Black Men, White Women

Reader and prolific commenter Obsidian was interested in my take on this article by a white woman who discusses her preference for black men.

Black skin is thick and lush, sensuous to the touch, like satin and velvet made flesh. There’s only one patch of skin on a white man’s body that remotely compares to nearly every inch of a black man’s skin.

I have no idea what black man skin feels like, since VK won’t let me run my hands up and down his chiseled biceps and give a squeeze for good measure, but I remember the skin of the last black woman I slept with — it was wrinkle-free and taut but also somewhat rough in spots, like sandpaper. The softest female skin I have ever touched was on an Asian woman.

And I had the socially acceptable explanation for my craving. I used that paucity-of-available-white-partners rationale to explain my relationships with black men for several years. A white woman past forty is often passed over by her white-male contemporaries. She goes younger or ethnic or foreign-born or down the socioeconomic scale or darker or she spends lonely nights at home with her cats. Black men are happy to get the babe they couldn’t have when she was twentysomething and fertile. The laws of the marketplace do prevail. It’s not me, it’s them being the white guys who weren’t after me anymore, or so I claimed.

That’s a lie. The truth is, I attract about the same percentage of available white men my age (and far younger!) now as I did when I was thirty and that’s not including the unavailable white men who want to play around anyway.

Enough white men want me that I was hardly facing enforced celibacy, but I don’t want them.

Let’s take a look at the author’s photo, shall we?

Here’s a video of her, for more accurate judging. Hint: She’s not the hottie standing on the right.

The only lie here is the lie she is telling herself. There is no way this gross disgusting old hag who hit the wall so hard she is on the other side of it is attracting any sort of white man except the bottom of the barrel dregs who will dump a fuck in her distended flabby hole because they can’t afford an internet connection to whack off to porn outside of the public library. Her looks are relevant to her claim that she is freely choosing black men in favor of white men — she is holding up her desirability to white men as proof of her options in the sexual market and her freedom to choose which men to fuck. A simple, revealing photo utterly discredits the core underpinning of her argument by anecdote.

The truth here is, unfortunately for her, quite unflattering. As her repulsive ugliness has worsened with age and fat, her options have been severely curtailed. If she is finding solace in flings with black men, it is because

1. the white men she finds attractive no longer feel the same about her, and
2. the black men she finds attractive are more willing to overlook her market value-destroying flaws and fuck her. At least for one night. Heh.

Moving along to the rest of the article…

I want black men. They want me. We look at one another and exchange a visible frisson of sexual energy in the lingering glances.

A small percentage of people do have an overcharged attraction for different races. But there’s not much we can generalize from this one old hag’s fetishistic sexual drive because she is not choosing in a free market with all options open to her. There are many delusional pretty lies humans tell themselves when cold hard reality is staring them in the bloated face. She may want black men given the structural incentives in place, but do they want her? Or, as I suspect is more likely, do black men see her sloppily flirting with them and think to themselves “Oh yeah, that white broad is gonna be an easy lay.”

Even in a time when nearly 40 percent of single Americans have dated outside their race, that deliberate seeking of the specific other makes some people, especially black women, damned mad.

Black women are mad because they’re looking at black men fucking fat old heifers like you and wondering what the hell they’re thinking.

We are what they denigrate and castigate: white women and black men who choose one another because of our racial differences. They resent our taking their men.

Define “taking”. I doubt in her case it means any commitment longer than a few nights together, away from the public eye. A man’s got a rep on the street to keep.

Black men are two and a half times more likely to marry a white woman than a black woman is to marry a white man.

Here are my thoughts on interracial dating. Despite all the sound and fury, I don’t see too much of it. Most people date *long term* within their race. There are likely evolutionarily mediated reasons for this. Women are more racist than men in the realm of dating. They are less open to having relationships with men of different races, while men are bigger whores who will happily fuck a cute chick from any race. (Commitment is another matter.)

So in the bigger picture, I don’t see many white woman-black man couples strolling around the city holding hands. In comparison, I see about three times as many white man-asian woman couples. These are my observations in DC and in major cities on the East coast; the numbers on the ground might be different in other parts of the country. Of the BM-WF couples I do see, I notice two different types: The Maury Povich who’s-the-daddy fat white trash girl with the thug, and the hot blonde, usually European girl with the handsome, well-dressed, and educated-looking yuppie black man. There doesn’t seem to be much middle ground between those two types.

From casual conversation, my white guy friends don’t find the general population of black girls attractive. Their preferences are decidedly skewed toward white chicks. I only know one white guy who has yellow fever. He proudly proclaims it, too. From my conversations with black women, they are even more racially provincial. I get the impression that black women don’t find men outside their race at all physically attractive. I’m an outlier, in that I’m the recipient of a lot of flirty attention from black women. I think if I were an even blacker dude than I already am, I would clean up with black women. King Kong ain’t got nothing on me.

So this is why black women are screwed, it would seem. Available black guys are hooking up with women of all races, white and Asian guys don’t much like black girls, and black women only want to be with black guys. I can’t think of a worse recipe for resentment and bitterness. Since men do some choosing in the sexual market (though men are not as choosy as women on average, neither are they mannequins standing around waiting for women to pick them out of the crowd), the choice by white and Asian men to overlook black women is going to have repercussions.

Why don’t black chicks dig white guys and vice versa? In a word: testosterone. Blacks have more of it, and more androgen receptors, than other races. The same testosterone that imbues black men with attractive masculine features and musculature makes black women look less feminine. On average. This isn’t an assertion from anecdote, because in my personal life I know quite a few really cute black chicks. I’m judging based on general observations and what I’ve heard from men of all races when the subject came up. Since women are attracted to men with lots of testosterone (for fucking, at least), it stands to reason that black women would want men who have more of it relative to their own. Here, few white and even fewer Asian men qualify as acceptable partners for black women.

I have demonstrated that the fundamentals of female beauty are universal. Men all over the world love 0.7 waist-to-hip ratios, clear skin, youth, feminine faces, big eyes, luscious lips, breasts and ass. Adjusting for racial idiosyncracies, a beautiful black woman’s face has more fundamental similarity to a beautiful white woman’s face than to an ugly black woman’s face. However, there is an important caveat. I now believe that there is a slight preference among men of the major racial groups for women of their own race. In general, black men, all else equal, would rather date long term a hot black chick than a hot chick of another race. To illustrate, black guys prefer the bigger rumps that are a hallmark of black women. The same intra-race mechanism apples to white, Hispanic (who?), and Asian men. They all have marginally peculiar preferences for the specific beauty of women within their own race. I would not be surprised to learn that Asian men like flatter asses.

I know I am this way. My roving eyes are overwhelmingly pulled in by hot white chicks. I see hot Asian and black chicks, but it’s clear to me where my strongest preferences lie. Is this because white chicks are, again on average, better looking than chicks of other races? Or is it because of my inborn endogamous sexual preference for girls of my own race? I don’t know. I suspect the latter. But I do have some personal observations that buttress my tilt toward women of my own race. For instance, whenever there is a news story from the Congo, or Rwanda, and throngs of people are swarming around the cameras, I don’t see a single woman in the crowd I’d want to bang. But when there is a camera pointed at Red Square or Stockholm, and girls are streaming past, I have trouble finding a fertile age woman in the crowd I *wouldn’t* want to bang. In places like Tokyo, the urge to merge with the locals on camera is less cut and dried. There are a few Japanese girls who make the grade.

The class of the women has an effect as well. There was this time I was driving through the hardcore DC ghetto (nothing like an adventure), and a large public housing apartment complex had caught fire. The traffic had stopped, so I was idling by the smoking building while hundreds of residents who had been evacuated were milling about the sidewalk, waiting for the firemen to finish their job. My most vivid memory from that incident, and one that sticks with me to this day, was just how brutally ugly those women were. I mean, “make a documentary of it” ugly.

All right, back to the article…

But in truth, black sisters, we’re after the sex, not the ring, and these guys aren’t the marrying kind anyway.

Squeeze those sour grapes, old bag. Of course she’s written off the ring. No man who isn’t a complete loser would commit to her decrepit carcass.

Black men have more energy, style and edge than white men. They know how to flirt, a nearly lost art among the rest of us. A black man is so damned sexy because he knows how to make a woman feel sexy.

This is true if we restrict our sample size to has-been fat white women who faint with joy at the slightest attention from any man. While I believe that black guys on the whole do have better natural game than white guys, their often aggressive style of flirting and their whiff of dangerous edginess can be a turnoff for younger white women who are repelled by displays of brute machismo. My experience suggests that SWPL white girls and especially Asian girls in their 20s are more receptive to subtler mating cues. This is why Mystery has rarely run game on black chicks.

They make me feel like a woman, both respected and desired.

Translation: No white man desires her enough to make her feel like the woman she was 20 years ago and in an alternate universe.

This brings up another interesting angle. Are black men less picky than white men? If so, that would explain the author’s sudden conversion. My view: Black guys are indeed less picky when considering short term flings and one night stands. They seem to be more forgiving of wear and tear on white women, such as the accumulation of fat and waddles. Like other men, black guys are probably pickier when choosing which women get to be their number one girls. Who are the pickiest men? The alphas, of course.

On we go dissecting this disaster…

My current lover,…

Translation: My current one night stand.

On another night in that same bar, a different black man, an artist, knelt and kissed my knees.

Beta.
Correction: Kissing this old sow’s gnarly knees? Omega.

They look better than white men, they touch and kiss and make love better than white men.

Silly cow. When a man finds you physically less than ideal, he isn’t inspired to please you in bed.

Statistically, their penises are only a fraction of an inch bigger on average, but they seem bigger and harder.

I notice my hardness varies by the girl’s looks. The hotter she is, the firmer I get. With this old broad, I’d have to enlist David Alexander’s pornified pud to do the job.

By the way, I remember reading a study from some years ago that purported to show that package size does indeed vary by race, with blacks the largest and Asians the smallest. Commenters are free to find any links proving or disproving the stereotype.

White men over 40 have lost their waistlines and their zest for life if they ever had it.

White women lose it even faster. Has this shoggoth looked in a mirror lately? On the larger point, I agree that sedentary black men keep their dainty figures longer than sedentary white men. Black women, otoh…

Society overvalues the white man, leaving him angry and bitter when he realizes, around age 40, that he’s not all that.

If this isn’t a picture perfect example of projection, I don’t know what is.

With the exception of some Italians, white men don’t turn me on anymore.

You won’t be missed, bowlingballhead.

While women my age scowl and frown at these aging, Upper West Side Boomers pushing strollers as the hand of the thin, blonde wife 20 years their junior rests lightly on their arm, I feel a kinship with the old goats. We are the same, me and that bald white guy, drawn to the exotic other, not caring that the object of our desire has no childhood memory of a Kennedy assassination or a typical WASP Sunday dinner of over-roasted beef, lumpy mashed potatoes and soggy vegetables.

This woman is hurting inside, deeply. She has secretly wanted that Ozzie and Harriet white picket fence life since forever, but now it is too late, if there ever was a chance. But the objects of her affection ignored her true wishes. There, there, lumpy mashed grandma taking random dick in bars and waking up to an empty bed and fridge. I’m sure all those older white guys dating younger women are JUST LIKE YOU. Except not.

Halfway through the first glass of wine in my last date with a white man, I realized that little clouds of sadness and self-pity were regularly fluffing off his psyche like the dust clouds kicked up by that dirt-smudged “Peanuts” character as he walks through Charlie Brown’s life. This guy was at least mildly depressed…

No wonder he was depressed. He was on a date with a beluga whale.

What did he think would entice me more: That he assumed sex was probable because I’m a sex journalist or that he would need chemical help if sex did occur?

This broad is the gift that keeps on giving. Sex journalist? Why is it always the ugliest women in this “occupation”? It’s like taking advice on losing weight from the world’s fattest man.
And, yes, the poor guy would need chemical help to get it up with you. I’m thinking an IV of distilled super viagra directly into the penis vein, and a brick wall with a hole drilled in it between you two.

I cannot even imagine a black man bungling an attempted seduction in such a sad way.

I cannot even imagine the omegas who are happily chowing down on her cheesy old lady labia.

I recently came out of my racial-preference closet and told my friends, “I love black men. I’m not attracted to white men over 40, and I’m not dating them anymore. Really, it’s not them, it’s me.

Translation: “I recently gave up trying to attract white men who aren’t trolls and told my friends “I love black men because some of them are so horny they look past my disgusting body to masturbate into my cavernous hole. I’m telling myself I’m not attracted to white men over 40 because it makes their rejection easier to swallow, like my black lovers’ loads. Really, it’s not them, it’s my ugly roast beef face.””

My work here is done.

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Chicks Dig Jerks: A Series

And not just loser chicks with low self esteem. Mexican beauty queens who have their choice of men are fucking drug and gun running lowlifes.

Alpha Males

Remember, this babe went along willingly with these guys. 

Alpha Female

The kind of thugs she is fucking are bigger alphas than CEOs who work hard all day managing billion dollar companies only to come home to fat, frumpy wives well past their prime.

So why are you still busting your ass?

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Thought Experiments

Thought Experiment #1

All else equal, which girl is more likely to get pumped and dumped?:

a. an “adventurous” girl who played musical chairs with the mouths of five guys in a bar one night and banged a local emo rocker in the coatroom an hour after they met.

b. a virgin.

Thought Experiment #2

A normal, emotionally stable man with a good job has been on one date with a girl he likes. She is into him. He didn’t close, but feels confident it will happen soon. One night, in his favorite bar, one of the bartenders (a guy known to be plugged into the local social scene), unaware that the man has been on one date with the girl in this story, tells the man he saw the girl making out with a random dude a couple weeks before their first date, and that a few months ago she banged one of the other bartenders.

Would this man be

a. more likely

b. less likely

to arrange an inspired, creative second date with her? to pay for her drink on the second date? to see her for longer than three months after they’ve started screwing?

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My Life Philosophy

Thought experiment: Imagine you had incontrovertible proof that there was no afterlife. No supernatural entities. No heaven or hell. No otherworld. No reincarnation. No forevermore.

No second chances.

Imagine there was no moral accounting after death of your actions on earth. No supreme being to judge your soul’s worth on the scale of divine justice. No reward or punishment. No appeal to omniscient authority in matters of good and evil.

There was only the endless black void at the moment death. The infinite silence. A complete surrender of your consciousness as the last pinprick of light extinguishes. All your thoughts, your feelings, your sensation, your memories… you… wiped away clean to merge with the great nothing.

How would you live? Given this proof of the finality of death, and of the expectation of nothing once dead, what is your personal philosophy?

At a family gathering, I played with my little niece and nephew, 4 and 3 years old respectively. They tumbled all over me, giggling and shrieking. I held them above the ground and pretended they were airplanes in heated battle with Russian MiGs or, in a nod to my niece’s female sensibilities, a pink passenger jet flying vacationers to a distant, undiscovered tropical island. They did handstands and somersaults and rammed things with their heads. I made animal noises (my monkey impression is quite good) and they would run away in mock terror, then run back to me anticipating more assaults by zoo animals. They fought over toys, yet never held grudges, at least not for long. I mentally noted that they played status games, but were completely ignorant of it. Innocent of their amoral natures.

Afterward, I drove my elderly grandmother back to her assisted living home. That’s a nice euphemism for death’s waiting room. In the community meeting area there were Scrabble boards and an organ. As if impending death wasn’t depressing enough, we bide our waning moments in pursuit of a triple word score. Old people jockey for status, too, but they make no pretense to hide it. They are artlessly cantankerous. After a certain age, when you don’t matter anymore to most people, even your own family, you stop caring what anyone thinks of you. Tit for tat.

Spend time with little children and old people. One is innocent, the other is reacquainted with innocence. Their company is a world away from the drone and ruckus of all the furious humanity in between. At the extremes you will find perspective.

My answer to the philosophical question I posed above is hedonism. It is the only rational conclusion one can draw faced with the premises I presented. When there is no second life or higher power to appease; when our lives are machines — complex misunderstood machines cunningly designed to conceal the gears and pulleys behind a facade of self-delusional sublimation, but machines nonetheless — grinding and belching the choking gritty smoke of status-whoring displays in service to our microscopic puppetmasters… well, there can be only one reasonable response to it all. It makes no sense to behave any other way unless you never questioned the lies.

Are you prepared to embrace the meaning of your ultimately inconsequential existence? If it feels good…

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Visualizing Omega

In my “Defining the Alpha Male” post, I described the detritus of malehood:

Lesser Omega, [Can only get] 0s and 1s, Will never feel love; can’t keep a girl longer than 3 days, Dry spells > 5 years.

I’ve already taken you on journeys exploring the vast wastelands of the beta universe, but that was child’s play. It’s time to pull back the curtain on the shambling mounds and wretched creatures who walk among us; the monsters who inhabit the far FAR left tail of the human bell curve.

Behold, the OMEGA:

When this is the best you can do, you are a lesser omega. You aren’t at the lowest level of dreg because you haven’t dropped out of society entirely and are able, however nauseatingly, to propagate your genes. But really, why would you condemn your future ugly children to a lifetime of misery and self-loathing? The compassionate thing to do would be to refrain from reproducing.

Notice the telltale omega traits (besides his choice of mate): Lowered gaze, meek countenance, leaning into his beastly wife, feeble self-conscious smile, dumbo ears, weak chin and jawline, beady eyes. Yes, he’s in the military, but that is no guarantee of high(er) status. The bottom of the barrel often embrace the soldier’s life because it offers the only chance to raise their value. They risk death as cannon fodder for a shot at respectability. If they’re lucky, they might even return home to a hero’s welcome.

Look at the faces on the groomsmen… abject defeat. Public humiliation. Despair for their unlucky buddy. Disgust. Even the little boy knows what a bunch of losers have gathered here today. The ability to discern a human status hierarchy is ingrained from birth. And they are likely pissed that the bridesmaids are too grotesque to tap.

The brideshogs look a little less morose, probably because they understand that their less-human-than-human hogzilla sister has gotten the better end of the deal by the very fact that she managed to find a man, however pathetic, who would be willing to dump a fuck in her flabby porcine hole.

62% of American women are overweight, with no end in sight to the disfiguration of their most precious resource. They live in towns like Ninety-Six, South Carolina (yes, real name). They have no self-discipline, eating until they explode like Mr. Creosote. Is it any wonder American men with the means are choosing to meet women overseas? When more than half the women in your country have removed themselves as dating prospects, the fuckable ones in the minority raise their asking price through the roof. It’s a vicious predicament.

If you were forced at gunpoint to have sexual relations with one of these women, who would you choose, and how would you do it? The couch crease never looked so sexy.

Sloping brow lardo and inbred omega nerdo in love. Possibly they are both borderline retarded. Ugliness and stupidity correlate. No one wants to look at people like this in the office, so they will probably work at jobs in coal mines or sewage treatment plants where they don’t pollute anyone’s vista. It’s time to end all public support so the genetic lines of the omegas dies out. It’s nature’s way to cull the weak and ugly. Without the cull, the degenerate freaks reproduce, dragging the rest of humanity with them (or chasing them off into gated communities with armed guards). The modern welfare state is responsible for the coming Idiocracy. It was preordained.

You can see the rest of the pictures at this forum, and the hilarious comments in response. The groom even has a Myspace page, so it’s the real deal.

Could this lesser omega have done better with game? Yes. In fact, for a guy this ugly, dorky and meek-looking, game will be especially effective. He can go from getting crushed underneath a heap of garbage during rutting to banging non-hideous 3s and 4s. Nothing short of Steve Buscemi level fame or vast wealth will raise his sexual market value, so the only self-improvement technique at his disposal is game.

I have to think there is no way this guy can get it up for her, no matter how horny or lonely. Below some mininum female ugliness floor, every penis becomes operationally flaccid. Ugly men and good-looking men get turned on by the same hot women, just like fat men and slim men want the same slender chicks. The packaging may change, but the brain remains the same.

While there is room to settle, I think past some ugly threshold a man looks at a pseudo-woman and regardless how motivated he is by the bounty of pity in his heart and horniness in his groin, his junk isn’t going to respond. Turning the lights off doesn’t always help. If she’s fat enough, you’ll hear her blubbery hideousness bumping into furniture and pulling the sheets off the bed. You’ll sink into her cheesy folds. You’ll listen to her grunts and wheezes as she goes down on you. You’ll have to sandblast the dingleberries out of her crack before doing her from behind. Dumpster dive deep enough, and you may as well be doing a man.

If this guy leaves her and decides it makes more sense to drop a few bucks and satisfy himself with a skanky street hooker, he will actually bump himself up from lesser omega to omega. As a man, there is such a thing as ranking lower than a celibate virgin — boffing a monstrous seacow will push you below a man whose only sexual outlet is porn.

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Love In The Time Of Game

A lot of readers have sent me a link to this article by Kay Hymowitz, “Love in the Time of Darwinism“. I decided to take a look at it, not expecting much as is usually the case with any article written by a woman on the current state of dating, sex and game. Surprisingly, Hymowitz gets closer to the truth than any other journalist, but that’s not saying much — she’s still a million miles deep in lala land, hamstrung by her feminist biases. Her tone drips with resentment and condescension for the men who have successfully navigated the new dating landscape.

Their argument, in effect, was that the SYM [single young male] is putting off traditional markers of adulthood—one wife, two kids, three bathrooms—not because he’s immature but because he’s angry.

Or smart.

He’s angry because he thinks that young women are dishonest, self-involved, slutty, manipulative, shallow, controlling, and gold-digging.

Women have always been this way. What changed was the pill, condom, economic parity and feminist devolution. Contrary to the conventional wisdom propagandized by our ignoble Kunty Kommissars of the Kulturkampf in charge of punishing the masses for daring to pull the wool from their own eyes, women’s sexual nature, not men’s, is the wilder of the two. Women’s pussy keeps men in check, but dick doesn’t keep women in check, save for organically emergent cultural controls that put the brakes on female sexuality through the consequences of shaming, accidental pregnancy and potential out-of-wedlock destitution. If men in the trenches are reporting that women are more dishonest, shallow and sluttier than ever, then the blame rests with giving women *more* freedom, not less. It’s understandable that a feminist would shirk from this conclusion.

He’s angry because he thinks that the culture disses all things male.

Captain Obvious agrees. Has there ever been a period in human history when the men who built the tribe from the ground up into a gleaming civilization on the hill were more actively marginalized than now?

He’s angry because he thinks that marriage these days is a raw deal for men.

He thinks this because it’s true. The blessed Word of Chateau is spreading far and wide across the land. Spreading, I say.

This is from Dean in California: “Men are finally waking up to the ever-present fact that traditional marriage, or a committed relationship, with its accompanying socially imposed requirements of being wallets with legs for women, is an empty and meaningless drudgery.”

This guy sounds like he got taken to the cleaners and has lost his perspective. When you see yourself as a walking wallet, women will agree. The way out of that self-fulfilling prophecy is knowledge of women, and game as practical application of that knowledge. Women will use men with money and nothing else, but they’ll fall in love with men who are psychologically dominant. Where marriage sucks because it is a social mechanism designed to exchange sex for indentured servitude and enforced by the law, committed loving relationships are great.

You can find the same themes posted throughout websites like AmericanWomenSuck, NoMarriage, MGTOW (Men Going Their Own Way), and Eternal Bachelor (“Give modern women the husband they deserve. None”).

Oh Kay, don’t be coy. You’ve been here, scared little bunny rabbit.

The reason for all this anger, I submit, is that the dating and mating scene is in chaos.

Freedom is chaos.

SYMs of the postfeminist era are moving around in a Babel of miscues, cross-purposes, and half-conscious, contradictory female expectations that are alternately proudly egalitarian and coyly traditional.

The way out of this morass is to not play by women’s rules.

And because middle-class men and women are putting off marriage well into their twenties and thirties as they pursue Ph.D.s, J.D.s, or their first $50,000 salaries, the opportunities for heartbreak and humiliation are legion.

Note: The median individual income in America is $32,000. The “elites” (and I use the term disparagingly) are completely out of touch.

PS: I use individual income and not household income because the former matters more to a man’s chances for finding a woman. If the culture were truly arranged to the benefit of beta provider males, the tax code would reflect that. It does not. In fact, just the opposite.

By the early twentieth century, things had evolved so that in the United States, at any rate, a man knew the following: he was supposed to call for a date; he was supposed to pick up his date; he was supposed to take his date out, say, to a dance, a movie, or an ice-cream joint; if the date went well, he was supposed to call for another one; and at some point, if the relationship seemed charged enough—or if the woman got pregnant—he was supposed to ask her to marry him.

This system worked when men held the economic and social upper hand.

Maxim #15: Female cultural equality = male dating inequality. Female cultural inequality = male dating equality. You cannot have both. So sayeth human nature.

For one thing, men face a situation—and I’m not exaggerating here—new to human history. Never before have men wooed women who are, at least theoretically, their equals—socially, professionally, and sexually.

Unfortunately, she does not make the connection and put two and two together. The problem lies not with men, who are merely skeleton keys that adapt to whatever lock women weld on their gates; the “problem” lies with women who have no choice but to obey their hindbrain programming and seek higher status mates in the sexual market as long as their assets allow.

But then, when an SYM walks into a bar and sees an attractive woman, it turns out to be nothing like that. The woman may be hoping for a hookup, but she may also be looking for a husband, a co-parent, a sperm donor, a relationship, a threesome, or a temporary place to live. She may want one thing in November and another by Christmas.

Women are incorrigibly capricious. This is why men must lead. Without male leadership, women spiral into a maelstrom of their emotions, buffetted to the point of ecstatic overdose until they wake up one day older and none the wiser, with no male attention off of which to ricochet helplessly addicted.

In fact, young men face a bewildering multiplicity of female expectations and desire. Some women are comfortable asking, “What’s your name again?” when they look across the pillow in the morning.

No woman has ever done this to me, but if she did I’d tell her “Fuck you, that’s my name.”

Straus describes a 26-year-old journalist named Lisa fixed up for a date with a 29-year-old social worker. When he arrives at her door, she’s delighted to see that he’s as good-looking as advertised. But when they walk to his car, he makes his first mistake: he fails to open the car door for her. Mistake Number Two comes a moment later: “So, what would you like to do?” he asks.

Chivalry cannot coexist with female empowerment and unfettered sexual choice. The days of door holding are long over. Get used to it.

The cultural muddle is at its greatest when the dinner check arrives. The question of who grabs it is a subject of endless discussion on the hundreds of Internet dating sites.

Mistake number one: Taking the chick out for dinner. Quiz for the readers: What changed in the culture that dinner dates became less than useless?

The general consensus among women is that a guy should pay on a first date: they see it as a way for him to demonstrate interest.

Mistake number two: Actively trying to demonstrate interest before attraction.

“Women seemingly have decided that they want it all (and deserve it, too),” Kevin from Ann Arbor writes. “They want to compete equally, and have the privileges of their mother’s generation. They want the executive position, AND the ability to stay home with children and come back into the workplace at or beyond the position at which they left. They want the bad boy and the metrosexual.”

As long as the government and the culture are there to pay for women’s freedom in the forms of, for example, divorce theft, child support, on-site daycare, and overregulated totalitarian nanny state intrusion, they will be able to have it all. But there is a price to pay: Men abdicating any obligation to behave according to women’s expectations. Hence, the pump and dump. The Game. The elevation of self-interest above all. Ironically, the trappings of modern society are forcing a return to a primal state of nature.

To this day, male-bashing is the lingua franca of situation comedies and advertising: take the dimwitted television dads from Homer Simpson to Ray Romano to Tim Allen, or the guy who starts a cooking fire to be put out by his multitasking wife, who is already ordering takeout.

There’s a reason I almost entirely stopped watching TV. That shit pollutes your state.

By far the most important philosopher of the Menaissance is Charles Darwin. The theory that human sexual preferences evolved from the time that hominids successfully reproduced in the primeval African grasslands can explain the mystery of women’s preference for macho—or alpha—males.

Evolutionary psychology is the most parsimonious explanation for gender differences.

At the same time, evolutionary theory gives the former wuss permission to pursue massive amounts of sex with an endless assortment of women.

Permission has got nothing to do with it. Men have always had “permission”, in the strictest sense of the word. What evolutionary theory gives men is a solid scientifically backed framework for maximizing their advantage in the mating game.

Women want alpha males, the Seduction Community agrees; with some effort at self-improvement, any man can learn the game—Game, as it is reverently known—that will turn him into a Pick Up Artist (PUA).

Not every man can become a PUA, but every man can improve his lot with women by learning game.

A highly skilled PUA can get any woman, even an HB10[…]

I don’t know any PUA who claims this. What they claim is that any man can experience more choice in women through game.

It’s impossible to know just how many wannabe PUAs there are out there, but judging from the multitude of websites like AlphaSeduction, Fast Seduction 101, Grow Your Game, SeductionTutor, and The Seduction Chronicles, as well as chat rooms, conferences, ads for seduction gurus, boot camps not just in the United States but all over Europe and parts of Asia, and books, including Neil Strauss’s 2005 best-selling The Game, their numbers are considerable.

The barn door is open and the animals are running free. Women will respond. They are genetically wired to make it as hard as possible for men to get up their skirts. It’s a sexual arms race now and forevermore.

Game is best understood as an SYM attempt to bring order to contemporary dating confusion.

Not really. It’s best understood not as an attempt to bring order, but as an attempt to cash in on the chaos.

Remember those women who want a guy who will open the car door for them? They may be lucky if they find one willing to add “please” to “Pass the ketchup.”

And they can’t help but love these men for it.

Game goes even further, actually encouraging men to “neg” their “target” women—that is, to undermine their confidence subtly by ignoring or mildly insulting them.

Why is it so hard for women to grasp the neg concept? No term has been as misconstrued as this one. A neg is not an insult, it’s a backhanded compliment.

Indeed, the Darwinists wonder, why pretend we’re interested in anything other than sex?

Darwinistic game is equally effective in the realm of love as in the steambath of sex.

Darwinian mores, or anti-mores, also explain the brutal status jockeying that pervades the contemporary dating scene and that makes the high school cafeteria look like a feminist utopia. Check out DarwinDating.com, a matchmaking website “created exclusively for beautiful, desirable people.” Members rank your picture on a scale of one to five and vote on whether to let you join their honored ranks or throw you into the slush pile of “saggy,” “hairy,” “sweaty,” “nerdy” rejects.

The ugly truths are seeping into every crevice of society, poisoning the marrow of idealistic impulse. As we learn more about how the brain works, this is inevitable. The pretty lies once served some higher, nobler purpose, but that is dead now. Embrace the known.

With good Darwinian logic, though, [men] believe that women tend to do their reckoning on the basis of wallet size rather than pulchritude.

Not exactly. Wallet size is just one of many factors. Women do their reckoning on the basis of power, status and dominance.

Seduction artists even say they prefer savvy women who understand Game as a male version of cleavage-revealing tops.

Except tougher to implement. Hey, no guts no glory.

No, the problem with the Darwinian tenor of the Menaissance is neither antipathy to women’s equality nor a misguided reading of female nature. It is an uncompromising biological determinism that makes no room for human cultivation.

And finally we get to the part where Hymowitz desperately claws for some escape out of the tar pits of Darwinistic cruelty. It is practically preordained that her gestures toward spiritually-tinged human transcendence, particularly as she expects it of men alone, will be feeble. A simple question many men ask themselves: If I play by the rules and make room for human cultivation, and the asshole down the street is getting laid like gangbusters, then what’s in it for me?

If Hymowitz answers “An ennobling of your spirit and dignity as a man”, she will lose the argument.
As well she should.

They define manhood as alpha-style toughness and unsentimental promiscuity.

Not quite. Women love to play the promiscuity card to belittle men’s choices, but alpha manhood is better defined as projecting the behaviors and attitude that make promiscuity an option. It is the ability to be promiscuous, not necessarily the promiscuity itself, that defines the man loved by women.

And in that spirit, they cultivate manipulation, calculation, and naked (in both the literal and metaphorical sense) self-interest.

Manipulation is a loaded word meant to manipulate the reader into agreement. Truth: All goal-oriented language and behavior is manipulation. We all do it, all the time, even when we engage in trite politesse to smooth social interactions. To argue that Game is manipulation is to argue that every twist and turn of courtship is as well. And in the manipulation sweepstakes of seduction, I’d give the edge to women. By a country mile.

But human beings rely on culture to tame natural selfishness.

Some cultures amplify natural selfishness, others tame it. You can’t rely on that which is actively dispossessing. If Hymowitz wants a taming culture, she had better be ready to accept that the current configuration is a failed experiment. By Chateau standards, though, it’s been a glowing success!

After all, we have prohibitions against grabbing a neighbor’s steak off the grill or kidnapping his daughter, to give just two examples of behavior about which Nature also doesn’t care.

Normally, when we refrain from stealing the neighbor’s steak, we expect our neighbor to reciprocate our restraint. As an analogy to the present state of sexual affairs, that is not what we have today.

For this reason, successful human cultures expect far more of their men than muscle and promiscuity.

Tit for tat, baby. Minus expectations from women, it makes no sense to expect anything from men.

They see that when the old dating and courting regime fell, it left a cultural vacuum with no rules for taming or shaming the boors, jerks, and assholes.

More appropriately, the whores, sluts, and serial daters.

And if the past is any guide, most of them, even the most masterly PUAs, will eventually find themselves coaching Little League on weekends.

Change is coming. Give it time. Soon the Little League fields will echo with the empty sound of wind rustling the uncut grass.

In a national survey of young, heterosexual men, the National Marriage Project, a research organization at Rutgers University, found that the majority of single subjects hoped to marry and have kids someday.

Hope is the tribute reality pays to fantasy.

Neil Strauss, the author of The Game, says that during his PUA years, he saw enough lies and infidelity to make Darwin look like an optimist. “Losing all hope is freedom,” snarls the blogger at Eternal Bachelor.

True. But would you rather get laid and lose all hope, or be a failure with women and lose all hope? The choice is clear. The pleasure of a woman’s company and the enrichment of her love more than compensates for the loss of hope.

In fact, some people would wager that the Darwinian answer to dating chaos is our future normal.

Barring any radical reorientation of our culture, yes. But I foresee the pendulum swinging back.
And I predict you will not like it, Kay, because it would mean a betrayal of your core ideology.

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What The World Would Look Like With No Men

Fat lesbians.

LESBIANS are twice as likely as heterosexual women to be overweight or obese, which puts them at greater risk for obesity-related health problems and death, US researchers said.

Men keep women in check. Freed from the biological need to be visually attractive to men, women regress quickly to a state of blubbery bliss.

“The results of these studies indicate that lesbian women have a better body image than do heterosexual women,” they wrote.

Lesbians don’t care very much about looks in their partners, so bloating up like a fat cow won’t cause them psychic distress. When feminists (AKA radicalized man-hating lesbians) complain about the harm society does to a woman’s body self-image, what they are really lamenting is a world where men have sexual preferences. A feminist fantasy land is one where men have no preferences and women can pick and choose from whatever man she wants, while suffering no consequences from getting fat, old, or ugly.

Makeup, fashion, and staying in shape are evidence that women compete for the attention of men. When they opt out of the competition for men altogether, like lesbians have done, they stop bothering with those things. Analogously, gay men rarely bother with long sex-delayed courtships and promises of commitment.

Moral of the story: Women and men are judged for their worth in the sexual market. “Judge not lest ye be judged” is a lie to protect the feelings of the losers in life. Taking the high road will not save you from the judgement of others.

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