Salon Discovers Chateau Heartiste, Angry Menstruation Flows On Cue

Salon, the nation’s hindmost menstrual rag of note, stumbled onto Chateau Heartiste grounds and promptly WOWJUSTWOWed until they were overcome with shameful orgasms.

18 hilariously terrible sex tips that all men should ignore. […]

3. “A woman may want financial and family security, but she does not want passion security. In the same manner, when she has displeased you, punish swiftly, but when she has done you right, reward slowly.” (Chateau Heartiste, pickup artist site)

It works for the Dog Whisperer so it must be true.

In fact, successfully dating women and dog training do share quite a few disturbing similarities.

Naturally, the vapid Salon entity has no rebuttal to offer other than lazy snark.

6. “Flirt with other women in front of her. Do not dissuade other women from flirting with you.Women will never admit this but jealousy excites them. The thought of you turning on another woman will arouse her sexually.” (Cheateau Heartiste)

Of course women (and men) [ed: no, men don’t viscerally respond to jealousy incitement the same way women do] want their partner to be perceived as desirable to others. But intentionally trying to make your partner jealous is a pathetic power trip used by the most insecure. And no, women “will never admit” it because it’s not true. Just like men “will never admit” they love surprise anal.

Women who deign to write for globally transmitted magazines really need to begin the arduous task of reading subject matter outside their feminist automaton comfort zones. For instance, CH is not the only one to observe through direct experience that women’s arousal and jealousy are two sides of the same coin; studies have found over and over that “female preselection” — that is, a man’s social and romantic approval by other women — acts directly as an attraction stimulant on any women in his company. Unlike this Salon broad’s non sequitur about “surprise anal” (which, as if it needed to be said, few heterosexual men outside the Salon staff hothouse of lactating manboobs secretly desire), making a woman jealous is proven to work as a means of increasing her romantic arousal. A man deploying such a tactic may or may not be “insecure”, but there’s no arguing with results.

8. “Give your woman two-thirds of everything she gives you. For every three calls or texts, give her two back. Three declarations of love earn two in return. Three gifts; two nights out. Give her two displays of affection and stop until she has answered with three more. When she speaks, you reply with fewer words. When she emotes, you emote less… In her deepest loins it is what she truly wants.” (Chateau Heartiste)

And if she responds with one word, reply with a series of monosyllabic grunts or through miming. She thinks she’s got you in a box, but little does she know, it’s INVISIBLE. Treating every exchange with women like a manipulative math problem is ¾ stupid, ⅝ sad, and 100 percent guaranteed to make you into an ex variable.

Math is hard.

Also, did he just call my loins shallow?

Women should avoid trying to be funny altogether and stick to maximizing the return on their authentically valuable assets. That would be your tits, ass, face and pussy, in case you were wondering.

A word of advice, Salonista: Humorless reductio ad absurdum and inapt mischaracterizations are no way to win debate points.

There’s a reason “mainstream” feminists rarely confront the House of Heartiste head on, preferring instead to snipe futilely from a safe and plausibly deniable distance (see: Lindy “Huge Fat Fuck” West), protectively ensconced by an army of reject freaks spit-shining feminist taint. When an unfortunate representative of their diseased order attempts an ill-prepared direct assault on CH, mistakenly presuming her enemy is a chucklehead bro who can’t wield a shiv like an assassin, she is typically flayed alive and retreats in shock with her fat beaver tail tucked between her ham hocks, never to be heard from again. So they will continue to toss feeble snark turds from their internet hovels while CH continues tearing apart everything they believe and hold dear, sinew by sinew, until the last of them self-delivers or sticks it out in everlasting torment to enjoy her gradual soul-desiccating abandonment by those she considers respectable discourse gatekeepers.

Beta Male Takeaway Game

This stunt should go down in the annals of pickup artistry as one of the wowjustwow-iest takeaways ever foisted on a girl.

It appeared to be the beginning of a sweet, Valentine’s Day ad in an Australian newspaper, popping a “very important” question. But its cliffhanger ending leading into a secondary ad will leave you hoping the girlfriend has a sense of humor.

The ad:

Beta Male Takeaway Game is a very effective attraction trigger. You posture as if you’re about to commit an egregiously supplicatory beta act of romantic abandon, and then, just when she’s fully braced for an awkward moment and her creep radar is pinging… you pull the rug out from under her with a surprise ending. Result: Tectonic tingle shift.

Why is the beta male takeaway so powerful an attractant of women? To answer that, you need to put yourself in the tiny shoes of the female rationalization hamster. Women of prime childbearing age instinctively know they are the more reproductively valuable sex. This foreknowledge influences their perception of the world, and their expectations of male behavior. Call it “cooter-colored glasses”. Women interact with men, whether nascent lovers or acquaintances, with the belief that yearning, suck-up beta male pleadings will be men’s default operating mode. And they aren’t dissuaded often enough to jettison that belief. Any fulfillment of her expectation of predictable beta male behavior disappoints her even as it occasionally elates her; but romantically inexperienced men don’t know this because women are skilled at concealing that disappointment when it personally advantages them.

So the rare bad boy who defies her expectations is a real treat for her twat. Female sexual arousal sits very close to the brain modules housing the female senses of danger, caprice, and drama. A woman defied is a woman alive.

The Project To Feminize Western Men And Masculinize Western Women

I wonder if the dam is beginning to burst on public discourse, leading to growing awareness of converging androgyny of the sexes. CH was out front informing the masses of a strange trend toward sexual unipolarity characterized by a psychological and physiognomic swapping and sharing of normal sexually dimorphic traits. Men appeared to be getting womanlier and women manlier.

But it was the stuff of quirky anecdote and peripheral observation, out there on the bleeding edge of heartistian thought. The science had yet to catch up to CH’s eagle eye. But now the ♥science♥ is here, and as per usual the boys in the lab are busily verifying precocious CH insight.

Commenter chris writes,

@CH

In your posts.

https://heartiste.wordpress.com/2009/06/15/the-masculinization-of-the-western-white-female/
https://heartiste.wordpress.com/2013/01/15/the-manjaw-ification-of-american-women-science/
https://heartiste.wordpress.com/2013/09/26/study-women-really-are-becoming-more-like-men/

[ed: see also:

https://heartiste.wordpress.com/2009/04/24/the-feminization-of-the-western-white-male/
https://heartiste.wordpress.com/2012/02/22/are-the-chemicals-of-modern-society-emasculating-men/
https://heartiste.wordpress.com/2013/11/28/is-humanity-becoming-androgynous/ ]

You discuss the masculinisation of western women [and feminization of western men].

This article might explain a mechanism for it:

http://www.livescience.com/3098-female-figure-hourglass.html

“Androgens, a class of hormones that includes testosterone, increase waist-to-hip ratios in women by increasing visceral fat, which is carried around the waist. But on the upside, increased androgen levels are also associated with increased strength, stamina and competitiveness. Cortisol, a hormone that helps the body deal with stressful situations, also increases fat carried around the waist.

Hormone levels linked with a high waist-to-hip ratio could lead to such health benefits, which would be particularly useful during times of stress, Cashdan said. These benefits could outweigh those attained from having the tiny waist, hourglass figure, she said.

Perhaps the differences between predominant body shapes in some societies have to do with sexual equality, Cashdan said.

In Japan, Greece and Portugal, where women tend to be less economically independent, men place a higher value on a mate’s thin waist than men in Britain or Denmark, where there tends to be more sexual equality, Cashdan said. And in some non-Western societies where food is scarce and women bear the responsibility for finding it, men actually prefer larger waist-to-hip ratios.

“Waist-to-hip ratio may indeed be a useful signal to men, then, but whether men prefer a [waist-to-hip ratio] associated with lower or higher androgen/estrogen ratios (or value them equally) should depend on the degree to which they want their mates to be strong, tough, economically successful and politically competitive,” Cashdan writes.”

So as we head to a female forager/matriarchal/feminist society, in order to compete and WIN, the women will have to, and are, masculinising.

It’s interesting how the feminists who agitate for a society organised along these lines are the females most likely to be successful in these societies. Feminist women win, non-feminist women lose.

Feminism is a war of women against other women.

It’s about making the feminist/female forager mating strategy the winning mating strategy.

And any woman who isn’t a masculinised female/feminist, will be a loser in this world.

Fitting, yes, that the Western leftoid project to economically and socially equalize the sexes is literally equalizing men and women in body mass, shape and temperament. Fuck with the forces of nature and nature will fuck you right back, hard.

But I wouldn’t make too much hay of this latest study. One, there is a mound of accumulated evidence that male preference, at least in Europe and Asia, is for women with waist-hip ratios of 0.7 and BMIs falling between 17 and 23. Two, the enlarging (heh), sugar-fueled and automobile-enabled Western obesity epidemic is likely distorting measurements of the natural WHRs of women under a layer of belly blubber. Three, what the above study could be measuring is not changes in innate, unconstrained male preference but rapid female adaptation to environmental pressures that occur *despite* male sexual preference. (Note, also, that the majority of sampled countries in the data set were non-European. A good rule of thumb: Female beauty standards are universal, EXCEPT in Africa. “Except in Africa” is a clause that could be appended to a lot of generalizable observations about human nature.)

Nevertheless, this study is hinting at something that CH has noticed: Western women are looking, and acting, manlier. We have cast about for reasons why, and now we have one plausible mechanism: When propagandized sexual equality pushes women into the workforce and away from children and home, their bodies respond by jacking up their tiny reserve of male hormones until they more resemble the men with whom they now compete in arenas historically occupied only by men.

And so what kind of women does our post-biology, androgyne culture beget? Manjaws. Narrower eyes and hips. Thinner lips. Wider waists. Aggressive posturing. Leering, focused gazes. Snarls and snarks.

Recall this contrast between composites of Golden Age Hollywood starlets and modern actresses:

The face composite on the left is of actresses from 2008, the right of actresses from the 1940s. Neither are unattractive, but the left one clearly has undergone some masculinization. Anymore, and she veers into tranny territory. What does this mean for men? Most men will feel like sexually conquering the girl on the left, and romantically protecting the girl on the right. Funny, that seems to be the way our sexual market is heading.

What else do our present and future masculine women offer? Shrieking feminist agit-prop. Wall to wall lies to deny sex differences. “Art” made from menstrual blood. Pussy riots. Delayed childbirth. Women breaking their bodies competing in high-impact sports traditionally dominated by men. And, in a final middle finger to the god of biomechanics, a simultaneous war to feminize men so that women’s descent to maleness can proceed unhindered.

That last part is happening too, in case you were wondering. I could show you a pic of John Scalzi as proof and call it a day, but as demonstrated by the CH links above there is similar data-rich evidence piling up that something weird and disconcerting is happening to Western men to turn them into mewling manboobs, overweight male feminists, slope-shouldered hipsters, and huge beta sycophants. Although it isn’t (yet) making the nightly news, far-flung quarters are beginning to pick up on the CH-identified disturbing inversion of men to a physical and psychological female form.

None of this is good news, except to ugly feminists and socially awkward male toadies who never stood a chance in the grindhouse of the mating bazaar. I don’t see how civilization sustains itself under these conditions, not demographically at any rate. There will be a price to pay for messing with nature’s prime directive. I don’t know exactly what amount, or what currency we’ll pay it in, but the bill is coming due.

The title of this post is not an affectation. The convergent masculinization and feminization of the sexes to a shapeless, infantilized alien gray is a deliberate project by the elites as much as it is an emergent phenomenon of uncontrolled environmental insults. The ruling class wants this. People in power, people who don’t want to relinquish even a speck of their power, want their nearest competition — white middle class men — gelded. They want them soft and blubbery and pliable. They want women unfeminine, self-supporting, aggressive and ballcutting, because they know that a culture dominated by such women will reinforce and solidify the slavish adherence to the preferred propaganda matrix of the elite.

The elite’s most dangerous enemy are men like themselves, competent and hungry, but with less to lose. And so the elite play social engineering with the sexes, in hopes of ridding themselves of men capable of rebelling. If they taste success, they will move on from social engineering to biological engineering of the wider culture of men to cement their rule. You scoff. Ask yourself, are you, at this late hour, willing to place your faith in the benevolence of your ruling elite should such technological game-changers drop in their laps?

Ultimately, whether our ruling class knows it or they bumble along like drug addicts seeking the next pleasurable injection of power at any cost, their sex-swapping project will turn the West into matricentric, female forager Africa. And it shouldn’t be too hard to figure out what comes next.

Extreme Disqualification Game

We sat in a window box of the cafe. Warming sunlight marched through and glittered off her black hair. As I spoke absent-mindedly about a girl I loved whom I recently lost, barely comprehending in my stream of consciousness that I was airing my inner thoughts, a sunshaft grazed her cheek and I saw that she was silently crying. Two soft tears traced slowly downward, framed within an expressionless face. The effect hit me hard, not because it was the first time I made a woman cry from sheer carelessness, but because her tears were so incongruent with her personality. She was an Ivy-educated business consultant, easily turning six figures, ambitious, sure of herself in ways she thought mattered, and to the undiscerning eye cold and opaque.

She was also pretty, but the timing of our fling threw her orbit away from mine. Pleasing enough, she regrettably didn’t press my buttons like my recent ex-girlfriend had. And so, when she earnestly pried for my truest feelings, she received in return the fate of suffering reckless confessions she didn’t want to hear. My emotions were raw, and I unloaded on her callously as she took my strafe on every flank. Not meaning to hurt her, I had, and every time we had sex since then, over the following weeks, it ended with her tucking her knees under her chin naked on the bed to quietly cry into the wrapped bubble of her body.

When my one-sided conversation with the cosmos had finished, and her tears had shocked me back to empathy and guilt, she choked out a tiny utterance that I’ll never forget. A simple, endearing question: “So you really liked this girl?” Imagine for a moment the excruciating hollowness of unreciprocated longing that the friendzoned beta male feels as he patiently abides his love’s encomiums to another man. Women can feel this way, too.

I crashed back into her presence. Now all I could think was making amends and, truthfully, a part of me wanted to preserve for a while longer the usefulness of her distractive adoration in my time of need.

“Yes.”

I surprised myself at the forthrightness of my answer. Quickly recalibrating, “…but I could see it coming, so maybe it’s all for the best.”

She coaxed a crooked smile, but I had sunk her. She knew in that bright cafe that we would never be more together than a pleasurable temporary escape. Already approaching thirty, the weight of it landed in the breadbasket of her soul.

These stories locked in time offer lessons for times yet to come. What I had unknowingly, accidentally, obliviously, and with quite sincere effort done to this woman was run an extreme version of Disqualification Game on her. That confessional about my recent ex, the sincerity with which I expressed my confusion and unresolved desire, the indifference to how it might be received by present company, sent my replacement lover into a tailspin. She felt stronger love for me at the same time she felt the sadness of our inevitable, arriving end. Thus, our sex life carried on while her tears flowed heavier with accumulating grief.

What was accidental can be made intentional for one’s personal advantage. “I’ll always have this thing for my ex” Extreme Disqualification Game can, if delivered without a hint of manipulative urgency (almost as an afterthought), greatly increase a woman’s attraction to you. She’ll see herself as the one who can make it better, or steal your heart away, if you’re careful to stop just short of killing her hope outright. You’ll be a challenge too irresistible to some women, especially women with options, and if you parcel your redirected romance into hamster-sized pellets that make her feel as if she’s slowly winning you over, you’ll have from her a love that can transcend all other arid considerations women tend to autonomically jot down on dating profiles or personal ads.

You Can Tell A Lot About A Nation’s Women By Its Facebook Likes

Facebook Likes are a cancer on society. They glorify feels and enervate reason. They abet lies and exile truth. But they do perform a valuable service for the keen observer of civilizational decay. The FB Like, and what gets Liked most, are revealing glimpses into a nation’s character, and especially the character of its women, for whom Facebook Likes are happy drugs for their gluttonous egos. Remove the Like, and severe withdrawal symptoms manifest, similar to the effects one sees from the psychological damage that incurs after an extended stint in an isolation chamber.

A reader passes along two telling examples.

I found these two pictures today on my FB friend’s feed.  (They aren’t my friends, fortunately, but they are friends of friends.)  Both got lots of “likes” and supportive comments.  I thought of you as soon as I saw them.

Since most of Facebook is a wasteland of middling SMV women patting each other on the backs for awe-inspiring accomplishments like getting knocked up by a black guy or sucking down in one gulp a boat of sugar through a straw, it’s fair to say that what gets Liked is what American women like. And what American women like is, to put a coarse point on it, a mountain of shit.

What do American women and their yappy beta orbiters like so much that they feel compelled to craft a public consensus of their PC boilerplate?
– Mystery meat fetuses.
– Interracial dating.
– Male empathy pregnancies.
– Fat chicks.
– Fat chicks feeding like swine on ice cream sundaes that could sustain a family of four for a week.
– Fat chicks feeding like swine while insouciantly arched eyebrows that demand acceptance leap from their bloated brows.

Could this country and its people be going down the shitter any faster? Forget Rome’s historical precedence. America is in double-time decline, setting new records of scraping bottom as we speak. I think I will dub this Millennifag cohort the Like Me Generation. “Like me, because if you don’t I’ll have a mental breakdown as the realization that I’m a mediocrity sweeps over me. Nothing less than total unanimity in judgment of my awesomeness and the rightness of my knee-jerk emotional opinions will keep me alive another day.”

Yeah, no. I think instead I will take this shiv and give it an extra twist in your guts, just because I like… yes, Like… watching you effete nancies and spluttering mutants scream bloody murder. And you know what? The country will become a place truly worth liking for your suffering.

Disappearing Act Game As A Tool To Attract Women

A common dramatic license in fictional thrillers is the sudden exit of the main character, usually a powerful man, from a scene of heightening intimacy with a woman. He gives no reason why he has to leave, but the viewer knows, or it is implied, that he leaves to rendezvous with his mysterious employer or otherwise shady characters to do business. This disappearing act, naturally, leaves the woman in a state of frustrated, and aroused, curiosity.

This trope taps ancient female longings for a heroic man with a sense of duty who must travel to faraway lands to fight an enemy, pursue a passion, or reach an enlightenment. A man who can tear himself away from a woman, from her trite domestic concerns, to “do what compels him”, becomes an exotic archetype to the woman. His desirability is stamped in the psyche of every woman from an early time in human evolution, when leaders of men gathered hunting parties and left the women and babes behind.

The modern seducer can capture the allure of the disappearing act for himself. Imagine you’re on a date with a woman who, you intuit, has one foot in and one foot out. She’s beautiful, and she’s unfailingly inscrutable. You try an arsenal of game tactics, but nothing sticks. To bag this trophy baby you’ll need a bigger tingle bomb. That’s when you reach for your phone, briefly scan the screen, make a phony excuse — “I have to meet with someone important” —  and be gone. Don’t loiter to parry her questions. If she presses, tell her you’ll call her tomorrow, and that you’re sorry you can’t divulge more, and you understand her frustration. Your exit must be fluid and definitive.

Beautiful women expect men to lavish them with attention, and to extend as long as possible the time spent with such women. They are right to expect this effortful courtship, since most men rarely break from the script. Therefore, the man who executes Disappearing Act Game immediately catapults himself into the frantic consciousness that characterizes a sexually fixated woman.

A few clarifications. Disappearing Act Game is dynamite, to be used sparingly, and only on those women with whom the seduction process has tediously stalled. If you’re at a woman’s place, and she’s smiling and tipping back a glass of wine, it would be stupid to suddenly leave when the probability of crack fracking is high. Too, it would be self-defeating to walk out on a date when she’s dropping nonverbal hints of her rising attraction. In pickup lingo, Disappearing Act Game is a nuclear version of the game tactic known as the takeaway; you’re leaving her not just for a few seconds, or even a few hours, but for a whole day, and under enticingly obscure circumstances.

I’ve used Disappearing Act Game ten or fifteen times in my life, if you want a handle on the proper frequency of deployment. It’s best used on very beautiful women who routinely date high status men, and with whom you’d seriously consider a long-term romance. Timing is important; disappearing after the first hello isn’t going to accrue much to your value. Maximum hamster impact is achieved after she’s gotten somewhat comfortable in your company, and a groundwork of intimacy has been built. She has to be a little bit invested in you to feel the loss of your quick exit.

You, for your part, must have a deep reserve of self-control to initiate the Leaving Protocol. Most men reading this post now don’t have it; you will think about leaving on a whim, you may even have at the ready an erotically charged excuse to leave, but her pretty face will keep you stuck in her orbit. To disappear with conviction, you have to be firmly committed to seeing your exit through the back door. Her eyes will look up at you, suddenly liquid with confusion and spiked interest, and it will test the last ounce of your will to sever your precious, if illusory, spatial bond to her. Stay the course. The only bond that matters in a woman’s heart is the one you caulk in her cock vault.

A final tip: What really helps gird your will to disappear like a phantom is having another girl in your dating rotation. Two in the kitty isn’t just a cad’s mission statement; it’s psychological leverage.

Crazy American Women Are Getting Crazier

A very homely, urbanely decayed spinster has taken photographs of herself posed with male and child mannequins, presumably as some sort of statement on the present condition of her bifurcated ego.

If you thought 21st Century American women have plumbed the depths of crazy, you’d be wrong. There’s totes crazy left in those desiccated wombs and cock-ravaged holes where their feminine hearts used to reside. Expect to see a plague of crazy visited upon the women of the West, as the modern diversity industrial complex and no-holds-barred sexual market drives the wedge deeper between their mothering and materialistic desires. We have only begun to bear witness to a total meltdown of the American woman’s psyche.

My advice to American men: If you didn’t get lucky and find yourself a sane, feminine American woman before this late-stage twisted empire in rapid decay corrupted her, head overseas. You’ve got to know when to hold an American woman, and know when to fold her. And right now, she’s coming up 2-7 off-suit.