expounded on the fall of Sparta at the hands of their women. It’s brisk reading and, to CH readers, offers familiar theories about the sexes. The ancients knew more about the nature of women than do our modern, plugged in Wiki warriors with the world’s PC knowledge at their fingertips.

Again, the license of the Lacedaemonian women defeats the intention of the Spartan constitution, and is adverse to the happiness of the state. For, a husband and wife being each a part of every family, the state may be considered as about equally divided into men and women; and, therefore, in those states in which the condition of the women is bad, half the city may be regarded as having no laws. And this is what has actually happened at Sparta; the legislator wanted to make the whole state hardy and temperate, and he has carried out his intention in the case of the men, but he has neglected the women, who live in every sort of intemperance and luxury. The consequence is that in such a state wealth is too highly valued, especially if the citizen fall under the dominion of their wives, after the manner of most warlike races, except the Celts and a few others who openly approve of male loves. The old mythologer would seem to have been right in uniting Ares and Aphrodite, for all warlike races are prone to the love either of men or of women. This was exemplified among the Spartans in the days of their greatness; many things were managed by their women. But what difference does it make whether women rule, or the rulers are ruled by women? The result is the same. Even in regard to courage, which is of no use in daily life, and is needed only in war, the influence of the Lacedaemonian women has been most mischievous. The evil showed itself in the Theban invasion, when, unlike the women other cities, they were utterly useless and caused more confusion than the enemy. This license of the Lacedaemonian women existed from the earliest times, and was only what might be expected. For, during the wars of the Lacedaemonians, first against the Argives, and afterwards against the Arcadians and Messenians, the men were long away from home, and, on the return of peace, they gave themselves into the legislator’s hand, already prepared by the discipline of a soldier’s life (in which there are many elements of virtue), to receive his enactments. But, when Lycurgus, as tradition says, wanted to bring the women under his laws, they resisted, and he gave up the attempt. These then are the causes of what then happened, and this defect in the constitution is clearly to be attributed to them. We are not, however, considering what is or is not to be excused, but what is right or wrong, and the disorder of the women, as I have already said, not only gives an air of indecorum to the constitution considered in itself, but tends in a measure to foster avarice.

The mention of avarice naturally suggests a criticism on the inequality of property. While some of the Spartan citizen have quite small properties, others have very large ones; hence the land has passed into the hands of a few. And this is due also to faulty laws; for, although the legislator rightly holds up to shame the sale or purchase of an inheritance, he allows anybody who likes to give or bequeath it. Yet both practices lead to the same result. And nearly two-fifths of the whole country are held by women; this is owing to the number of heiresses and to the large dowries which are customary. It would surely have been better to have given no dowries at all, or, if any, but small or moderate ones. As the law now stands, a man may bestow his heiress on any one whom he pleases, and, if he die intestate, the privilege of giving her away descends to his heir. Hence, although the country is able to maintain 1500 cavalry and 30,000 hoplites, the whole number of Spartan citizens fell below 1000. The result proves the faulty nature of their laws respecting property; for the city sank under a single defeat; the want of men was their ruin.

Translated into New Shivvian:

“Hordes of pampered, ballcutting, materialistic, meddling, careerist, status whoring, slutty Spartan women riding the cock carousel and riding their hapless hounded hubbies, became self-sufficient property owners and heiresses of a few very wealthy aggrandizing men, thereby robbing Sparta’s beta males of the opportunity to establish affordable families of their own, leaving the city down the road with too few men to defend itself against invaders who themselves didn’t give a shit what proto-feminist Spartan women thought.”

CH is fond of recapitulating the axiom that women are perishable and men are expendable, and this is true in the whole and assessed over discrete blocks of time. But perturbations in the male population caused by long term fluxes in the expendability side of the equation will lead, as observed and noted by Aristotle, (a thinker so great you could jam the writings and wailings of all of history’s leading feminists and mangina suck-ups into a single fold of his cerebellum and it would scarcely amount to more than a fleeting musing in his daily mental output), to the ruin of a nation.

Biologically, men are indeed the expendable sex. A population group (i.e., a nation in the old timey sense of the word) can withstand short term shocks to its total number of men; it doesn’t take but one man to munch a few celery stalks and pop a few zinc tablets and carry on in his duty to impregnate an army of patriotic women and repopulate the countryside.

But given enough male expendability over time, and the first order axiom of fundamental sex difference starts to break down. For although a single man can, conceivably, star in a version of Boogie Years and spread his seed to the four corners of the country to rebuild a stricken population, that single man is also critically vulnerable to overrun by hungry barbarians who get word of a land where they can dine on honeydew and drink the milk of paradise for the low low price of one man’s scalp.

Feminists, equalists, open borders nutjobs, and assorted degenerate misfits ought to keep in mind that their beloved “progress” comes prepackaged with the seed of their destruction. CH (and Aristotle) will slap on the warning label; now it’s up to them to heed it.

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14 Things No One Will Tell Fat Girls… So I Will

Things that I wish I deluded myself with earlier. Things that I’ve learned in online life, where babbling nonsense can never be fact-checked. Things people really need to talk about more, until they start to believe their own bullshit:

Everyone has rolls when they bend over. Everyone.

Yes, it’s true. When women hug their knees they show tummy rolls. ALL OF THEM HAVE TUMMY ROLLS. Of course, some rolls are tiny miniature baguettes that have to be coaxed out with extreme physical contortion and some are sun-bleached whale carcasses that protrude at the slightest exertion. And some rolls are so mighty they undulate even when the woman is standing straight. Not that any of this should make a difference, Judgy McJudgidouche. Everyone is equally sexy to the opposite sex. Except for creepers and nerds.

When people say “you’re gorgeous”, believe them.

Because if you start doubting the sincerity of random strangers who just want to make it through the day without starting fights with hair-trigger, insecure fatties, you’ll get depressed and think about killing yourself. (Protip: Don’t embarrass your family by having your dead body airlifted through a hole in the roof. Do the dirty deed in an empty field, preferably downwind of major population centers.) When well-meaning friends genuinely compliment your looks despite all evidence to the contrary, it’s because they see all of you. I mean, they see ALL of you with assistance from fish-eye lenses. So they know how to tailor their lies accordingly.

“Arm flab is embarrassing.”

No it’s not, go fuck yourself. Arm flab is romantic. Think about all the songs written about boys dying in your arms tonight… from asphyxiation.

You’re not stunning despite your body. You’re stunning because of your body.

That’s true. When a fat woman embraces you with all the inner beauty she can muster, you will be stunned and gasping for breath as your spine cracks. If you start to see a white light at the end of a tunnel, you’re not having a near-death experience; that’s just a flashlight she lost six months ago wedged in her cleavage. I am of the firm belief — much like the firmness with which creationists hold their beliefs — that every person is beautiful (except for the aforementioned creepers and nerds), and so this leaves the inside to be the part that is most telling when it comes to true “beauty”, which I have put in scare quotes because there’s no such thing as beauty, except for the even harder to discern stuff that exists on the inside. Presumably somewhere in the mitochondria?

A guy can pick you up off your feet, and it won’t break his back.

It won’t, I promise! Getting picked up by him won’t cripple anything but perhaps his ego as he struggles to deadlift a weight well above his one rep max.

True story. This just happened to me for the first time in… six years? I’m considerably heavier than I was 6 years ago (like… 70 pounds heavier) and so when I ran up to my friend Eric for a hug and he picked me up with my heels in the air… it left me breathless. I had forgotten that it was possible; I had accepted a life void of being lifted. So exhilarating. Eric didn’t suffer any lasting injuries that I could tell and he walked away pretending to be Ok, before spending the evening alone icing every joint in his body.

You don’t need to exercise every day in order to feel better about yourself.

You could get your dopamine fix with a tub of butterfat, for instance. You don’t owe it to anyone to look good for them, unless you want to be noticed by normal men with functioning libidos.

You’re allowed to fall in love with yourself. I promise.

This will be the scariest thing you will ever do, because there will be some moldy fungus colonies in your belly folds that will be very hard to love. It will also be the most amazing (albeit super delusional) experience you will ever have. It doesn’t make you narcissistic. It doesn’t make you vain. It makes you blind to reality, and that’s liberating in every nuance of the term.

It’s also okay to have days were you don’t love yourself.

It’ll take a long time to reverse the effects of self-hate indoctrination and brainwashing by hanging out on feminist fat-acceptance websites where you can indulge self-love indoctrination and brainwashing.  It’s going to take a lot longer than you think to reverse this thinking, because the non-rationalizing part of your brain knows that fatness kills romance dead. So give the media the finger, and move forward into a different media that tells you what you want to hear.

Everyone’s boobs are uneven. If you have a lot of boobs, they might be way uneven.

If you have a lot of boobs. you may want to see a doctor. Superfluous boobs are weird. But if you have just two boobs, and they’re uneven, worry about other things. Unevenness is not as much of a turn-off to men as are hanging sacks of seal blubber pendulously slapping the top of a fupa.

There are people who prefer large ladies. And I mean all sizes of large.

I thought that my best bet in life was to find a partner who accepted my fat. Pause. Give me a minute to hang my melonhead and shake it at myself. Not only are there people who adore “thick” women, but a LOT of them who prefer it. By “people”, I mean loser men with no options. By “LOT”, I mean one or two weirdo fatty fuckers.

Here is what you need to know: you do NOT need to settle for a lover who is “okay” with your body. You have the right (and millions of imaginary opportunities) to find someone who is infatuated with your body. You deserve to be worshiped by a freak fat fetishist who wants to masturbate into your chins, woman!

Fat chicks bang hot guys… ALL. THE. TIME.

If my proof by assertion doesn’t convince you, there’s always Hugh Jackman. And a million indiscriminately horny black men who would bang your back tits in a drunken haze.

“Girls” showed what society thinks about that when Hannah’s character has a weekend romance with an attractive and wealthy doctor. People flipped their shit. It was like seeing a beautiful woman in the arms of a pimply brony with a stutter. It violated too many rules about how the world really works. Never mind that the show is a vehicle for Lena Dunham’s wish fulfillment feminist fantasies, the message to us fatty fats is a positive one, and should remind us that hot guys aka socially awkward rejects will settle for dumping their tepid crippled seed in our distended porcine holes when the couch crease stops looking attractive.

Exceptions prove that the rules don’t apply to US, ladies. Now let’s group hug with our T-rex arms.

Riding during sex will NOT collapse his insides.

But it may kill him just the same.

Wearing whatever you want is a political statement.

Join the revolution. Throw style rules out the window. Wear the tutu. Wear the horizontal stripes. Wear the turquoise skinny jeans (shoe horn included). Wear the see-through blouse. Wear the bikini (sans bridge). Wear the sweat pants. Wear the shirt that says “Does this shirt make me look fat?”. Wear whatever it is that makes you happy, even if that’s the four-person tent tarp. This is your life. And it’s the life of everyone else who will mock the Mariana Trench plumber’s crack of your revolutionary posturing.

You are fucking beautiful.

I’m saying this with a straight face and seriously meaningful look where I maintain eye contact for an uncomfortable amount of time, because these are the immense efforts I need to make to convince myself as well as you of an absurdity that is so transparently false to anyone with the eyes to see. I know you don’t feel like you fit into the category of gorgeous that our world aka immutable biological reality creates. I know that its hard. I know that its a daily battle to adhere to proper grammar. But fuck their fascist beauty standards, replace them with your own fascist beauty standards. The second you stop looking for a skinny model in your funhouse mirror and start looking at YOU… is the second you will start to appreciate the solitary life of the manatee. Stop looking for folds. Stop looking for canyon-sized dimples. You are perfect in the middle of a polar vortex where your layer of insulating fat gives you a survival advantage. You are more than enough for that all-you-can eat brunch buffet. You are the best thing that has ever happened to discarded piano cases doubling as coffins. And you are fucking beautiful to hungry predators looking for immobile prey and an easy week-long meal.

Say it with me, because no one of sound mind will say it with us.

“Thing #1: You’re fucking repulsive to the human eye. Oh shit! How did that get past the hamster editor?”

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More Evidence That Men’s Looks Don’t Matter As Much As Women’s Looks

The people demanded less opaque post titles, and the proprietors listened. Nestled in the abstract of a seemingly unrelated study about the genetics of sexual antagonism is a finding that men’s looks don’t contribute much to their overall attractiveness.

Genetic Factors That Increase Male Facial Masculinity Decrease Facial Attractiveness of Female Relatives

For women, choosing a facially masculine man as a mate is thought to confer genetic benefits to offspring. Crucial assumptions of this hypothesis have not been adequately tested. It has been assumed that variation in facial masculinity is due to genetic variation and that genetic factors that increase male facial masculinity do not increase facial masculinity in female relatives. We objectively quantified the facial masculinity in photos of identical (n = 411) and nonidentical (n = 782) twins and their siblings (n = 106). Using biometrical modeling, we found that much of the variation in male and female facial masculinity is genetic. However, we also found that masculinity of male faces is unrelated to their attractiveness and that facially masculine men tend to have facially masculine, less-attractive sisters. These findings challenge the idea that facially masculine men provide net genetic benefits to offspring and call into question this popular theoretical framework.

This is a surprise even to the viscounts of CH, who have stated many times that manly male looks play some role in attracting women, even if that role is diminished relative to the role that female looks plays in attracting men. This study, one that apparently contradicts the prevailing scientific wisdom, found that masculine male looks did not influence the attractiveness of those men.

The reasoning sounds solid; women who are attracted to masculine-looking men run the risk of having ugly, manjawed daughters by them, (cf. Amanjaw Marcuntte). Since women can’t legally pick and choose (yet) the sex of their babies, evolutionarily speaking it would be a huge risk to mate with a man of masculine appearance and bear masculine daughters who would be less reproductively fit than more feminine women, instead of bearing masculine sons who, putatively, would be more reproductively fit than less masculine men. Such a strategy, then, is a theoretical wash in genetic continuance terms.

CH is not prepared to call this study the final word on the subject of male looks and its apportioned influence in male mating success, but it is further confirmation of the CH principle that conventional male facial attractiveness is not nearly as crucial a variable in the romantic success of men as female facial attractiveness is to the romantic success of women. Women are, at a very primal level, attracted to a much larger (although still circumscribed) panoply of physical and character traits in the opposite sex than the relative paucity of female traits that exert a libidinous pull on men.

What this study helps explain is the odd phenomenon of soft, hipster cream puffs like Pajamaboy managing the task of getting girlfriends. (Not necessarily Pajamaboy specifically, but those chinless freaks like him who know how to twirl with pizazz.) A chipmunk-cheeked herbling with game and a cocky attitude can get laid, and this fact doubtless stokes the ire of chivalrous, white knighting manly men who swing axes instead of cocoa mugs.

The manly men can find romantic success, too… even better than the pajamaboys… but it helps their cause if they incorporate the precepts of game into their dealings with women. What is coming into focus is that women’s criteria for lovers is more context- and personality-dependent than men’s criteria, and the seed of that pasty herbling with the flair for flirting can produce some knockout daughters, if the chromosomal stars align.

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Sociopathy Is Increasing In America

Is sociopathy prevalence on the rise in America? According to the author of the book The Sociopath Next Door, it is. American culture has become a breeding ground for sociopaths.

And disturbingly, the prevalence of sociopathy in the United States seems to be increasing. The 1991 Epidemiologic Catchment Area study, sponsored by the National Institute of Mental Health, reported that in the fifteen years preceding the study, the prevalence of antisocial personality disorder had nearly doubled among the young in America, It would be difficult, closing in on impossible, to explain such a dramatically rapid shift in terms of genetics or neurobiology.

Male sociopaths do better with women. This is indisputable. If sociopathy is increasing in America, then we must look to the foundational market of human interpersonal relations — the sexual market — to discover the source of this increasing sociopathy. Quite simply, if more women are more often rewarding sociopaths with their sex, then the supply of sociopathy will increase.

Under what conditions would women swoon for sociopaths? Very harsh conditions, for one. An emotionless Machiavellian is a useful mate to have when survival is constantly tested. Another social condition that probably redounds to the benefit of sociopaths is one in which women are incentivized, by a coddling state and by women’s own economic self-sufficiency, to favor the love of maximum tingle generating cads over comfy cozy betas.

Tellingly for the currently cratering US, diversity may play a crucial role in assisting the rise of the sociopaths.

In this opinion he is joined by theorists who propose that North American culture, which holds individualism as a central value, tends to foster the development of antisocial behavior, and also to disguise it. In other words, in America, the guiltless manipulation of other people “blends” with social expectations to a much greater degree than it would in China or other more group-centered societies.

I believe there is a shinier side of this coin, too, one that begs the question of why certain cultures seem to encourage prosocial behavior. So much against the odds, how is it that some societies have a positive impact on incipient sociopaths, who are born with an inability to process interpersonal emotions in the usual way? I would like to suggest that the overriding belief systems of certain cultures encourage born sociopaths to compensate cognitively for what they are missing emotionally. In contrast with our extreme emphasis on individualism and personal control, certain cultures, many in East Asia, dwell theologically on the interrelatedness of all living things.

Interestingly, this value is also the basis of conscience, which is an intervening sense of obligation rooted in a sense of connectedness. If an individual does not, or if neurologically he cannot, experience his connection to others in an emotional way, perhaps a culture that insists on connectedness as a matter of belief can instill a strictly cognitive understanding of interpersonal obligation.

An intellectual grasp of one’s duties to others is not the same attribute as the powerfully directive emotion we call conscience, but perhaps it is enough to extract prosocial behavior from at least some individuals who would have behaved only in antisocial ways had they been living in a society that emphasized individualism rather than interrelatedness. Though they lack an internal mechanism that tells them they are connected to others, the larger culture insists to them that they are so connected — as opposed to our culture, which informs them resoundingly that their ability to act guiltlessly on their own behalf is the ultimate advantage. This would explain why a Western family by itself cannot redeem a born sociopath. There are too many other voices in the larger society implying that his approach to the world is correct.

As Robert Putnam has discovered, ethnic and racial diversity reduces trust and social cohesion. Radically heterogeneous societies lose their aura of connectedness. Within this atomized, unraveled milieu, sociopaths thrive. They thrive not only because any communitarian brakes on their behavior are removed, but also because the culture begins to value and exalt the very special talents of the sociopath. This is an unavoidable transition when people feel unmoored from a larger social family, and adopt a pathologically individualist “look out for #1” attitude to life in response to the vague but palpably ominous threat of rainbow fauxalitions.

To be a high level player, you have to be blessed with a touch of sociopathy. Without that trait for timely detachment, you will empathize too much with the particular needs and reproductive goals of women. That distracting emotional resonance will hinder your ability to hurt a woman’s feelings and, sadly you’ll discover, rare is the woman who joyfully surrenders her body to a man who is careful to spare her feelings.

So sociopathy has its privileges. But no nation of sociopaths ever put a man on the moon.

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