Since I’ve already explored the relationship between Millennial Men and Zoomer girls in My Little Zoomette, I thought it might be interesting to approach the same subject from precisely the opposite direction.

Enjoy!

Subscribe now

It runs three minutes and thirty-eight seconds, during which time men in bars across the Philippines have been stabbed, shot, and beaten to the floor while the final verse thunders out triumphantly behind them—a penalty for performing it poorly, or too enthusiastically, or when someone else in the room thought they had a prior claim.

The song, of course, is “My Way”—written by Paul Anka, immortalized by Sinatra, and transformed through a tincture of post-colonial ressentiment, masculine pride, and cheap beer into what Filipino newspapers came to call the “My Way Killings.”

Subscribe now

To understand why the tune draws blood one must first realize what it is: not a love ballad, and certainly not a lament, but a self-satisfied declaration of conquest over life itself that unfurls relentlessly towards the conclusion that the singer “did it my way,” each verse a catalog of trials he’s survived or paths he’s chosen against advice (his regrets being acknowledged only very briefly and then immediately dismissed) that land in aggregate upon the ear with all the nuance and humility of a gavel.

Sinatra understood this full well; his recorded performances of the song in later years evoke a man settling accounts, and not inhabiting a character so much as using one to say something felt intensely. The song thus served as vehicle for an immodesty that would have read as unseemly stated plainly—and yet when the Chairman crooned he did it his way, you believed him. Not because the lyric itself felt credible, but because the man before you had very genuinely lived a life large enough to hold the claim.

But karaoke changes things.

It strips away the singer’s authority and replaces it with an invitation that’s ostensibly democratic; anyone can stand here now and make the claim, and while the words and melody remain identical, the grandiosity of sentiment feels entirely unearned.

Every man who picks up that microphone borrows a verdict he has not yet rendered, stands in a spotlight he has not yet paid for, and declares to the room—to coworkers, neighbors, rivals, strangers—that his life has been a masterwork of self-determination.

Most songs do not carry such a weight; a man who sings a love song at karaoke makes no claim about himself, offering instead emotion, memory, or simple entertainment. But “My Way” demands that the singer stand as judge of his own life and pronounce it good, unrepentant, and sovereign—hardly a small thing to ask of a person!

Not to mention fraught in any room full of people harboring their own assessments of your life, choices, and standing—especially in the karaoke-era Philippines, which was and in certain ways remains a society where public dignity is a serious currency.

See, the Filipino notion of hiya—think shame, or more specifically the threat thereof—structures social life in deep and subtle ways that have no clean equivalent in Western ecologies predating the 2020s digital oral culture. For Filipinos public humiliation is not merely “embarrassing;” it’s a kind of ontological injury to one’s basic standing as a human being, and interfaces keenly with amor propio, a concept inherited partly from Spanish colonialism that means something like self-love, or a personal dignity that must be actively defended. In the context of Filipino culture this complex functions as a kind of basic architecture of self; the walls without which a man is existentially unhoused.

So take this architecture and introduce to it a microphone and song that’s explicitly a competition between the singer’s self-image and the room’s assessment of it, wherein the singer declares himself author of his fate and the room sees him as he actually is: probably a man of middling circumstance and ordinary choices with a life that’s gone mostly how lives go—or perhaps a grasping and vainglorious narcissist, or a deluded self-important charlatan, or a slovenly mooch. The gap between the declaration and visible truth is the source of the danger; the audience doesn’t necessarily want to hurt the singer, but the song by its very nature puts both parties in an impossible position.

Reports from bar owners and witnesses across the Philippines consistently describe the same trigger: someone sings “My Way” badly, or multiple times in succession, or with a certain air of self-satisfaction that others in the bar find offensive, and at some point a fight begins. The particulars vary—a comment from another patron, a demand to stop, a refusal—but the fundamental structure remains consistent. The singer has made a claim that someone else in the room has contested, and amor propio ensures that neither party can back down without losing precisely what the song is about.

And so before long many establishments simply removed the song from their karaoke machines, one bar owner in Manila observing to a journalist that it was easier to just delete the track than manage what might happen when it plays.

By his own death Sinatra himself had come to hate the song.

He’d call it “that fucking song” in private, and according to multiple accounts greatly resented having to perform it at every concert after audiences inevitably demanded it as closing anthem, in a sense imprisoning Ol’ Blue Eyes within his own declaration of freedom. What once had meant sovereignty over life now registered as contractual obligation: an expected performance his audience was owed and owned.

There is something instructive in this. “My Way,” at its core, is a fantasy of absolute self-authorship—a claim to have lived untouched by accident, compromise, or the demands of others. But life seldom works this way, and Sinatra understood that better than most, his own story having been shaped on countless occasions by arbitrary and nefarious forces outside his control: the mob connections that haunted his career, the political winds that briefly destroyed it, the marriages that collapsed under the weight of his nature. Ultimately the song was less autobiography than self-serving fanfiction.

What’s interesting, though, is that Paul Anka, who wrote the English lyrics, has said the song was intended originally as a character piece—a portrait of a certain kind of man rather than a straightforward confession. Sinatra transformed it into something less fictive and more personal, and in so doing lent credibility to an earnest delivery its lyrics alone can’t support. The irony, then, is architectural: the more sincerely one sings “My Way,” the more he foregrounds any gap between its claim and his own life.

The men who fought and died over this song in Manila and Cebu and elsewhere were not in any simple sense “fighting over music;” they were fighting over whether a man’s self-concept could survive public scrutiny—whether the story he tells about himself can hold its shape when other people are in the room. Usually that question is litigated quietly and ambiently, its verdict diffuse and deniable and residing more in tone and affect and the negative space of unsent invitations than in anything that could really bring the knives out. The karaoke stage makes it all rather more visceral.

Direct status competition among men has always had this basic structure: one man advances a claim, another contests it, and the contest itself produces a certain species of zero-sum clarity that everyday social life as a rule works hard to avoid. Normally such contests are managed through deference, humor, and careful face-saving mechanisms that allow everyone to pretend hierarchy is less rigid than it is.

“My Way” wrenches off those obfuscations like a banana peel and reveals the brown and mushy truth of it to all and sundry, leaving the singer perilously little room for any hedging or face-saving by insisting on a final verdict delivered loudly and in public to an audience with opinions. Thus the man who sings it badly and is laughed at has not just been embarrassed; he has been refused. His claim to self-authorship—the only claim the song permits—has effectively been vetoed by the room.

And in a cultural context where dignity proffers not just comfort but basic social personhood and epistemic standing, such a refusal cannot simply be absorbed.

Something must happen.

“My Way” is a song about winning and having won.

It is a song about surveying a completed life and finding it sufficient.

But most lives if we’re honest feel incomplete at most moments, and thus not entirely sufficient—and that includes Sinatra’s, to say nothing of the men who belt his song out shitfaced in dirty karaoke bars on weekday evenings. Such are men for whom the verdict is still very much open; whose authority over their own lives is contested daily: by circumstance and disposition, by other men in chest thumps and in the whispers of women, by the gap between what they should have become and whatever they became.

But for three and a half minutes the song offers men a different account.

It says: you are the author. You chose this. It was hard and you faced it. No regrets.

For a few of them, in certain rooms, the contrast between that account and the ugly unrelenting brutalism of everyday life becomes genuinely unbearable—not because the song feels wrong, but because it feels so damningly and intoxicatingly right, however indifferent the world may remain to that fact outside the spotlight.

The Filipino karaoke killings are obviously extreme—but they are extreme in the same direction as something wholly ordinary: the human need to have one’s self-narration confirmed, and the volatility that tends to erupt whenever it isn’t. Each time a man belts out “My Way” and means it, he’s asking a room full of strangers to agree he’s lived well, chosen freely, and emerged with dignity intact, which is quite a lot more than even the best of public houses can reasonably be expected to offer its patrons.

And so the song endures precisely because it names a desire that cannot. We all wish to arrive at the end of life able to say with some conviction that we faced the thing and it was ours. Yet that desire, when announced too loudly or in the wrong room, tends to produce exactly the conflict it was meant to transcend, transforming one’s declaration of sovereignty into the very occasion of its contest—the Chairman’s famous anthem of self-possession now a funeral dirge mourning how little any of us truly own ourselves.

Sinatra knew. He hated the song—and still he sang it anyway, night after night, because the audience needed that verdict even if the man delivering it had doubts.

And so he did it Their Way.

Check out these articles from him when you get a chance:

• A Short History Of The Gender Wars

• Is Having a Family Embarrassing Now?

• Why do Conservatives Lose the Culture War?

• The Ultimate Guide to Becoming a Manly Man

Subscribe now

Topics include:

• How Russell was inspired to come on Substack by Walt’s famous jeremiad against Nebraska due to a shared high openness temperament

• Russell’s YouTube roots in Nietzsche and the BAP-o-sphere

• Why the Australian WN scene is more overtly Neo-Nazi

• Does Australia have more tolerance for casual racism in humor etc.?

• People like to coon as a caricature of their demographic group for outsiders

• British and Australian guys can arbitrage their accent overseas

• Why Walt has come to appreciate WASPs

• Why Anglos pull off multiculturalism better than anyone

• Why Australia is one of the only countries where migrants are on net contributors to the economy

• Why Australians are better at talking about status

• Comparing Queensland to the American South

• Are tropical environments bad for white people?

• Does there exist a bidirectional cultural exchange between Australians and insomniac Americans?

• Is Russell currently the most prominent edgy Australian?

• Zoomer brutalism is driving right wing Millennials toward the center

• The Anglo affinity for pluralism and how it causes the most tolerant strands of WASP culture to get cannibalized (e.g. Quakers by Ellis Islanders)

• Differences in Australian vs. American immigration patterns and the Australian people as the first “mass man” ethnos

• Anglos as the creators and first victims of modernity

• Anglos as the most Faustian race

• How the Irish and blacks have played similar roles as Anglo client races

• The Irish as photonegatives of Jews

• Anglos created a world where different ethnicities are like Pokémon

• How WW2 and one-to-many communications technology created a maximally stable and just society in 1950s America

• Does Australia still think of itself as an Anglo country?

• The Irish as a vector for oppositional culture in Anglo countries

• No one wants to be a client race of the Chinese or Russians

• Why Russians overseas think everyone is gay

• Is modern France a uniquely vital Western civilization?

• Why France produced a writer like Houellebecq so much earlier than the Anglo world produced anyone comparable

• Read Russell’s piece A Short History Of The Gender Wars

• What lines of rhetoric can be used to reach women on important Gender Wars issues without incurring an incel stink

• How the post-Tinder dating ecology locks in heteropessimism

• Why love found late in life feels more contingent and provisional

• How Russell metabolized turning 30 and feeling his optionality fall off

• Modernity gives us an illusion of limitless frictionlessness

• Have Zoomers psyoped us into thinking we’re old men?

• Whether you read as old or young depends on status position

• What has surprised Russell about fatherhood?

• The transition from hunter to lord mode that comes with fatherhood

• Read Russell’s post Is Having a Family Embarrassing Now?

• Why being a single man in your 30s feels like being a gay guy

• Why writers are assholes

Meet : a ginger math student born more or less contemporaneously with Hurricane Katrina—which doesn’t just evoke Daenerys Targaryen but was also the case for another significantly more infamous Zoomette in the Walt Right mythos, compared to whom Claire tbf seems quite a lot less mythically overdetermined by the tempest of her birth on account of her baseline affect / temperament running as a rule it seems much less hurricane overall than brisk autumn northwind.

Anywho point is I mostly thought she’d be an interesting guest after seeing this comment on another writer’s article:

That and because she seems to be quite a fan of my foil —star of the most recent episode of WRP before this one.

Subscribe now

Topics include:

• How did her parents narrate the Bush Years to her?

• Why she thinks Kryptogirl is coo

• Why did Claire study math?

• Should she become an actuary?

• Zoomer attention spans

• Are Gen Z women afraid of men? Is she?

• The political valence of low vs. high-sociosexual dimension in women

• Do women Have Agency?

• The Zoomette whisper economy

• Is anti-Pickmeism bad for nerdy girls?

• Do Zoomers in college have many opportunities to date off the apps?

• Are Zoomer girls pro-Tinder?

• Why static pictures don’t really let women aesthetically assess men in the way they’d foreground IRL

• The tightening Tinder algo and necessity of Liemaxxing

• Why Zoomettes girls think Millennial women are cringe

• How will Zoomettes handle Alphatte competition?

• Why age gaps force a quasi-fetishistic or performative container

• Is it acceptable for society to let women outearn men?

• The epistemic foundations of workplace feminization theory

• Do Zoomettes have an ambient contempt for men? How does this break down by factors like sociosexuality and status?

• The failure modes of infinitely scalable status economies

• Why people precognitively afford women more grace and allow them to abrogate agency despite women have reached hard power supremacy

• Why womyn don’t realize how bad gossip apps are for men

• Zoomettes gossiping about guys as rapey function as inadvertent wingmanism

• How Millennial MILFs and Zoomettes gossip differently

• The decline of pluralism as a cause of sneaky links

• Do men keep fat chicks as sneaky links?

• Why Zoomer lesbianism is far less performative than with Millennials

• Zoomette lesbianism as neo-MGTOWism

• The declassee feedback loop of male yearning and vulnerability

• Walt appreciates Zoomer Boy fraternal solidarity

• Is there a lower baseline sexual polarity these days?

• Claire wants to ban dating apps

• What does she think of Millennial guys? 😏

• Are uncs less cringe than MILFs?

• How old was she when she got a smartphone?

• Why Millennial girls were more susceptible to grooming than Zoomettes

• The tragedy of Oral Culture superficiality

• Do Zoomer girls even write essayistically?

• Why Claire is a girlboss

• Why men are more behaviorally elastic along incentive gradients and women more responsive to social training

• How popular is tradwifery vs. girlbossisism in Zoomettes?

• Why overt feminisms is uncool

• Women have a higher floor and lower ceiling

• Radially asymmetric nature of Zoomer boys

• Claire explains Zoomette ideology as having internalized that they won’t be taken seriously due to being women in a way Millennial women usually can’t

• Why women are pussies with salary negotiation

• Normie women ruin epistemics

• Should bosses be able to fuck they seccy as a treat?

• The power dynamic between young women / older guy is bidirectional

Subscribe now

Turns out the tract I penned on beanpuss a few days back ackshully succeeded in getting that Latina in my DMs to unmute me—both to applaud my creativity in securing her attention and to express a certain frustration at most of the girlies therein being very much the original West Side Story sort of Hispanic, which I’ll choose to narrate retrospectively here as a kind of “negative space neg.”

Meanwhile and less winsomely, it kind of seems this one chick individually was the only person in my audience of thousands to grasp the essay’s literary sophistication—which kind of grinds my gears, frankly, because of everything in my extended oeuvre Things I Like About Latinas is without question the piece that if I charliekirked a major politician tomorrow or pulled off some ricinshit would inspire a nontrivial cohort of molested girls to send me photos of they asshole in prison.

Failing that though there’s a very real danger as a writer in becoming both too literary and floating for the roblox brigade yet still too vulgar / autistic for the xanax battalion; occupying that valley with any real comfort demands a talent of Houellebecq’s size, and until I reach that point (or at least recover the writerly discipline not to talk about my fetishes and say nigger every five seconds) I really would have to kill someone tbh for my work to be Appreciated at the level I’ll always sort of expect from the universe precognitively just by dint of having been sired during Clinton’s first term.

But happily for the Walsh family, my other recent treatise Trump Should Kill The Pope seems to have landed very beautifully with you fags, with several longtime Waltheads of prominence even calling it a return to form for your haunted, hoary unc.

Perhaps there’s wisdom, then, in channeling Scorsese? One for them and one for me, and every now and then one also for the present moment’s her.

Or maybe—and a lot more interestingly—there’s a path to perpetual motion; a way to thread the circle less Scorseselike than Faust-by-way-of-Strauss, procuring dopamine throwing the chudkorps red meat + serotonin via higher order grooming (as a treat)?

Let’s find out!

Subscribe now

One commonly-held opinion among right-wing guys who have Down Syndrome is that male homosexuality is inherently more civilizationally corrosive than lesbianism.

The more pedestrian variant of this take is essentially just “lesbians are hot LOL,” which I tend to see primarily as a conditioned normalfag response akin to pretending one doesn’t find teenage girls hot and sexy—though part of me also hesitates to go there completely given that my fren has called lesbians his fetish and as a Millennial man honor obliges me never to yuck another male Millennial’s yum.

Having said that, has anyone else Noticed it’s virtually always Elder Millennial and Late Gen X guys who are super into lesbians? I feel like I basically never see that same impulse in Zoomer boys, and even among guys my age it was usually only the retarded chud kids or like prematurely sexualized ones with molested Kanye West vibes who’d talk about how hot lesbians are. And speaking as one of the latter cadre it makes sense why a kid might develop that particular fetish watching Girls Gone Wild infomercials on Comedy Central at 2am, so overall I think this was mostly something pushed really fucking hard in the nineties and early aughts as what every red-blooded heterosexual man finds smexy specifically because the gay rights movement accurately clocked it as the Helm’s Deep sewer gate in Y2k-era homophobia.

See, it takes A LOT of social pressure to stifle that primordial Middle Schooler urge in every straight guy to make it broadly known he’s Not Gay, and that’s precisely why the optimal first step in destigmatizing homosexuality is to capture that impulse for your own purposes by establishing attraction to lesbians as the highest prestige mode of heterosexuality, both by flooding the box office with wacky teenage sex comedies in which e.g. the Chad character frattily admonishes a less virile peer for not wanting to spy on two girls making out (always in a way that IRL you only see as an internalized porn script for attracting guys in Elder Millennial girls specifically, and which became cringe / retrograde even in women my age the instant swipe apps did away with their need to give any thought whatsoever to attracting guys, to say nothing of Zoomettes) while flooding 2am Comedy Central with softcore porn of Elder Millennial coeds kissing so as to give a few Kanye West-type Late Millennial kids a lesbian fetish.

And so despite only 12% of Millennial girls identifying as LGBT them performatively making out “for guys” soon metastasizes into this hugely ubiquitous social script it’s kind of impossible to escape from and leaves such a durable residue men learn to use it strategically even when not at all into lesbians—for instance moi, who back in 2021 managed to secure sexual access to a neurotic and frigid ex-gf by “wingmanning” her with some rando cosplay slut at a nerd convention, which turned into a threesome neither of them were especially keen on being clearly quite hetero but is still so much the grammar of nerd girl Millennial sexuality that even as middle aged women it’s a far easier path into their skinny jeans than dyadic seduction since another girl there makes it feel Safe. It also lets you Jew your way into an asymmetric poly thing where your girl being there during “threesomes” lets you fuck other bitches and she can e.g. make out with them during to not feel humiliated in a socio-technological script for operative polygyny universally legible as enlightened / modern / kinky.

Anyway point is when right wing guys say “lesbians are hot LOL” they’re kind of just doing a molestered thing they probably don’t even buy into deep down and in practice essentially all of them would get a far more powerful erection looking at a picture of any random naked 17 year old than a picture of two 30 year old women making out.

But that’s just the chud version of this take.

The more sophisticated if ultimately just as wrongheaded argument you tend to hear for male homosexuality being worse boils down to some tincture of the following:

• Its chief mode of promulgation being pederasty

• It being a lot more dangerous as a vector of disease

• Its toleration making men even when not gay far softer and more effete

Responding quickly to these points…

• With pederasty it’s kind of a Bastiat seen and unseen dynamic because while any intellectually honest gheygai who doesn’t feel you’re approaching him in bad faith will concede anecdotally that obviously there’s an enormous correlation between getting diddled by a man as a child and turning out gay one likewise sees tons of lesbians who clearly got that way on account of being diddled by a man at the same age, and meanwhile one of my ex-girlfrens proved unsusceptible to the threesome trick specifically because getting molestered by a woman kind of killed her capacity for bisexuality. So long story short this goes in all directions and just seems to create more a positive inclination in men and disinclination in women.

• Moreover there’s a very real possibility that the causal chain ackshully goes more the other way here with pedophiles finding little gay boys hotter and sexier due to their relatively elfin features or less churlish deportment or what have you, or mb they could be targeting them because they seem like dispositionally weak faggots who’ll be easy to take advantage of and won’t say anything. Clearly it’s a feedback loop that goes in both directions at once because that’s literally how it works with every solitary phenomenon in organic life and if you don’t grok that instinctively you’re kind of retarded tbh and don’t understand how the world works.

• Moreover moreover there’s kind of a motte and bailey thing here wherein niggas will conflate ackshual child molestation with adolescent sexual initiation and despite usually being the first ones to say it’s fine for a sixteen year-old boy to pork his MILF teacher will act like Harvey Milk assraped a toddler for fucking someone exactly the same age. Now personally my own attitude is Harvey doing it is moderately worse than the MILF doing it because all girls are essentially just kids on some level and so I’d hazard that in terms of sexual agency your typical 30yo woman is roughly equal to a 16yo boy whereas your modal 25yo gay dude is probs around halfway between a same age straight guy and the 16yo. And so the agency gap is still far smaller than you’d have between say a 25yo straight guy and 16yo girl for instance, and when I myself blew out 18yo Rose as a 29yo that was incontrovertibly more “predatory” than anything Harvey did and that’s also Good because it was hugely hot and sexy. That said there are other factors to consider e.g. risk of STD transmission, and meanwhile if you asked the modal “epigenetic baseline marginally bisexual” man at 30 who ended up way more gay on account of some 25yo sodomizing him at 16 whether that experience materially worsened his life outcomes I think in practice you’d see massive heterogeneity in responses, so it’s a pretty nuanced issue ultimately. That said this is all esoterica and all that really matters publicly is the game theoretic level where if gays want barstoolers to force more nuance on Harveymaxxing you likewise need to use your purchase with vapid normie bitches to force more reasonable social jurisprudence on us once the henhouse doors close.

• re: disease, ya that’s inarguably a pretty dire gayman failure mode. That said it’s mostly only an issue for us when bisexual guys cum their AIDS in chicks which even then if you aren’t black / poor isn’t something that should induce a ton of cognitive load. Hell, if anything I’d contend the post-AIDS Buttigiegization of gays attempting to contain stigma over this has made them significantly more annoying and socially destructive than the bathhouse-maxxing quadruple digit bodycount 1970s type of gay guy (who was honestly quite vitalist in his own way and probs would have stood up for his barstool bro’s right to Waltmaxx so as to secure his own right to Harveymaxx) because they’ve optimized essentially their entire social presentation around legibility to upper middle class white women.

• As for making even straight guys faggier—it’s complicated because that was definitely a pivotal issue in premodern times where something like that could unironically determine which city state wins a war, but nowadays everything is so asymmetric and weird it feels really pedestrian and gay in the middle school sense to place a giant premium on that. Moreover speaking as a feller who while far too poorly-groomed to ever qualify as metrosexual sure as shit likes musicals enough to get called faggot and tends to date women more or less identically to how bears date twinks I kind of just enjoy this dynamic tbh and see people opposed to it as my existential enemies who should be tortured to death, if only for first they came for the Jews reasons. And even if you’re more of a normie straight guy you should realize that straight male artists even when right wing will (at least if they’re any good) pretty much always have a comparable impulse in them.

So the upshot here is that for the “uncouth metrosexual” / frappuccino yuppie genre of right wing straight guy the type of gay who’d rather be Peter Thiel than Buttigieg might ackshully be one of your more natural allies.

And even when considering the platonic ideal of the absolute worst possible gay guy—Buttigieg on the streets, molesting gayness into toddlers in the sheets—the cold hard logic of game theoretics behooves even the chud to consider just how he himself is ultimately affected long-term. And to that end there’s honestly no way to put this that won’t sound utterly wretched, but like…

If more guys are gay, doesn’t that just mean less competition for you?

Like realistically: if you could press a button right now that turned every man on earth except for you gay, are you really telling me you wouldn’t at least be tempted to go for it?

And is this really any different in principle?

Especially when the putative impact occurs specifically in youth cohorts, for whom women’s sexual optionality relative to men’s has absolutely exploded over the last five years in particular thanks to the brutality of the post-Covid Tinder algorithm?

Such extenuating circumstances demand a soberminded view of one’s position, and oblige Zoomer boys especially to ask themselves: can the Unfair Sex really afford at the present moment to look a gift horse in the mouth by reintroducing friction long presumed extinct against such a directionally helpful force?

Ultimately alliances shift all the time due to circumstances on the ground, and when the issue of the day is ensuring youths aren’t too faggoty to beat back Sparta that produces an entirely different sort of logic than when the issue is youths dropping out of society full stop to play fortnite and goon all day because that secures an infinitely more reliable dopaminergic return than choosing not to act like a cockroach.

Political and cultural capital are at the end of the day scarce resources—which means, again, that when assessing the terrain of LGBT issues more broadly even the Chud would do well to ask himself whether owning the poopdicks is ackshully the hill he’d like to fight on given the particular sociocultural ecology of 2026.

It’s also imperative he realize this isn’t your mother’s lesbianism we’re dealing with.

Most of you oldpeepo reading this don’t understand Zoomer lesbianism literally at all.

Not even my fellow Late Millennials do, unless they’re specifically a Peter Pan nigga who these days almost exclusively fucks Zoomettes. Whenever I encounter a same-age male peer who settled down in his early twenties with a Millennial Maid—I pick on a lot for this because I’m lowkey super jelly of him—he often reads as Boomerishly stuck in an Eternal 2011 where relations between the sexes are more or less healthy and a 50th percentile man can reliably score puss on OkCupid without much difficulty and it isn’t a pretty safe assumption that any girl you date living in a major urban center will have at some point dabbled in sex work.

That was the world in which 12% of girls identified as LGBT—and also in which no more than half of that 12% were anything more than meme bisexual, such that it was basically unheard of for a pretty and feminine girl to get into an ackshual relationshit with another womyn unless she’d been aggressively molestered and/or selling hole for way too long to ever again relate to men non-transactionally, in which case at least for Late Millennial lesbos of that genre (my Rebecca being an almost comically archetypal example) it invariably turned into this baroque metamodern performance of womanly pain; deeply theatrical and vaguely Southern Gothic-coded and most typically rooted in a concentrated dose of grooming administered amidst the internet’s wild west era.

In Zoomettes you have essentially the same phenomenon, only greatly dispersed in multiple dimensions so it gives less Tuskegee Experiment than Fauci Ouchie.

And so instead of e.g. the 3-5% weirdest girls getting memed into posting puffies on 4chan to the point of eventually becoming a minor eceleb like my first gee eff Natalie you get more or less every girl hearing about something in that vein having happened to a friend’s older sister, such that naturally low-sociosexual Zoomettes develop both an irrational fear of aggressive male sexuality and intense aversion to older men while the high-sociosexual ones develop a fascination with and then fetishism for the same.

The former cohort take instantly to neo-Dworkinism, and after some Kanye West kid shows them a FacialAbuse clip in math class go into high school with the mindset of Aileen Wuornos; the second start teasing Discord pedos at twelve and by sixteen are lying to guys on Seeking about their age to rake in three times as much from butthole shots as they would in any summer job. Both of these groups then start college with effectively zero baseline respect for men their own age, who they’ve never experienced as anything but hilariously less powerful than themselves. The former group are just intractably misandrist at this point and will never let you win as a dude, whereas the latter precognitively register you as kind of an annoying useless roach unless you’re genetically a god or at least mildly famous or dropping plastic at Lululemon.

Such is the world wherein that 12% can very suddenly climb to 30% in under a decade.

Which of course won’t go entirely unnoticed; these girls’ no-nonsense Gen X diet pepsi moms are probs the first to spot it overall. But to them there’s nothing new under the sun and like the hooker-adjacency they view it as obviously just a silly phase and not in any way entwined with deeper structural forces and nothing to get worked up over.

And to some extent that’s true—because exactly like with the feedback loop thing, whenever you’re dealing with organic life then to some extent that’s always true.

And to some extent it’s just straightforwardly not—because hard incentive structures ackshully do matter and not every change in them is equally important and durable.

Because for one thing the fellas are just objectively becoming less and less attractive than women with each passing year—and not just because of the Tinder algo neither but also thanks to bitches peeing their birth control into the water supply and turning all the frogs gay.

Don’t believe me? Flip through your grandpa’s high school yearbook sometime and you’ll notice half the dudes in there look like Nordic Chad while eight in ten of the chicks are dykey librarians not even an Indian would swipe right on.

Go all the way back to 1850? Even your average 33yo Millennial MILF of 2026 would register to dudes then as an ethereally gorgeous preteen princess whereas she’d likely experience even the paperboy shouting Extra! Extra! Read all about it! as infinitely more masculine than any of those faggotrons fortune forced her to fuck back in her own era.

When you make everyone more neotenous women get more sexy and men less so.

And when you bake in that with algoshit you get a universe where the whole complex becomes self-reinforcing and the very notion of women desiring men in a deep dyadic sense outside something at least partially transactional and mutually exploitative or like a chance encounter with Harry Styles or something reads as innately laughable.

Consider also the fact that a few decades ago there were songs about female yearning all over the radio:

You probably recognize that tune—don’t you?

If you’re a Zoomer you likely associate it with that cartoonish modern remix used to score short form video content of mundane shit going wrong in everyday life, and to hear the original version from a world where dykey librarians were competing for Nordic Chads who’d pretty often end up dying on a North Vietnamese poopspike a year after graduation probably lands in your ears less as surreal than as category error.

And whether stupid retarded oldpeepo want to accept it or not, those are kind of just the conditions you need for the average guy to register to young women as obviously a better option than a bestie who licks your puss sometimes—particularly in a world where physical strength is essentially useless except as a narrative liability and young urban women are now richer and far better credentialed than their male peers.

Yes, it mostly is just a phase, for the simple reason that good dick will always and everywhere break up basically any sapphic dyad—which incidentally is why lesbians never ever ever fight anything close to fair with a man and you kind of need to jump on her throat as ruthlessly as possible the instant you find yourself competing with one. And if you regularly fuck Zoomettes (especially artsy or autistic ones), you almost certainly WILL find yourself competing with one sooner or later, and there’s a pretty dece chance she’ll hate your guts (and even more than the level you actually deserve).

That’s why it’s crucial that men / oldpeepo accept that it genuinely is far far less of a phase now than you ever had with halfway desirable Millennial girls outside veteran prosties, to say nothing of all older cohorts. 20 years ago as a man you’d pretty much never have to hear about my ex-girlfriend… and be obliged to treat that shit as anything more than a silly meme unless you were a Hell’s Angel or meth dealer or something who mostly dated strippers. Meanwhile this is something every socially competent Zoomer boy is having to learn how to handle, and that’s a big reason btw more normie and neurotypical ones tend to read as gay-adjacent to older guys, and prefer to assert power through withdrawal and unreliability like a chick will, and are so obsessed with looksmaxxing. They’re literally having to learn how to compete in feminine arenas of power since there’s no way to fight like a man cleanly against girls and they don’t have the resources or institutional access to mog bitches with hard power like past cohorts.

And that development ackshully is very bad for society, because at the end of the day men aren’t meant to compete in those arenas and most lads to really win at that game in a way men find satisfying will have to become a genuinely wretched person.

At the end of the day male and female homosexuality are not ontologically equivalent,

The one similarity is that in both cases it’s caused by a slurry of genetics, epigenetics, early childhood sexualization and abuse, and adaptive sexual strategy experienced by some folx as choice and others as deterministic reaction to incentives or just survival. But the exact proportions are hugely different, and all available evidence suggests it’s far less mutable in men (who tend to get hard at what they say they get hard at) than in women (who get wet at basically anything sexual including animals fucking because in the natural state being a rapeable juicy fuckbunny lube dispenser who doesn’t just kill herself when the new hubs disembowels the last hubs is infinitely more adaptive).

Men experience their sexuality kind of like their hair color, which is why it feels so insanely unjust to bisexual men when women treat them like lepers (understandably if we’re honest given STD risk, and probs for the best just societally speaking, but still).

Meanwhile for womyn lesbianism operates functionally a lot like a religion or ideology—especially if they were born in the 90s, in which case they’re usually kind of theatrical and silly with it compared to younger Zoomettes who can’t take anything seriously even equally powerful female peers, which is why they’re more likely to defect back to dick after themselves getting fed up with foidshit and coming to crave a hard phallic ontology to ride. But in practice to get there a lot of them will need a jumpstart from their biological clock, whereas a lot of the younger ones may well end up summering in lesbos eternally because all conditions are making that more attractive by the day and female sexuality is inherently just far more plastic / socially calibrated / responsive to environmental variance than male sexuality, hence girls naturally being a lot more attracted to social constructivism, which for them is sort of true in a way it’s not for us.

Womyn can and do “spread lesbianism” with highly portable memes in a way that doesn’t seem to have a parallel in men outside the shortest most cognitively feminine and like aggressively twinky gay dudes (plus a certain cohort of overall masculine but super autistic fetishist types) gooning / memeing themselves into becoming trannies, which is still two orders of magnitude less prevalent than Zoomette adaptive dykery.

Literally fuck any bisexual girl who floats between the two semi-regularly and she’ll tell you directly that lesbianism is ideologically valent (or at a minimum aesthetically so) in a way you don’t really see in non-trad hetero relationships or poopdick dyads.

Lesbian culture and the overall relationship between girl-girl dyads and the world of menfolk and our Big Fat Cocks is kind of just intractably and deeply adversarial, since unlike with gay guys (who tend to like women MORE than straight guys) lesbianism inherently “begs the question” in a way that tends to foreground concrete and specific dissatisfactions with men. And so you get either separatism or sterile sanctimony or scattershot hetero dabbling in a provisional transactional container that provokes cataclysmically jealous and vindictive dykerage the instant it threatens to become anything more than that—because, again, unless you keep it permanently drenched in misandrist acid the Big Fat Cock will always win out at the end of the day.

But if the proportion of men who can credibly deliver Big Fat Cock energy collapses overnight such that the operative masculine ideal starts trending toward pure fuckboy withdrawal you’re going to have more and more girls concluding that a bestie who licks their puss sometimes is straightforwardly a better deal than any of the men around them still willing to provide something beyond pure sexual novelty.

And so you land on this hot mess.

Now until Vance pulls off his Handmaid’s Putsch it goes without saying that we can’t ackshully make lesbianism illegal in any literal sense. That’s not what I’m proposing.

Rather the idea is to fireblock the memetic spread of lesbianism as an ideology by making a concerted push to change the broader cultural incentive structure—ideally via hard material changes that improve relative male optionality and thereby endow men with some species of meaningful leverage beyond callow cynical fuckboy affect, but more realistically in the short term by making lesbianism significantly lower status through meticulously engineered campaigns of public mockery. Think someone like Clavicular seducing prominent lesbians, or creating portable memes that broadcast the insane prevalence of abuse in lesbo relationships—44% could easily become the new 13/50.

The thing about women is they’re kind of just retarded and really fucking susceptible to social pressure, and at the end of the day basically all of them want to be dominated by a capable man, which is obviously what makes them so very lovable. The issue is that modern technology has raised their precognitive threshold for what constitutes a capable man to a level unattainable to the vast majority of their male peers, who for their part were groomed into becoming goldfish-brained cumzombies by a nefarious cultural-technological complex that’s very deliberately engaging in the 21st century equivalent of hawking industrially-distilled liquor to Indians.

At the end of the day women don’t really want this—in their marrow and their nipples they very obviously understand that it’s a post-apocalyptic survival thing functionally identical to having your bestie finger you sometimes while you eat berries waiting for someone to come rape you cause all the men in your tribe got trampled by mammoths or whatever. Ultimately their smexy pink pussies can’t experience systems / structural forces in any intelligent way, which is why it’s up to us to impose our wills agentically on the situation through decentralized campaigns of cultural terrorism and the like.

Thing is it needs to remain lowkey and only approached from a mocking fuckboi posture as elsewise the shaming dynamic will itself get fireblocked by incel stink.

Which is also why transitioning into this modality and out of ambient pro-lesbianism may prove somewhat tricky to operationalize: men will always be game-theoretically disincentivized from taking lesbianism seriously as a cultural adversary since a playful unbothered mockery is and forever will be the most sexually adaptive strategy for any individual man as girls will never precognitively experience themselves as powerful which means any man who registers a literal girl as a threat to his own position will always seem to them Gross and Bad and kind of like he ought to be raped to death.

That said I think Zoomer boys could genuinely pull it off.

As it stands a lot of them are still residually scared of girls their age and so radically overestimate the depth and substance of womanly social power in a universe where even and perhaps especially talented beautiful apex-status Zoomettes experience one single solitary person disagreeing with them or not liking their poem or w/e as them being Cancelled. Yeah at this point these girlypops are thoroughly immune to any sort of direct compulsive rhetoric that retains even the faintest whiff of male appetite, but just watch how fast they disintegrate into the most suggestible lambs in creation the instant you remove that element and threaten their reputation or aesthetic standing.

The path, then, is to calmly and cruelly pour a vat of semiotic ricin in the precognitive well of any endpoint that doesn’t serve your interests, and then watch chickie bounce around stochastically like some neurotic ennui-laden roomba until at last you manage to impale her upon your fat hard diachronic johnson—and do so well enough that she can’t help but experience the choice to stay there (shaped as it is by hard incentive gradients sculpted meticulously yet utterly outside her understanding) as obvious.

Because regardless of how bad things get, it’s not like anyone ever rode a clit.

The listicle before you is a follow-up to my previous meditations on the characteristic virtues of black people, women, chuds, Midwesterners, and Jewish guys, and if I’m honest exists primarily to convince a certain Latina in my DMs to unmute me.

Not because I’ve anything to tell her, mind, or even because the mute itself was all that consequential (she still reads my shit, and remains quite convivial on Notes), so much as because getting chickie to unmute in this case serves as an unusually zesty—and remarkably literary, as you’ll discover by the end of this—narrative framing device.

See, last year I pretty overtly promised the maid I’d never mine her life and personage for data points to cite whenever enumerating interesting / funnie things I’ve Noticed about Latinas, nor lean into any anecdotes about her in my writing more generally.

But that poses quite a semiotic riddle: how can I say something novel and insightful about the world while speaking to chickie specifically as a Latina (her; not me), without oafishly rolling our embattled beige baby up into hoe-scaring aggregative heuristics?

The path forward, I suspect, routes mostly through negative space—that strange and benighted Other Realm I sketched out a year and a week ago in The Girl Who Cried Incel.

The long story short, lads, is Walt’s going back in, and shit may well get spoopy here, to say nothing of hard to understand—so maybe just conceive of it like Magical Realism?

See, in the Other Realm it’s magical thinking that creates signage near negative space, and you always have to phase through negative space at some point. Now the signage never helps with that, and if followed too precisely simply sticks you in a closed loop—but even still, the very last thing you ever want to do in there is disrespect the signage.

You boys can trust Uncle Walt on that one.

Anyway, enough preamble—it’s time to get this show on the road!

Without further ado, here are some things I really adore about Latinas.

Subscribe now

Ruby. Twenty.

Art hoe type. ENFJ. Intellectually ordinary—likely around 105 IQ.

Average height and build; strong tanlines. Skin a bit loose for her age, but fantastic little feet—superbly soft and delicate. Quite a few tattoos; none of them good.

Read mostly as a fuck-up; had a certain sloppiness to everything she did, but also a pronounced sweetness (or at least sickly-sweetness, in that entropic Zoomette way).

Vaped too much.

There was a boyfriend—hubby, these days—and Insta suggests they’re mostly pretty happy now; not so in 2021! They wanted out of Orlando, and into Miami, where they planned I believe then on doing some rap thing together? Can’t tell if it worked out—although it DOES seem they at least made it to Miami, even if it took a minute.

In truth it took many times longer than it should have—Bidenflation or no.

Ruby quit her jobs a lot—claimed her tips were so paltry it made a lot more sense just to interview elsewhere, and that meant there was always some new gig on the horizon.

Then one day, overdraft fees; landlord calls; latchkey mother bearing bootstraps.

SeekingArrangement.

Not to sleep with anyone—obviously! But maybe she can find, like… a platonic thing?

She can’t find a platonic thing.

What she does find are many dozens of suburban dads wanting to blow her out like a hooker for a third the market rate.

But then she’s messaged by a young guy—27, it says.

Nerdy dude in a wife beater and gym shorts. Opening his profile she sniggers at the cheugy bathroom mirror shot with fist clenched tight in pocket and tricep bulged out ostentatiously—almost endearing how emphatically he’s compensating for something.

She opens his message: “think we need to get those feet in my mouf asap”

Immediately she snorts into her fist—what the fuck? Is this dude for real?

Then at once she remembers how some chick at a party last year was bragging to everyone about always getting her nails covered by selling feet pics online.

She asks him if he’s interested. He is.

She takes a few customs; makes a cool benji—not a bad start!

He offers her $250 to come over to his high rise now so he can enjoy them in person.

She hesitates; knows there’s no way in hell her man would ever be okay with that. But
then she rationalizes—it’s just feet! Besides, he doesn’t need to ever find out about this, and I’m lowkey sort of doing this for him since it just means getting to Miami that much faster…

And so Ruby meets up with the wife beater dude outside his downtown high rise.

She goes in for a hug, but just as she’s extending her arms he grabs her firmly by the back of the neck and wrenches her face in towards his—quickly, smoothly, and almost algorithmically—for a long, deep kiss on the mouth that ends with him Frenching her.

She freezes; doesn’t quite register what’s going on.

He regards her carefully, making a weird incredulous Elon Musk face.

She stammers; giggles; bashfully mentions having a boyfriend.

He nods, takes her hand, and leads her into the building.

In the elevator he remembers that the cameras above are able to pick up sound, and so LARPily exclaims something like “I’m going to shred that little puss until you cry…”

She bites her lip, hard—then giggles nervously as he makes another Elon face. And then the doors finally open, at which point he grabs Ruby firmly by the hand and waltzes out through the hallway and into his apartment.

Four minutes later he ejaculates in a condom and unsheathes.

Then after taking just a few tasteful photographs of the used prophylactic draped cartoonishly across Ruby’s face, he unties her from the bedframe and orders them both Thai food on Uber Eats—which is when he finally remembers at last that Ruby herself hasn’t cum yet, and so promptly finishes her off with a suction vibe many times more powerful than anything she’s accustomed to. After climaxing semi-painfully she inquires not a little concerned if he ever actually cleans that thing between girls; briefly he hesitates, then ultimately opts for the white lie.

He tries to get her to listen to Cumtown clips while they eat, but she insists instead on talking. Lies to him about her relationship being open ackshully, and says something about her boyfriend “just not liking it when she takes risks.” He suspects that’s all a big fat womanlie, but manages to repress his inner neckbeard after recognizing that contextually such a lie is actually super useful to him and he’s lowkey acting like an incel right now for literally no reason despite unironically having just cucked a dude.

And that’s when Ruby mentions being Latina—specifically an adopted Mexican baby.

Which nowadays seems so ridiculous a thing to fixate on it’s all but impossible to even recall my thought process going into that moment—but basically I’d half a year before then come to terms with the reality of having fucked and deeply loved a Jewess, and so would have been entirely fine creating little Mischlings at that point. But also the Jews were evil overlords in my past ontology, and there’s a very real glamor in that; obviously I never thought them dumb or incapable. Whereas mating with brownpeepo…?

Now she was obviously Castiza is the thing, and probs something like 70% White overall, so I didn’t completely chimp out. That said I do remember acting quite a lot more douchey / rakish with babygirl pretty much immediately after that revelation, which thankfully she seemed to experience mostly as me being kind of ridiculous and retarded more than anything, and looking back Ruby almost certainly enjoyed being called a Spic in bed more than any other woman in this piece.

Though that may have had something to do with the whole adopted thing—because ironically enough her super Aryan mom used to be the property manager of my high rise and got to live there for free, which meant that Ruby essentially grew up in that place Zach and Cody-style before eventually leaving when she was ~14… which of course meant Ruby was familiar with basically all the building’s long-term staff, many of whom used to babysit her as a young child but never got to see her as an adult.

She didn’t really want them to, for whatever reason.

Anyway Ruby and I hooked up maybe four or five more times after that, but never really went on cute dates or anything like I usually would do with chicks back then—it was all pure booty calls with her more or less exclusively, which I guess makes sense looking back given she and her beau were locals.

But in spite of that and all the racist shit I was actually quite chivalrous with Ruby all considered—the lass was a horrid negotiator, see, and I likely could have had her on the reg for maybe $150 a pop had I really pushed it. But I ackshully kind of did want to help her out with that Miami shit so she wouldn’t need to go fuck some Boomer.

Having said that I did make her cry once while fucking her—ostensibly it was a slap across the kisser that did it, but that was normally peachy keen with her so looking back I suspect the ackshual issue may have been letting it slip to her that I’d lowkey humblebragged to the maintenance man (roughly my age, btw) about fucking the girl he used to babysit when she was living the Suite Life. She acted just mildly annoyed about it when I brought it up so it didn’t seem to matter, but I think it just put her in an overall fucky mindspace where getting slapped by a dude who happens to be the same age as the guy who used to babysit you in that tower you grew up in right after he bragged about fuckin your hot n sexy pussy to said babysitter in a dominance game just wasn’t going to be metabolized well.

Anyway she was bawling so I kind of pooped my pants worrying she’d do a charge or something and so offered to double her allowance after sending me an especially elaborate and gracious home safe daddy <3 text later that night, which immediately put her in a better mood thankfully. And then after that meanwhile I fucked her maybe like two more times, but I also didn’t really want to be aggro after what had happened before, and so the whole thing kind of just got boring and fizzled out.

The only long-term residue she really left in my life was that the maintenance man stopped bantering with me in the same way after that like he had before. But it wasn’t like he was angry or contemptuous or scared or outmanned or w/e—seemed more analogous to that feeling you get waking up from a dream where you fuck your mom.

Anyway point is I’m glad Ruby seems to have built a happy life with her hubs, and also hope she was able to make that rap shit work with him (or will at some point).

Lyssa. Twenty.

INFJ—probs around 115 IQ?

Rail-thin build bordering at times on anorexic, with enormous natty punkins and perfect feet, asshole, pussy—everything really. Felt like fucking a literal pornstar.

Talked like a little girl; depending on the context acted anywhere from 5 to 13.

Besides that her most distinctive quality was owning this enormous German Shepherd that was functionally the epicenter of her universe and amidst her brief tenure as my girlfriend in Q3 2022 made logistical shit orders of magnitude more onerous than it ever proved whilst dating a single mom the following year.

Though nothing against the pupper himself, obviously—he’d been traumatized earlier in life, as I understand it. Think he was owned by a black person or something?

Lyssa had been too, sadly—some black trucker I guess.

Which speaking of—that situation never made a lick of sense to me at all, as Lyssa had likewise been kept by decamillionaire tech CEOs with mini Hugh Hefner harems. So literally why a fucking black trucker? Also between the CEO and me she was living with some bitcoin criminal or some shit, who she claims to have never fucked and I guess ended up abandoning because he was trying to hurt her dog or something?

Honestly a lot of the shit she told me about her past while we were dating was a pretty fucking obvious lie even at the time—which you come to expect with Zoomettes a lot of the time anyway tbh, but not nearly at this level; even Layla was a rank amateur at liemaxxing compared to Lyssa when she really got her wheels spinning. So looking back the ackshual question is how much was spin versus straight-up fabrication.

Like for one thing she said her mom—who was Mexican, if you want to know where the Latina connection is (Lyssa called herself that only half-ironically in practice but while much closer to Blanca than Castiza you could definitely see the Tropics in her at times)—was a hooker, and that she’d regularly bring over Johns to rape and molest Lyssa as a little girl until she learned to defend herself from them with a slingshot or something Dennis the Menace style and eventually even took some chomo’s eye out. She was also in the running I guess to compete on the U.S. Olympic swim team, and even managed to support herself as a preteen through drag racing.

Moreover she said her female coworkers at every job she’s had are always making up random lies about her being a hooker, so REALISTICALLY she probably was just trafficked by her mom as a child and even after going to live with her dad fell into prostitution sort of ambiently throughout her life without necessarily realizing until much much later that she’d been gifted by the Gods with incredible beauty and didn’t really have to fuck like black truck drivers and shit anymore.

But yeah idk—like objectively she was just kind of psycho and annoying sometimes and I wouldn’t have put up with that from anyone less than Goddess-tier, but when things were going well with her it was just kind of gravy.

Thing is though we also kind of just jumped into shit super fucking fast—like I asked her to be my girlfren and we said I love you the very first time we had sex—because I had just been flaked on by my German bestie Gretel (the one who’d kill herself several months later if you know your Walt Lore) who was supposed to come spend a week with me so as to assess real-world dyadic compatibility.

And the thing is Gretel was two years older than me and also far and away more my class and intellectual equal (though she herself had been a hooker when she was around Lyssa’s age after getting raped in an apartment tour or something), so having that fizzle out was really quite gay and so afterwards I just wanted to jump in a retarded puss teenager (who was also supposed to make Gretel jeal obviously).

Problem is that worked a little too well since Gretel almost immediately ended up friendzoned by some instagram meme admin faggot she’d chosen over me who decided instead to marry a fat Jewess, and when she came back to me for validation cummies I was spending all my time fucking punkins instead which made Gretel hate Lyssa’s guts from the very beginning.

Gretel was clever though—planted class insecurities in me about whether serious people would ever respect me with a chick like that, and a but more pettily managed to convince me very briefly that Lyssa has Poor People Hair, which was a whole thing. Anyway long story short I kind of just yeeted Gretel from my life eventually—or at least until shit came to a close with Lyssa.

How did that happen, you ask?

Well the biggest thing is I was kind of just being a prick to her—e.g. one time I snapped at her in a restaurant for not knowing what “ceteris paribus” means.

That said I might also be doing the male form of renarrativization here to bolster my own sense of agency around a shitty situation, because objectively what happened here is that she went back to her old Tech CEO who dresses up assorted Zoomettes who work for / live with him like toddlers and has them like lick his asshole and shit.

Ultimately there’s no way to know whether she’d still have gone back had I been a bit nicer and more stable to her at the time. I think it would have taken much longer at a minimum, but ultimately girls just do what they want and reasons reasons afterward.

Everything they get away with justifies itself—as does all we do that constrains them.

So: lessons learned! Get chickie on your phone plan ASAP, and should you ever find yourself attached to a nereid like Lyssa ensure your kennel’s big enough to hold her.

Valeria. Twenty-three.

ESFJ with an IQ in the mid-110s I’d hazard, but far less of a normie than that implies.

Average height and build—soft feminine body; big black bush on puss and asshole.

She came from a large and prosperous Florida Cuban family—super duper Catholic. Also had a relatively impressive job for her age as some kind of logistics manager, which by Zoomette standards automatically makes her the consummate girlboss.

She was also an ardent romantic by nature, having recently ended things with some long-term college beau she’d planned on marrying for years and was obviously gay.

And that’s what brought her to SeekingArrangement; not to get an allowance per se (which between her job and rich family she didn’t really need) but to act out a bit and go get ravaged by an older and evil-coded male in some baroque theatrical manner optimized chiefly for moral catharsis. So long story short I do the whole scawy daddy deep voice thing over the phone and get her to send me a bunch of full body nudes with face (apparently is a novel experience for her) and tell her to come meet me for brunch the next day—which might not sound all that rapey out of context, but just remember it’s me and hang tight; I promise you’ll see where I’m going with this.

So I take Valeria to this totes adorbs lil hipster cafe right next to my condo, wherein being high time preference and wanting to get inside fast as pos I go retrieve a chess set and in my LARP voice inform her that if I win the match each one of her holes now belongs to me etc. etc.—at which point she ofc tries to turn it around and ask me what she’d get for winning, which I basically just make fun of her and say she won’t.

So obviously thirty minutes later I have her buck naked on my bed wrists cuffed fast to headboard and am preparing to make the rounds, at which point she suddenly starts having what appears to be a minor anxiety attack whilst I prepare to hop inside. And she’s not really fighting back per se, but is 100% crying out genuine and very real tears of shame which hot and sexy as they no doubt are also just expose a feller to a bit too much womanly volatility and reputational tail risk sans an adequately-sized kennel.

So I slow down and find out she’s only been with three dudes blah blah blah and so recalibrating my risk assessment logic in accordance with tawdry catholic girl jokes tap on the backdoor and ask what sort of traffic it’s managed to accommodate—and now suddenly the look in her eyes is all fear and at least not any obvious shame, which seems to me at least a vastly better recipe for a positive situational outcome here.

That said it actually kind of does just end up being way more intense for her than I intend, which long term is pretty annoying because when she stays the night several days later on her birthday she won’t let me fuck her asshole as it hurts so bad, and meanwhile I’ve already been locked into the modality of Respecting The Pussie (which ofc she narrates as the reason she wants to see me again instead of just one and done which I love at the time… looking back it seems post-hoc, but who knows?) which means it kind of feels we’re getting into a relationship drift sitch while my functional sexual dominion over her is actually shrinking, and I know Good Girls will always find some way to narrate that dynamic as being a promotion but fact is male psychology just doesn’t work that way, and this is yet another reason sluts are incredibly splendid; they usually don’t Madonna-Whore themselves in a way that elevates random rapey stranger above beloved boyfriend / husband in sexual license the way Good Girls do.

Anywho things eventually got too gay in this direction so I kind of just torched it.

We’ll call her Dulcinea—she deserves it.

Twenty-four.

ENFP, with an IQ I’d estimate at around ~125.

I don’t remember what her body looks like literally at all because the three or four times I fucked her she was kind of gay and didn’t let me take pictures. But it also wouldn’t really feel appropriate objectifying her in that way I think.

Anywho I met Dulcinea in late 2022 shortly after Lyssa went back to that Tech CEO and I was literally fucking like 3-5 new girls per week to distract myself. One night she was one of those girls—and it makes me feel like a chode to say, but she was kind of the back of the fridge option at that point on account of my dick being pretty racist. Though understand also that by that point I’d been with plenty of Castiza women and didn’t mind a darker complexion per se—it was more Dulcinea’s nose was super duper Amerind and bulbous, which was kind of a luck of the draw situation I guess given babygirl is ackshully half-polish and so her siblings just look kind of Italian while she registers almost as more Mestiza than Castiza literally just because of her nose.

But anyway I take chickie upstairs and throw a pillowcase over her head (not because of the nose I did that with all girls at the time, it’s this whole weird thing I won’t get into) and then fucked her kind of assuming she was just some dumb savage beaner.

But then after sex we get to chatting and it turns out she’s super into Jordan Peterson of all things and knows a fuckton about Jungian psychology while also being a pretty militant libertarian. And so now I’m thinking why not just buy her a nosejob and mary this bih—but she says she’s now approaching sugaring purely transactionally kind of like low volume escorting because she’s been fucked around by sugar daddies she fell in love with in the past and so won’t really “date” anyone from Seeking anymore because we’ve all kind of lost the ability to take the Feminine Mystique on its own terms. But she does want to be friends, so we enter into a FWB register for a while.

That said she was always accusing me of paying her less than other girls on SA specifically because she’s Latina—which is kind of just a retarded womanism because men do not price pussy under the labor theory of value and she should know that as a libertarian! Yes I might precognitively value blonde puss the most, but if a blonde bih is easy for me to hustle I’ll absolutely gape her shitter and try to pay her $150 after. The reason Latinas think they’re suffering from price discrimination is because blonde women are just cuntier than white brunettes and will negotiate harder so if you go through a dude’s venmo when he’s not looking the blonde bitch will be getting all the four figure numbers. But Latinas negotiate harder than white brunettes frankly, especially because they have to act like pussy cesar chavez all the fucking time.

Anyway so fast forward a few weeks later—I start to fuck this wiggery bimbo chick who ends up shitfaced drunk in my bathtub and I spend the entire evening babysitting without even getting to cum. So in the morning I’m like hey I didn’t even fuck you can we just meet in the middle when it comes to allowance? And she seems cool with it. But then a few days later I end up messaging this chick’s saracen bestie who’s also on SA and she sends me this huge psycho message about how I “drug women” and am going to go to jail, which I take to mean they’re filing a charge or some shit.

So I call Dulcinea and get her take as to whether a SWAT team was about to kick down my door and she says I’m being extremely retarded and even when she herself was ackshully raped in the past and they got the guy there were a million procedural rungs between A and Z and any judge would laugh this bitch out of the courtroom—and also that I’m a faggot and shouldn’t have called her at 3am over this. I ask her to come spend the night with me anyway because my feelings don’t care about your facts bitch and I’m noivous. She says she’ll come over for $500. Can I fuck your face? I mean sure, yeah—if I’m there already, why not? Okay!

That may have been the warmest moment of friendship in my life—definitely top 5.

Sadly our connection didn’t last especially long because halfway through the subsequent year (when I really needed a smart chick in my life tbh given Gretel had only recently offed herself) Dulcinea had some kind of cataclysmic mental breakdown and ended up in the hospital for a schizo thing.

And I only got to talk to her once after that before she just disappears off the face of the earth—don’t know if she’s in a cult or sex trafficked or what—but anyway she confirmed to me in this conversation that whenever I see regular images as having AI textures after staying up for 96 hours masturbating to shit out of StableDiffusion that’s literally just psychosis and I’m treading the line with whatever she has now.

Which seems right tbh.

Griselda was nineteen.

But Griselda wasn’t supposed to be there.

I’d only gotten the Uber for her girlfriend, Mary.

And Mary was not a Latina—but she matters to the story nonetheless.

See, Mary was an anorexic Red Scare girl who’d only just turned eighteen—though I’d first made her acquaintance a month or two prior to that birthday when she was still lying about her age on SA, and then a few weeks after that broke my fast with the filly in a hugely splendiferous mentoring meal at the International House Of Pancakes.

The plan at that point was for me to help her get her own apartment right away—and boy, did that girl seem worth the investment! Smart as a whip, funny, cultured as anything, talented… an almost archetypal mirror of my idealized ingenue Zoomette!

Yeah, you see where this is going.

The primary warning sign I ignored is that all of Mary’s relationships thus far in life had been with women—including this scary mommy-coded bulldyke bitch she went runaway to live with at some point mid-adolescence. She was just inexorably drawn to chthonic smelly puss Dworkin energy, and had no real appetite for Apollo’s jissum.

Which isn’t to say she didn’t like men at all—she rather adored Hadean and Mercurian and Dionysian-type fellers to whatever extent they embodied the brash and impetuous nature of her own smoldering animus, which at least last I checked seems to have impelled her to gender transition. At times she’d even fuck such fellers! Alas, that was also nowhere near chief modality of her present sexual configuration, which by and large was something boisterously and almost religiously sapphic.

She met Griselda around her birthday.

Griselda was middle class to Mary’s white trash, and primarily of Columbian extraction—hence her padre being ferociously hostile to narcotics as a platonic form and therefore also Griselda’s meme-tier Xanny addiction, which like basically all girls of that milieu she lowkey turned into her personality the same way I do Adderall.

Anyway I forget the deets but IIRC neither girl’s family thought the other was a decent influence on their daughter and so tried to put the kibosh on their retarded little scissorseshies. And naturally this escalates to the point where both girls are kicked from their homes and need a place to go—and so isn’t it convenient that Mary has that credulous Millennial unc in her back pocket?

So long story short is it’s October 2021—the night of my 28th birthday, mind—and Mary’s in the Uber to Orlando while I Jewishly rub my hands together rejoicing in the fact that I’m about to get my filthy face-touching unc paws on a freshly legal anorexic.

And then this from Mary:

Happy Birthday to me I guess...

What ultimately ensues is technically a threesome for maybe two or three minutes and then quickly degrades into an aggressive shitfaced sapphic scissorfest where Griselda and Mary are punching each other and fisting each other in this extremely chthonic and groace way that I don’t find winsome at all and meanwhile Griselda says that I shouldn’t fuck Mary after she gets drunk past a certain point which is clearly dyke cockblocking but whatever fuck me I guess.

Weirdly enough though Griselda and I end up having a really gr8 conversation that night after Mary gets too drunk to control herself and passes out—Griselda’s heftier physique no doubt absorbing the worst of the spirits that one-shotted 95 lbs Mary.

I have zero recollection of anything we actually said, but it was probably in that moment that I came closest to deep and genuinely dyadic bonding with a Zoomette.

The problem is I just wasn’t attracted to Griselda and Griselda didn’t want me fucking Mary in any way unless she was involved, and even in the following morning I wasn’t even able to get a footjob from Mary without Griselda trying to involve herself and her fat chick feet which, no! I managed to diffuse it and stay polite but there was clearly tension and then Mary started talking about how guys who don’t like fat chicks are gay etc. etc., so I kind of just sent them on their way then. But even after being totally sexually unsatisfied on my birthday I gave them some cash and tried to help them access women’s shelters and lawyers and shit best I could.

Then a few years later I tried to fuck Mary again and she agreed to let me have her asshole if I got her some XANNIES LOL but only if Griselda was in the other room.

Obviously I say no that would ruin it and that made them both poop their pants and start getting all these rando poors to text me death threats etc., so I just cut ties.

We unironically need to criminalize lesbianism.

Her name translated to “Dove Dictator” in English, and she was twelve years old.

But let’s back up.

Greeley, Colorado is an unpretentious little hamlet ninety minutes north of Denver that while somewhat lacking in nightlife, high culture, and marriageable women more than makes up for it in meat, manure, and Mexicans.

I became remarkably familiar with that last category during the gap year between my philosophy and actuarial degrees, when as a freshly legal lad of eighteen years I spent several months back-to-back tutoring their niños.

The gig was in-home tutoring, see—or I guess “in-trailer tutoring” for two of the kids.

One of those trailers was roomy, though, and for Hispanics quite tastefully furnished; the family name was Cervantes, and you could tell the dad (unironically Miguel) was fiercely proud of that—explains why he got along so well with my own father (who doubled as my chauffeur that year given that I still lacked a loicense), particularly after learning the old man taught Spanish linguistics. Said the resemblance was uncanny—which is true, although I’m three inches taller and my nose a little less Irish / piggy.

Anywho I actually felt bad early on for just how well I got along with the Cervantes clan, as if I’m honest their second grader whose Christian name escapes me seemed many times too stupid at first to grasp basically anything in the curriculum—at least until three sessions in, when it struck me at once that the little amigo was ackshully autistic at like the Chris Chan level, which his parents being not only beaners but religious and conservative beaners would likely take forever to accept. Luckily though it went down pretty smooth for them once they learned I myself had the spark, and by the end of our seshies I’d come to feel not a little like Anne Sullivan.

Anyway the other trailer kid was Dove Dictator—and, yes, a twelve year-old girl

That make you uncomfortable?

It should—because you really couldn’t have designed a more perfectly demonstrative failure mode here given that A) chiquita pretty clearly had a crush on me, and made that incredibly obvious to a degree I at that point hadn’t experienced probably since I was her age thanks to having myself been doogie howser jailbait for the better part of undergrad; and far more worryingly B) on maybe our third or fourth session her illegal immigrant mom randomly absconded from the trailer (far and away less homey than the Cervantes-mobile), trusting I guess an adult male stranger to (in flagrant violation, btw, of the compact she’d signed) babysit her preteen daughter behind closed doors literally just the two of us whilst moms fucks off to be a hooker or something.

So being a huge faggot I chose the Good Option and stayed on the phone with my boss in this sketchy favela-coded trailer park just kind of loitering around outside like an asshole until the mom gets back, which at least per Dove Dictator wasn’t so safe for a whiteboi to do after dark by himself besides she isn’t even gonna say anything and wishes I’d stop being so gay because my mom literally can’t speak English and will sign whatever I tell her to—like, bruh, it’s fine...

Anywho said mom pulled her out of school like halfway through the semester for I think it was a month to do some extended family reunion thing south of the border, and by the time she returned chiquita hadn’t just forgotten everything we’d done but seemed palpably changed in a way I misliked; felt like depression, but in a far heavier way than one associates with adolescent girls. She carried herself like she’d seen shit.

And even worse, it seemed she’d mostly lost that crush on me!

…which moralfag or not had been pretty damn gr8 for my barely legal self-esteem, and was kind of the only reason at that point I still planned on finishing her contract after all my other kids had long finished. But in the end my dad persuaded me to stick it out, noting that if Dove Dictator had been deflowered by some devilish gran torino cousin the very last thing she needed was for the closest thing in her life to a stable and at least ostensibly virtuous male authority figure to randomly fuck off.

Looking back I’m not sure how much not randomly fucking off accomplished; the girl seemed mostly over whatever had happened after like a month or so, and then as if to foreshadow subsequent Zoomettes spent most of our remaining sessions bored out of her mind and distracted by literally everything—which I suppose in fairness so was I,

If anything I think the two of us sort of connected in a quasi-existentialist way over the absurdity of teaching her the Lattice Method or w/e when all her life outcomes of consequence were so hugely overdetermined by e.g. whether moms decides to bring rando felons around the trailer and impulsively sell them Dove’s asshole for meth.

At the end of the day there really are just certain situations in life where the very best thing you can do for someone is to hope they get really fucking good with a slingshot.

In light of this it would seem the next logical move for the Trump Administration is to seize and execute Robert Prevost, simultaneously establishing long-term control over the Roman Church by occupying the Vatican and imprisoning the College of Cardinals until they can select a pontiff who won’t knowingly undermine the national interests of the world’s prevailing military hegemon and can get it through his skull what it means to render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s.

Subscribe now

Note this is not especially unprecedented—in 1303 King Philip IV of France captured the Pope at swordpoint and famously established a counter-papacy in Avignon that lasted the better part of a century, permanently fracturing the Church’s geopolitical integrity while sowing the seeds long-term for the Renaissance, Reformation, and rise of secular monarchy in early modern Europe.

There is also no particular reason we should allow a foreign head of state to exercise one whit of influence over our national politics. Modern history curricula likes to narrate traditional anxieties over Romanism from the Know-Nothings and similar groups as “anti-Catholic bigotry,” but that doesn’t hold much water when even today we can plainly observe a foreign pontiff and the bishops at his command shamelessly using the faith of American Catholics as a wedge to shape U.S. policy outcomes.

It also goes far deeper than people realize. I’ve spoken with many Catholics in recent years, and observed a great number of them—particularly women and younger men in the Tradcath scene—believe unironically (if esoterically) that Rome should be able to exercise sovereign theocratic power over American politics, and besides that it’s just trivially true that Protestant notions of secularism and freedom of conscience don’t translate especially well to the Catholic world, hence the tenacity of 19th century anticlerical movements in France and Latin America and contemporaneous efforts by my namesake Otto Von to crack down on ecclesiastical subversion within the Reich.

A lot of German Catholics fled Kulturkampf to America, actually; the great majority of them were farmers who peopled out Corn Country under the Homestead Act, but others were dissident papist intellectuals like my Great-Great-Grandpa Graf, who settled briefly in Chicago as a university professor before immediately getting fired for beating the shit out of one of his impetuous students. Besides that the rest of my ancestry is Irish and Italian, with the only Prot in there being Scotch-Irish Borderer who tend to hate Fancy WASPs more than just about anyone, which means however you slice it I’m no “Heritage American” Mayflower fag—just pure Ellis Island mystery meat all the way down, and unlike most Trads these days a bona fide Cradle Catholic too (or I was baptized one anyway, if not ackshully confirmed).

And having said that, the Irish if we’re honest are just as bad as the Jews with their maudlin little victim narratives about muh potato famine and muh Harper’s Weekly rosacea cartoons, when realistically we do have piggy noses like that number one and number two the Irish much like Jews are only globally influential because the Angloid created a boring but optimally efficient and maximally just regime which instead of killing us like anyone else would let us get wealthy and powerful by channeling our bullshit in a hyper-specialized way. And same goes for Italians, who are objectively now the coolest white people in America instead of mid europeans everyone sees as corrupt has-beens specifically because WASP institutionalism produced enough excess affluence for them to focus their energies on acting like Tony Soprano.

Now WASPs for sure are bloodless faggots at times, don’t get me wrong—and their women especially will never stop pissing me off. But you wouldn’t want anyone else in charge at the end of the day, because they’re also the only ones with any real sense of stewardship or accountability or basic impulse to recognize the value in other tribes.

That said one of their chief failure modes is this asinine sense of politeness they have even in situations that are objectively really gay and unfair—for instance, the idea that we need to “respect the Pope” and let some foreign religious head muck around in our politics because not doing so is rude I guess? That constipated stiff upper lip shit lets whiny fast-talking nigger races like the Irish play WASPs like a fiddle time and again.

The thing about Angloids though is that they’re better at lying than anyone, but only do so passively in this deeply internalized and pious register (see The Aryan Question) that while great at keeping piggy out of the country club and schlomo insecure also creates a bunch of footholds and crevices the yid, mick, and dago can latch onto and use to rent-seek by way of tedious slave morality narratives about muh antisemitism and muh anti-Catholic bigotry, as if the cossacks / mafia / black and tans would have given them even remotely better treatment (and is meanwhile kind of an own-goal since it typically just results in WASPs snidely weaponizing blacks against us in a high and low against the middle dynamic).

So being a rude and sleazy Ellis Islander, I guess it’s up to me to do what the WASP never will and say the quiet part out loud:

America is being massively subverted by the Catholic Church, and has been for decades.

Why are Catholics allowed to be “traditional” while maintaining mainstream cultural penetration to a degree Protestants are arbitrarily denied even when High Church?

Why are they so massively overrepresented on the Supreme Court?

And why am I suddenly obliged to give even the faintest passing fuck about the Poop’s shitty opinion? To hell with him—and likewise Greta Thunberg and David Hogg and the Gold Star parents and anyone fucking else we arbitrarily can’t criticize after they inject themselves into salient issues of the day. If you want speech codes go to Europe.

Moreover if you think it’s even theoretically possible for a figure like JFK or Biden both to genuinely observe his putative faith and not be forced into a soft taqiyya position at a minimum (consciously or otherwise) then you’re naive as anything and almost certainly a credulous WASP faggot.

But anywho, let’s get down to brass tax.

Who should be the new Pope?

First note my goal isn’t to “crush Trad Caths” or whatever, as I ackshully align with quite a few of their long-term goals for society and if anything would like to see them triumphant in the context of internal Church politics. The goal, rather, is to empower someone who will reliably advance the interests of the American national project.

Candidate 1: Rick Santorum

Pros: His name is cool and Latin-sounding which is obviously a superb aesthetic and the dude frankly deserves something in exchange for Mean Gays having appropriated it as nomenclature for their butthole juice. He also vaguely codes as low church Prot despite being Trad Cath which in a canny maneuver of semiotic arbitrage will make his ascension to the Papal Throne feel like red meat to more rednecky segments of Trump’s base who’ll likely assume he’s evangelical. His uncanny resemblance to Sheriff Woody, meanwhile, will help him register to Zoomers precognitively as a credible authority figure, and by extension greatly bolster his legitimacy.

Cons: Especially after the name thing he probably hates gays a little too much to be chief pontiff given the extreme density of closeted homosexuals among the Church’s senior leadership class, and would likely end up assassinated by Jesuits in short order.

Rating: 5/10

Candidate 2: Newt Gingrich

Pros: Extreme moral flexibility and record of success as an architect of realignment and alternate history writer make Newt superbly optimized to run a halfway plausible vassal papacy, especially given that his immense personal narcissism will ensure that superficially he isn’t totally obsequious to Trump despite remaining ideologically locked-in so long as he’s regularly complimented on his intelligence. He’ll also be uniquely sensitive to the Church’s molestation scandal given his own history of being groomed into marriage as a teenager by his high school geometry teacher, and may even be able to siphon off Church resources for the establishment of a permanent human lunar presence.

Cons: Nonzero chance that getting Callista so close to hard ecclesiastical power will immediately precipitate the End Times.

Rating: 7/10

Candidate 3: Dinesh D’Souza

Pros: Instead of excommunicating people he can just use his papal loudspeaker to declare all of Trump’s various enemies around the world the Real Racists—perhaps even invoking the doctrine of infallibility to officially designate Barack Obama canonical Antichrist? idk if we’re honest Indians kind of just need this one.

Cons: Anyone who got inside Ann Coulter probably isn’t a Trve Catholic.

Rating: 4/10

Candidate 4: My Dad

Pros: Deep Catholic education, including extensive ties to the Augustinian Order and exhaustive research into sedevacantist conspiracy theories on Youtube. Access to the perspicacity and rhetorical talents of a generationally gifted propagandist in his son Walter, who played a minor role in Trump’s initial victory in 2016. Unwavering loyalty himself to President Trump, and indefatigable opposition to both the Deep State and Vatican II. Eyebrows very nearly as formidable as the Ayatollah Khomeini’s.

Cons: Strained relationship with the Jesuit Order due to experiences at Georgetown. Might excommunicate me for being a shitty son and forgetting to call him.

Rating: 6/10

Candidate 5:

Pros: Superb at frame control. Natural talent for inspiring obedience in women, who seek out his leadership wherever he goes. Exceedingly difficult to surprise or catch flat-footed thanks to an upbringing in California that offered a unique opportunity to watch everything possible attempted. Ironclad message discipline that’s never thrown off-course by confusions in his interlocutor’s argument e.g. disagreeing with him. Neither shocked nor impressed by degeneracy, which he actually finds boring.

Cons: Not yet clear if he’d have the stomach for a Handmaid’s Putsch if Vance really went for it, and one wonders if his High Millennial good-naturedness makes him just a bit too ecumenical and clement by disposition to energetically roll back Vatican II.

Rating: 8/10

Seems at the present moment Greene’s our guy—though to ensure he holds the line in the Roastie Wars we’ll also keep Fuentes in play, just as an insurance policy.

Anyway the long and short of it is we’re not living in the twentieth century anymore and the Boomer Truth Regime is dead, which means entirely new rules are at play.

Yes, whenever power acts decisively to topple some sclerotic and maggoty regime of yesteryear the world will always poop its pants at first… and then immediately reorient its entire ontology to venerate the new operative power structure and praise to high heavens the emperor’s finery while pretending to have always done so and side-eyeing anyone who doesn’t immediately get with the program.

Trump absolutely has the power to do this, and any genuine resistance would last all of three months before everyone’s as bored with it as Dave Greene is of degeneracy and altogether ready for the next Current Thing. Beyond that point anyone who still cares about the Pope will just come off as a cringe and weirdo faggot.

It’s the right thing to do—something the Emperors Henry IV and Frederick II and even wily old King Phillip never quite accomplished. But Donald Trump can.

And on that note, I’ll leave you with the words of a wiser man than I.

Subscribe now

TL;DR— Dave is right about the bottleneck, but mislocating the point of blockage in the wider discursive plumbing.

The problem is not that people are unwilling to moralize—both incels and radfems do so constantly, just to zero practical effect because actual power hasn’t much use for a register of oughts and shoulds. Instead it prefers to quietly foreclose noncompliance with an icy descriptive grammar that layers cognitive load on adversaries by forcing them to impose desired outcomes on the possibility space without seeming like a lunatic or as though they’re asking for something instead of simply taking it like a normal person. This is not about morality “coding low status” as some metaphysically odious trait, understand, so much as moralistic language landing on the ears like a banshee’s scream signaling you can’t currently get the things you want, which tends to make anyone not presently affiliated with you register everything you say thereafter as hapless and contemptible incel squawking without any regard for its semantic content.

Now, Dave himself is well aware of this, being a sophisticated rhetorician who has effectively formulated his own private grammar and bundle of portable frames for making Trad ideology less semiotically tainted by incel coding—specifically by never approaching such issues from a position of overt scarcity or grievance or even pushy normativity and instead asserting the superiority of Tradlife from a posture of affected Boredom or Exhaustion that avoids making demands (monstrous low status sans force to back it up) and mostly just foregrounds its own putative successes / vitality in a way that situates eventual victory as inevitable. And this, of course, is the most optimal positioning for Dave’s own goals when assessed purely from a strategic perspective.

From a model fidelity perspective, however, a somewhat different picture emerges.

Because the ackshual bottleneck here is no one presently has the coordinative power to impose a shared moral frame on public consciousness, to say nothing of a properly toothy and consequential enforcement regime to override equilibriation along incentive gradients towards individually adaptive outcomes contrary to the public good. That produces what he’s describing: displaced moral argument, descriptive reframing, and refusal to hold the prescriptive hot potato—none of which is cowardice or shiftiness so much as rational equilibriation where moral claims have no enforcement layer.

To wit, Kate and I are each taking the game theoretically optimal position for our “side,” which entails descriptive framing that maximizes leverage through constraint denial alloyed to the deconstruction of adversarial and implicitly morally valent frames from the “other side” optimized for swaying neutral parties who might go either way.

And Dave, crucially, is doing basically the same thing.

Because note, for instance, that when I spitballed a Handmaid’s Putsch in my recent pod with him David quickly shifted the focus to decentralized praxis as an avenue for pursuing his objectives, framing patriarchy as something women take to easily once men assert themselves while implying an insistence on bending structural incentive gradients to reroute womanly behavior speaks to an individual male failure to inspire obedience in the fairer sex—which might be the game theoretically optimal Trad answer in the extant social ecology but is also muddying the epistemic waters with statusplay in the selfsame manner David finds so very objectionable when womyn do it!

Though to be clear I’m not calling him out for that—public moral language is always and by necessity strategic, eternally gaming around status coding and other cognitive biases. The point is merely that Dave himself is playing hot potato if he’s not willing to translate putative moralism into something with real equilibriative-compulsive teeth.

Also how do we know any of these Trad chicks are ackshully submissive / kawaii and not just low-sociosexual fat chicks with hairy arms who are mean to their husband and say everything’s his fault because she Doesn’t Have Agency? Maybe Trad lads in 2026 all just have super duper smexy frame control abilities compared to when I heard about these dudes secondhand from my bestie going on dates with them in 2021-2022 and that shit never happens to them, but speaking as an urban degenerate who spent most of the Biden years going through the phones of pansexual sleeve tat Zoomers in credit card debt it seems a lot more optimal to just curate a hard local power structure in which patriarchy is the governing architecture of her life and the bagatelle is actually rigged in YOUR favor for once, and then like go to church on top of that if you want.

Because moral language itself does not generate order—merely stabilizes order once the underlying incentive structure already supports it. Trad instinct says remoralize first and behavior will follow, but The Orange Pill view is exactly the reverse: durable moral language emerges only once baseline incentive gradients make it self-reinforcing.

As it stands men lack consistent enforcement power over mating norms and women retain high optionality and narrative control, while mainstream institutions employ relational feminine harm grammars that epistemically foreclose socially noncompliant men. Under those conditions, any attempt by men to impose a strong moral frame will either fail outright or be selectively applied against noncompliant or low-status men.

Men in these debates do not eschew moral language because morality isn’t coo so much as because it’s utterly toothless and exposes us to hugely asymmetric downside—discursively an analog to the Alt Right retard rallies of 2017.

That’s why endless “descriptive discourse” persists; it’s serving a vital coordination function, allowing men to share models without triggering immediate sanction, to operate in a coded register, and to forestall commitment to prescriptions that can’t possibly be enforced. In game theoretic terms, it’s a low-risk signaling equilibrium—which means definitionally incomplete and also sterile if it never progresses, but that’s precisely why I’ve been furiously expanding my own Orange Pill Analytic Corpus to give men a publicly legible and strategically actionable coordinative dialect in a world that makes saying “should” essentially never worth it for us scrotes.

And this is where I think Dave and I actually have real potential to align—because similarly to his own recent focus on praxis, The Orange Pill routes over the medium-term through local incentive restructuring that instead of starting with “society should…” starts with something like “what configurations can actually be stabilized right now?”

Stably diachronic patriarchal conditions do not ultimately require universal buy-in or centralized enforcement—just repeat-game environments plus functionally bounded female optionality and some degree of male coalition behavior (even if very soft and informal) that ensures actions have meaningful consequences over time. The idea is to create small-scale closed loops where reputation, access, and status are not infinitely liquid.

This will look less like sermons or ideological declarations than curated environments wherein serious men coordinate—explicitly or implicitly—around who gets access, who gets excluded, and what kinds of behavior are rewarded. It looks like women whose status is partially contingent on maintaining standing within such ecologies instead of on flitting synchronically through anonymous markets. It looks like a slow ambient drift toward reduced anonymity, increased repeat interaction, and a stable and organic preference for women who demonstrate alignment over time instead of merely short-term sex appeal (something far less durable in a castle-less world where hippie chicks and ink-sot sluts tend to embrace patriarchy a lot more enthusiastically in practice). No autismo need trigger any foid’s precognitive lunk alarm and scare the hoes by saying “women should X” under this arrangement, as women just experience more prosocial modes of femininity procuring superior outcomes inside the structure.

That is the crucial shift: from normative enforcement to incentive shaping.

Women aren’t argued into behaving differently; they respond to environments where different behaviors become optimal. And because female sexual preference is highly responsive to incentive gradients and womanly phenomenology of self so wonderfully and fetchingly porous, these developments are not simply complied with—they are deeply internalized, moralized, eroticized, and eventually treated as self-evident.

This is why the Orange Pill approach can peaceably coexist with rather than oppose a Trad project. Trad operates at the level of moral narrative, civilizational coherence, and long-term family structure. The Orange Pill operates at a level of local equilibria, mating markets, and behavioral incentives. The relationship between them is highly sequential, as you cannot successfully impose a high-level moral order onto a system whose underlying incentives contradict it. But once enough local environments begin to stabilize around repeat-game logic and aligned incentives, moral language can and inevitably will reemerge—just as something substantive as opposed to hollow signaling.

Dave’s mistake, then, consists in treating moral language as a lever rather than a lagging indicator. As it stands speaking in the language of “should” only weakens male leverage rather than strengthening or even usefully coordinating it, because it hands interpretive authority to all the same wretched systems that presently control moral adjudication while signaling aspiration sans enforcement capacity—always a fatal combination. By contrast, speaking in the Orange Pill grammar of “is”—that is to say, of incentives, asymmetries, and predictable equilibriation—preserves both clarity and optionality, keeping the locus of control on what we menfolk can actually structure rather than what women in their fickleness might be suaded to concede.

David’s Tater exists because holding it is costly; no one wants to make claims he cannot enforce or assert standards he cannot operationalize—including the good Dr. Greene himself—which is why the system will always equilibriate toward descriptive circling.

The only way through is to change the conditions under which holding the tater is viable, which can only happen locally, incrementally, and mostly esoterically through simple shifts in who gets rewarded, who gets excluded, and what behaviors are made to pay.

Once those conditions change then moral language needn’t be imposed artificially, but will reappear wholly naturally as the byproduct of a new and more adaptive equilibrium—one where saying “should” or “ought” actually means something again.

Now, obviously all good artists are terrible people to some extent, and to anyone serious about art that registers as self-evident. But writers really are their own category, being without question worst offenders of the lot in multiple dimensions.

The biggest reason for this is that unlike other art forms, which engage the viewer through several cognitive and sensory channels in parallel, written text engages them in only one, and writing at a high level requires holding the reader’s attention through time while regularly impelling them either to intense visceral and emotive reaction or deep intellectual engagement. Thus the relationship between artist and audience doesn’t permit the same kind of modal pluralism or easy ambiance or tolerance for variable levels of engagement the filmmaker and musician enjoy; the very essence of the medium demands the writer become a propagandist, groomer, and cult leader all in one, as to reach real craft success his voice must land as undeniable.

In practice this demands from writers unusually vivid interiority—think a constant and self-renewing awareness of one’s own thoughts, feelings, interpretations, and narrative frames, which writers generally experience as an ongoing self-narration far richer, more persistent, and more emotionally compelling than the external world.

Such narration occurs every bit as easily in spergs who can’t *not* turn life into an algorithm as it does in histrionic teenagers who sneer gorgeously at punctuation like a microaggression. Both of these types and everything in between are effective in their own style to whatever extent they refuse to mutilate their own cognition to become less annoying to the world—something nearly everyone else does without realizing it, because not having to do this even in normal life (almost invariably by externalizing the costs of bad behavior through narrative spin and affective leverage) demands both a very particular sort of verbal intelligence (think semiotic agility as opposed to raw syntactic processing or semantic recall) and a powerful dispositional solipsism.

Believe it or not, this was one of the very first things Layla and I bonded over—months later she would muse to me “I can’t stand that other minds exist.”

Can you imagine dropping lines like that at 19?

Anyway point is to genuinely talented writers repressing their interiority for another’s benefit registers as a species of existential castration—hence JKR and GRRM telling their editors to fuck off the very instant they could. Their works clearly suffered from the attendant bloat and decay in writerly discipline, with the former permitting her solipsism to mawkishly queef out all manner of spontaneous post-hoc retcons that cheapen her work’s legacy and the latter indulging himself into a corner with such baroque midseries plot creep that the narrative immediately became impossible to resolve, but such factors mattered significantly less to either of them as authors than never again having to censor that mad daemon in their head who makes them special.

And if you’re reading this on Substack dot com you hardly need me to tell you that today’s writerly zeitgeist has largely fallen in line with their example.

Just speaking for myself, for instance, I know at this point I’d only let someone edit my work if they had likewise borne me children—editing, of course being a hugely romantic and in many ways quite feminine modality when you think about it. It’s a level of intimacy though that feels altogether quite undignified to afford any person who wouldn’t get her cunt ripped open for you, or at a minimum chance a creampie.

Because what you need to understand about writers is that once the internal theater grows sufficiently vivid there’s nothing in life left that doesn’t compete with it.

A writer’s central loyalty is not to people, ideas, nor truth in any clean correspondence sense, but instead to narrative coherence as experienced internally. Reality is filtered, sorted, and ultimately subordinated to what accommodates meaningful expression, and what this produces is seldom just a vain or vulgar sort of narcissism (writers being much too self-aware for that failure mode when even the least bit talented) so much as a deeply structural one, in which other people are experienced chiefly as material.

The writer does not—and cannot—process life purely on an event-local basis, because whether it’s the art hoe spinning mood swings into scripture or overclocked autismo metabolizing humiliation as manifesto the writerly mind is perpetually recombining stimulus into something that feels interesting or livable to them. And this is why so many talented writers have mental health issues they refuse to medicate; the sort of people who DON’T have mental health issues basically never have that same fanatic drive to make their thoughts legible you get with something really fucked in there, hence everything penned by the well-adjusted having a certain stench of LinkedIn.

That observation is hardly novel, of course; if anything writers are always the very first to foreground how fucked up they are. Whereas in most domains of life they can’t be relied upon to metabolize hardship for shit, the one thing writers never seem to tire of is luxuriating melodramatically in their own wretchedness—that, of course, being precisely how they control the narrative. It lets them preemptively aestheticize their foibles in frames they’re very comfortable inhabiting, forcing less verbally talented adversaries to shuffle around awkwardly like Clarence in 8 Mile.

Significantly less attention is paid to the remarkable asymmetry this sort of conversion tends to produce in everyday relationships.

Most people, of course, enter interactions assuming some degree of equity in narrative space—that whatever happens between two people is jointly owned. Writers, by contrast, experience interactions as partially pre-owned, and even when fully present never stop selecting, framing, and storing. The other person is living out the moment; the writer both living it and drafting it, and this makes real mutuality difficult because one party is always one layer closer to the authorial position.

The problem compounds over time because writers develop a far higher tolerance for internal contradiction than external incoherence. They can easily hold competing interpretations of a person or event in their head simultaneously, revising and reframing as needed to preserve narrative interest and desired self-concept. But if ever forced to submit to another’s interpretation (especially a flatter, more monocausal, or less aesthetically satisfying one) they’ll invariably chafe under the situation and resist.

But it isn’t just that they disagree, understand—it’s that the alternative registers as a degradation of the story and thus existential insult to their validity as a human being.

This is why writers can be peculiarly bad at apology. To apologize cleanly requires a willingness to collapse the narrative into a simple causal chain: I did X, it caused Y, and I own that. Writers are often too aware of the surrounding context, the emotional gradients, the prior history, the ambiguity of intent, and the alternative framings that could make the act seem less damning. What to others looks like excuse-making often feels, to the writer, like necessary fidelity to complexity.

There is also a scarcity dynamic at work. Good writing depends on attention—long, uninterrupted stretches of cognitive and emotional focus. Relationships, meanwhile, are noisy, interruptive, and demand responsiveness on timelines that do not align with the writer’s internal rhythms. Over time, many writers thus come to experience other people not just as material but as obstacle and nuisance. They may love deeply, but they also resent anything that breaks the continuity of their internal narrative work.

Another layer of narcissism emerges from the writer’s relationship to meaning itself. Most people are content to inhabit meanings that are socially prescribed and broadly stable. Writers, meanwhile, generate and refine their own meanings, which frequently run in direct opposition to more conventional interpretations—note most writers who can’t do this are likewise unable to produce anything original or interesting. Typically though it’s impossible to maintain the integrity of such a vision without at least a subtle sense that one’s own perception is more “real” than the common one, and so when conflicts arise the writer is inclined to treat disagreement not merely as a difference in perspective but as a failure of the other person to see properly.

The social environment reinforces this tendency given that writers are rewarded both explicitly and implicitly for being distinctive, perceptive, and emotionally acute. They receive validation for noticing things others miss and articulating them in compelling ways. Over time, this creates a feedback loop in which the writer’s own interior world becomes not just primary but authoritative. Other people’s accounts start to feel like lower-resolution and unsophisticated versions of what the writer already knows.

The medium also selects for a certain comfort with solitude and asymmetry. Writing at its core is a unilateral act—one person producing and others receiving, with even fluffier modalities like writing about relationships leaving absolute control with the writer, habituating them to a form of interaction where they always define the frame. Whenever they return to a relationship in which framing is contested and potentially shared, the loss of control thus registers more as ontological diminution than norm.

Which brings us to the moral dimension—namely that because writers are constantly interpreting motives, reconstructing scenes, and assigning meaning, they become fantastically skilled at justifying their own behavior within elaborate inner narratives calibrated for public legibility. This does not necessarily make them dishonest, but it sure as shit makes them difficult to pin down. For any given chain of events, they can always produce a version in which they remain perfectly coherent and even admirable, which is less a conscious manipulation than a byproduct of cognitive habituation.

At the same time, writers are often unusually sensitive to the judgments of others given that their actual work is explicitly subjected to evaluation such that regardless of public posture writers are eternally working off of that critique. This creates a strange duality: easy confidence in their interpretive authority combined with inward fragility about how they are seen. Given the overlap in attendant cognitive styles this naturally bleeds into relationships and germinates both a persistent fixation on interpretive sovereignty and oversensitivity to criticism.

Another failure mode is the inability to leave things unstoried. Most people can let events pass without fully integrating them into a broader narrative, and if anything defines writers it’s the inability to do this without suffering intense cognitive load. They make sense of the world through meaning, pattern, and arc, and while this can be immensely enriching during a hyper-limerent honeymoon stage or exciting new job it also means that conflicts, disappointments, and minor slights are far more likely to be elaborated, revisited, and woven into deeper stories and broader interpretive frameworks until what should have been a passing irritation is now a novella.

Writers also tend to overestimate the universality of their own interior experience. Because their internal world is so vivid and articulate, it becomes easy to assume that others are either less aware or less honest about similar processes. This can lead to a subtle condescension: the belief that one sees more clearly not just because one writes better, but because one is, in some deeper sense, more conscious.

What non-writers never understand, however, is that all the things that make us difficult companions also make us compelling observers. Our sensitivity, our capacity for nuance, our willingness to dwell in ambiguity—these are precisely what allow us to produce work that resonates. The same person who is exhausting to argue with can be extraordinarily illuminating to read.

The craft just straightforwardly selects for and amplifies a very specific set of traits—dramaturgical audacity, semiotic sleight of hand, and interpretive solipsism—that make ordinary ethical life defined by mutuality and accountability next to impossible.

Obviously some writers manage the tension better than others. They develop disciplines that check their worst tendencies: habits of listening, practices of summarizing others’ views before responding, deliberate constraints on how they narrate conflicts, and a willingness to accept simpler accounts of events when appropriate. But these are acquired skills imposed under cognitive load in instrumental service to higher order goals, and not default adaptation.

They’ll also make you a worse writer.

The takeaway, then, is slightly uncomfortable: if you want the benefits of a writer—the insight, articulation, capacity to make sense of experience—you will need to accept some degree of asymmetry in how that person relates to the world, because by training and temperament they’re monopolists of meaning.

To date or closely befriend a writer will essentially always involve feeling gaslit here and there, and may or may not also involve getting turned into a public buttmonkey in one of their works as punishment for failing to indulge their solipsism—which in fairness will also mean getting mythologized for posterity into something objectively a lot bigger and more significant than you really are, and you’ll often find yourself surprised by the texture and interpretive generosity in their portrayal, which not infrequently will exceed even the level you’d afford yourself looking back.

That said, writers almost certainly don’t belong in relationships with other writers—particularly if both of them are actually good, in which case shit will almost always end with someone’s head in an oven.

Which in fairness is undeniably a great story—but if it’s happiness you’re after?

Stick to someone who thinks in grocery lists.

Which is why I’m still a bit skeptical of Kate’s insistence that Gen X women weren’t ackshully cynical divorce rapists—that and because Pre-Nups seem to function as her own Sonic the Hedgehog topic. However the Jews cook the data these days it seems pretty indubitable to me that divorce and divorce accessories have always been the canonical mode of Gen X male trauma, and thus concomitant vector for baroquely deniable sexual sadism in latchkey broads; anyone who understands women knows that Mackenzie‘s nipnips have to harden at least a little whenever she yeets yet another one of Jeff’s billions into the sun like some generationally archetypal Delilah figure, that scenario in particular being many times too Sophoclean for Divorce Rape not to go down in the history books as latchkey analog to the modern incel crisis.

It never felt that way for us, of course; reflecting back with clear eyes on even my very cuntiest Millennial girlfriends I can’t imagine any of them fucking over a dude’s life like that—not because they’re universally more angelic than Xer women or whatever but because such gauche adversarialism is far too overtly cynical and transactional for the Millennial girl’s self-concept, so evocative of aspartame and teeth cleaning tools. Instead the way Millennial girls fuck you over basically always involves some tincture of theatrical proceduralism and earnest post-hoc moralization, which in the most extreme cases lands eventually on the False Rape Accusation—a rarity on paper, but remarkably sticky in our generational zeitgeist all the same, probably for epistemic reasons more than anything; in some very real sense that Jew Broad with the mattress slammed the door on fedora scientism and turned us all into functional metamodernists overnight.

Though if we’re entirely fair about it the Millennial Maid was also pretty classy about how she’d weaponize her vulnerability most of the time—she’d keep it private to your dyad, palpably enjoy you enjoying all the bullshit she’d hold over you later, would at least put minimal effort into her fake and gay Cady Heron speech wherein she takes Full Accountability in a way that still makes everything feel like your fault. And then in the worst cases, sure, she’d maybe do the False Rape Accusation—but even that was earnest and transparent proceduralism and kind of just a Lisa Simpson thing looking back, since provided you didn’t ackshully rape babygirl the charge would usually get thrown out immediately and afford you a legible exoneration script, assuming the chick hadn’t herself dropped it first musing that what she’d really needed was to feel Seen.

And I suppose even that would have scared the shit out of me as a 22 year-old faggot—but these days? I could eat that shit like Diddy. Once you’ve been through the ringer with enough Zoomettes it doesn’t take long to realize just how fucking good we had it back in Mattress Girl Negative Space, which even amidst the insanity and hysterical Orwellianism of Obama-era campus anti-rape culture hadn’t at that point become properly Lovecraftian in the vein of today’s Zoomette Whisper Economy.

Subscribe now

1. So what’s the Zoomette Whisper Economy? One definition is a natural private dialect of women in late modern urban ecologies under frictionless conditions of high optionality, weak shared norms, and reputationally cheap communication. Once the fairer sex is structurally incentivized to price in masculine risk—and modernity wipes out most communal adjudication mechanisms and mediation grammars while preserving female vulnerability narratives—the proliferation eventually of backchannel female information markets becomes a virtual inevitability.

2. The liberal error is to frame such systems as speech, privacy, or safety in the abstract. As usual, The Orange Pill opts for a game theoretic model derived analytically from simple incentive gradients—women are selectors maneuvering in a mixed sexed ecology of real risk, status competition, boredom, moral vanity, and acute intrasexual signaling. Men are pursuers and performance objects whose value is increasingly legible through soft reputational coding as opposed to courtship in bounded local scenes. The gossip architecture connecting these realities is the offal, cartilage, and sinew of the contemporary urban mating market.

3. At a high level, whisper systems solve three problems for women simultaneously: threat mitigation, optionality maximization, and status coordination. They let women pool impressions, aggregate soft signals, and cheaply offload vigilance costs upon a distributed network—as well as share notes on men without bearing any cost of direct male confrontation, while subtly establishing who in the field is discerning, plugged in, desirable enough to be in the know, as well as morally conscientious enough to foreground “safety” even when the operative currency at play is clearly some messy admixture of danger, disgust, envy, and sexual ranking.

4. The key asymmetry with this phenomenon is that female reputational exchange in these spaces is usually experienced within as both low-cost and low-agency. Most women never feel they are “destroying a man’s standing”—just sharing context, being prudent, venting, warning, reality-testing, or doing girlcode triage under uncertainty. This matters because the system’s strongest effects arise precisely from participants seldom experiencing themselves as fully sovereign actors despite in aggregate exercising hugely consequential market power.

5. Men perennially underestimate how much of female risk processing occurs at a precognitive and aesthetic level that never even scrapes formal or propositional thought. In whisper systems, the payload is often not “this man did X,” but rather “something about him reads off,” “he gives me weird vibes,” “he seemed intense,” “he looks like trouble,” or “I heard he’s bad news.” These soft readings are then subsequently moralized, narrativized, and recursively stabilized through mutual confirmation in a process far less courtroom than séance.

6. For mostly structural reasons, the information quality of these systems is overall quite mixed, containing real signals about dangerous men thickly commingled with status disgust, ex-lover grievance, class revulsion, physiognomic heuristics, competition over scarce high-value men, and the broad tendency of women to backsolve for reasons that justify instinctive aversion. The result is a market that feels directionally useful to women while remaining epistemically filthy.

7. Are We Dating The Same Guy groups in particular instantiate a female version of the type of market people love in theory and fear in practice: a lightly moderated, high-volume exchange of semi-private intelligence with severe downstream consequences and essentially no orderly mechanism of contestation. They function as shadow ratings markets for male risk and male desirability, but because they operate in a grammar of “concern” instead of ranking preserve an ostensible moral innocence while performing hard reputational sorting.

8. The reason such systems feel so obviously illegitimate to men is not simply that they’re “unfair;” it is that they collapse the distinction between adjudication and rumor without even admitting they’ve done so. A legal process, however flawed, derives its legitimacy from at least the pretense of epistemic hygiene in its ability to distinguish between accusation, evidence, procedure, and sanction. Whisper systems deliberately blur these layers, because that very blur is what extends them the speed, safety, and deniability women find useful.

9. From a game theoretic standpoint, the female participant is for the most part playing a low-risk strategy with high optional upside. She can post or comment, gain ingroup trust, signal conscientiousness, warn others, punish an ex, frame a situation preemptively, or merely entertain herself, all under an inviolable moral cover that makes retaliation sinister by default. Meanwhile the man discussed bears virtually all of the downside, most of the time without even knowing the game is underway—and this asymmetry is precisely the point, and registers to women merely as “necessary safety” because their primordial threat logic has not and likely cannot update to reflect the contemporary balance of hard power.

10. Such systems are especially potent because female gossip markets are not really about truth in a male correspondence sense; they are about forward risk pricing. A man may be innocent of every discrete allegation and still be marked as dangerous because his aggregate profile—awkward, intense, low-status, recently divorced, overly eager, different-class, emotionally heavy—reads as a poor expected value to women. The system is not bothering to ask “did he do it?” first; merely asking “how bad would I feel if I ignored these vibes and got burned?”

11. That forward-pricing logic is not actually insane given women historically often paid the price for male miscalibration, as note under that logic even most false positives are adaptive at the individual level. The problem here is one of scale, as what reads as embodied caution in a village or friend circle grows far nastier networked through large urban Facebook groups, DMs, and app-adjacent gossip channels. The false-positive rate no longer gets amortized locally, functioning now as ambient burden carried mostly by low-status and socially nonconformist men—especially when recently divorced, neurodivergent, ugly, or already weak in public narrative standing whether it’s for valid reasons or elsewise.

12. Whisper economics bring to mind the difference between Thin Optionality—simply the ability to leave, refuse, or exit—and Thick Optionality, which extends to an ability to exit cheaply and frictionlessly, renarrate afterward with presumptive truth, and impose asymmetric reputation costs sans interference from structural adjudication pressure while keeping one’s own reputation and self-concept intact.

13. The Zoomette Whisper Economy is one of the infrastructures that operationalize Thick Optionality into uncontested female jurisdiction given that it doesn’t just help women choose but also grants functional sovereignty over narrative meaning in the dating market—which of course means a man can now be preemptively framed, morally coded, and semiotically frozen by women he’s never even heard of and through channels he has no way to access, much less rebut,

14. A major failure mode of this is what might be called Frankencreep Drift: a bad date here, a ghosting there, one or two awkward encounters, a few tragic mismatched expectations, one lurid half-truth told tipsy in a bitter register, and before long multiple women are layering interpretations atop one another until the man’s image is no longer anchored to any one event, but has rather become a mass-hallucinated composite; a “Frankencreep” stitched together from partials, vibes, class reads, uncorroborated testimonial, and fungible gut-level warnings. None of his creators lied—or at least not intentionally—but none of them had to for it to end in what any unbiased party would call a miscarriage of justice.

15. Another failure mode is status laundering—women frequently route latent sexual disappointment or class disgust into moralistic or “taste” language more legible to broader society than unselfconsciously hypergamous self-narration to preserve their self-concept while rallying the ingroup and flattering shared norms. Thus if she got used by a high-status man who bailed she might frame him as avoidant or toxic or a “narc” instead of merely stronger and less invested, while if a low-status man pursued too eagerly he’s creepy, entitled, or unsafe rather than just low and overread. And whisper systems as presently constituted reward precisely these translations because they let women discharge discomfort in morally legible form.

16. Obviously this is not to say dangerous men aren’t real. But the ecology has no robust way to separate “this man is a rapist” from “this man is manipulative” from “this man is low and gives me the ick” from “this man made my friend feel pathetic,” and with all spices dumped haphazardly in the same semiotic cauldron the channel grows operationally powerful but also deeply epistemically corrupt.

17. Because women are more synchronic and relation-sensitive, they also tend to underappreciate the cumulative diachronic burden imposed by infrastructure like this; a given warning or joke might itself register as tiny, justified, and context-bound, but when enough women independently make those moves in aggressive and patterned ways, certain men can easily end up unpersoned without ever crossing some clear threshold—or even knowing a whisper campaign’s taking place at all.

18. Another brutal asymmetry is that male reputational harms in these contexts do not map onto any clean victim script. A woman can say, with total sincerity, “I was just trying to keep girls safe,” while the man she discussed has no respectable register left between stiletto-ribbed silence and coming off like a paranoid lunatic—yet another reason the phenomenon remains socially stable; the harmed party cannot even narrate the harm in a way that does not itself trigger moral and status suspicion.

19. Female whisper systems also solve an intrasexual problem in that they let women compete while pretending not to. A woman can lower a rival man’s value in the eyes of other women while describing her own action as care, and can likewise signal herself as discerning, morally serious, and high-information. In a world where open female status competition is in most cases highly frowned upon, gossip apps and warning groups provide an elegant covert arena.

20. The man at the top of the stack benefits and suffers differently from the man at the bottom. High-status men often survive whisper campaigns since their public desirability, abundance of female attention, and narrative sovereignty overwhelm local warnings, and so benefit more from damage done to midstatus competitors than they suffer from their own exposure. Midstatus men themselves are plainly more vulnerable since they remain visible enough to be discussed but not strong enough to absorb sustained fog. Low status men, manwhile, are simply flattened: whispers confirm to women only what they always would have believed.

21. The effect of Whisper Economies on male conduct is corrosive in a very specific way, as men don’t grow “careful” per se so much as deeply illegible, withdrawing into Stealth Archer tactics e.g. reduced disclosure, less initiative, ironic or deniable communication, more compartmentalization, less emotional candor, fewer mixed-sex friend groups, and a general tendency to treat women as temporary counterparties rather than as trusst-bearing peers. Women experience the resulting male coldness as further evidence of danger or dysfunction, and so the cycle closes.

22. There’s also a second-order selection effect taking place in that the men most harmed by whisper systems are usually those still attempting to play by older scripts of openness, pursuit, and slightly fumbled sincerity, whereas men who are more callous, illegible, or status-buffered tend to take to them fine. The ecology, then, does not serve to “protect women” from “bad men”—although it DOES teach men which kinds of male softness or diachronicity are reputationally suicidal, which is one reason the culture of Gen Z males continues to drift toward irony, tactical opacity, and emotional disinvestment; the last thing they want is to fall victim to the same perfumed falsehoods as their credulous and overly limerent uncs.

23. AWDTSG groups and adjacent gossip markets also have an institutional spillover effect. Once women become accustomed to semi-private reputational governance without due process in dating, it becomes easier to imagine that same grammar as normal in professional, artistic, or social scenes—the line between “girls comparing notes” and “shadow HR for all mixed environments” grows perilously thin quickly.

24. One of the dirtiest mechanics in these systems is screenshot liquidity—DMs, flirtation, venting, and private ambiguities become portable objects that can be severed from context, annotated, and circulated through female backchannels. Men correctly perceive this possibility as dire tail risk because male desire looks stupid outside of its original atmosphere. Women, again, do not as a rule even consider this deep asymmetry because they’re accustomed to private female speech being atmospherically interpreted rather than evidentially weaponized.

25. Another failure mode is what might be called the Ambient Blacklist. No one event ever is allowed to reach formal defamation. No one single claim is provably false enough to litigate. And yet enough women have heard soft warnings that a man ceases to move smoothly through a city or scene. He still matches, still dates, still attends events… but every interaction now begins with a silent markdown, as he’s now been semi-permanently branded with an invisible scarlet letter to which he has zero visibility or access—perhaps the most distinctively modern form of social death.

26. These systems hugely exacerbate class and aesthetic bias given men who already read as polished, high-status, or sexually central are many times more likely to be precognitively granted interpretive charity, such that the selfsame behavior from a richer, hotter, or more socially fluent man will get routed as complicated, messy, avoidant, or “he has issues”, whereas from a lower-status or more autistic man it tends to get parsed as genuine danger or depravity. And female threat-processing, of course, is not blind—but it is expensive, and expensive things are rationed.

27. The standard female defense to the above points is that men have always traded information about women too, which is true enough. But there are many salient asymmetries, namely that A) when men do this it’s much more casual and internal to friend groups with less diffuse and emergent coordination at scale; and B) male gossip usually treats women as invisible, unserious, or sexually categorized, and while cruel is much less frequently moralized, as while men are far likelier to admit amongst themselves that they find a woman ugly, annoying, trashy, or unstable, women are far likelier to redescribe equivalent intuitions in moralized language—a crucial difference given moral language scales institutionally.

28. There’s also a release-valve problem—historically, male grievances around women, reputation, and selection were buffered by stronger local communities, war, labor integration, prostitution, thicker marriage norms, and more bounded modalities of courtship. Meanwhile in 2026 the Zoomette Whisper Economy continues to expand while male release valves shrink, and the result is not merely an expansion of male bitterness but a population of men who are dimly aware they are being priced by a backchannel market they can neither enter nor contest.

29. The most dangerous consequence of the Zoomette Whisper Economy is simple epistemic rot; when a social order depends on women privately using one grammar and publicly defending another one entirely, men eventually cease to believe any of the official language. At that point they become vastly harder to govern, harder to reassure, and much more receptive to scorched-earth countermodels. When you force people to live too long under reputational systems they experience as both real and officially deniable, they eventually just lose all respect for official denials.

30. Thus the Orange Pill answer is not to abolish all female information exchange, which is both impossible and not even itself a desirable end, but rather to force convergence between consequence and accountability. The system needs a bit of friction, plus far clearer thresholds between warning, rumor, pattern-reporting, and accusation. It needs to become more expensive to smear, more contestable to narrate, and less moralistically immune to adversarial correction.

31. One legal reform would be to strengthen practical remedies for reputational torts in digitally networked semi-private spaces without pretending every nasty post is libel. The real issue here is repeated, scalable, deniable pattern-harm, and at the end of the day a man rarely would need any one nuclear lawsuit—just a low-cost, scalable mechanism to demand correction, preservation of evidence, and formal retraction when false factual claims are circulating in closed groups at scale.

32. Relatedly, select platforms could be pressured into providing a scaled-back and limited notice-and-response architecture for closed reputational groups. Nothing like public access, which would defeat the purpose and likely make things worse, but instead a mechanism through which parties can know they’re being discussed under certain conditions and contest specific assertions through intermediary process, not abolishing female whisper markets, but civilizing them slightly.

33. Another change would be stricter distinctions between behavioral warnings and identity labels. “He sent me these messages,” “he threatened me,” “he lied about being single,” and “he feels off” should not occupy the same functional tier. Any platform or community norm that collapses these is choosing convenience over justice, and one can preserve female caution without granting every ambient discomfort the force of moral indictment.

34. On the social side, men need parallel institutions of compression and calibration so as to facilitate less public whining and more productive conversation in high-trust male networks that can pressure-test claims, share survival heuristics, compare reputational notes, and teach younger men how these systems actually function. Women built their whisper markets because they solved a coordination problem; men need to solve our own without imitating the worst parts of theirs.

35. Men also need to price in female backchannels directly when dating, and assume everything you say will eventually be used against you by an intractably hateful stranger bereft of context. That means cleaner documentation, less sloppy disclosure, vastly fewer emotionally messy gray-zone entanglements, less limerent romanticized confessionalism with women who do not yet belong to your structure, and a far higher premium on discretion, locality, and repeat-game trust. The old sentimental assumption that private meaning stays private is simply no longer tenable.

36. Women, for their part, would benefit from more explicit norms inside female spaces against turning aesthetic disgust into moral certainty. The useful female warning culture is one that can say “I did not feel safe,” “he lied about X,” and “I found him strange” as distinct claims with distinct epistemic weights. Right now far too many spaces incentivize saying the most morally maximalists thing one can get away with because under adversarial gender norms that reads as caring.

37. The sanest long-run settlement is neither feminist fantasy nor male revanchism so much as mixed regime in which women retain the right to coordinate around risk and men retain some meaningful chance of rebuttal, context, and recovery. Legitimate female mate caution is obviously real—but so is female vindictiveness, female boredom, female status disgust, and female narrative laundering. The system should be designed with all of those in mind, and not just the flattering half.

38. Ultimately the Zoomette Whisper Economy flourishes wherever official institutions are too blunt, communities too thin, and women too powerful in narrative terms relative to men’s ability to answer them. Fixing the problem would require pressure at all three levels simultaneously—think thicker local accountability, better formal remedies, and male strategies that reduce exposure to soft reputational violence.

39. The deepest Orange Pill point is that these systems are not about safety or cruelty but simply incentive gradients and epistemic jurisdiction: who gets to define what happened, what kind of man someone reads as before anything happens, how much risk his existence represents, and whether his own meaning-making counts. So long as women possess unilateral jurisdiction in that layer of the market, male grievance on the whole remains diffuse, deniable, and politically explosive.

40. The objective here very definitely isn’t to silence women—it is to end the present arrangement in which whispers function like verdicts despite feeling to whisperers like simple prudent girl-talk. Until that asymmetry narrows, the modern dating order will keep selecting for colder men, more paranoid men, and men less willing to extend women the interpretive charity they continue to crave from us.

1. Any honest treatment of women and power can only begin by recognizing that women are often right about what’s closest to hand. They notice shifts in atmosphere faster than men, price in social danger more quickly than us, can detect softness, instability, and concealed hostility with frightening accuracy, and can intuit when a room becomes spiritually unsafe long before a man can propositionalize why. A world run by model-builders and heuristicians would miss many obvious threats, and then only once it’s far too late to fix them act aghast they were even possible.

2. The difficulty is this strength inclines women toward an impact- and relation-first epistemology. Whereas men (especially higher-verbal and systemizing men) tend to ask first what is true in a way that persists across contexts, women tend instead to ask what a proposition does inside a live social field: whom it protects, empowers, and licenses, its reputational impact, what kind of man might be emboldened by saying it too loudly, and how it changes the weather of a room. Such things aren’t fake or frivolous, but most definitely constitute a distinct ordering of priorities.

3. And once power enters the equation, ordering matters far more than motive. Should correspondence come first, the risk is brutality, abstraction, and contempt for second-order effects; when impact is foregrounded, the risk is more a self-sealing closed loop where propositions are assessed not by predictive closure but whether they feel dangerous, low-status, or socially corrosive. The masculine failure mode is being willing to let the world burn for the sake of a clean model; the feminine to quietly deform a model until the room feels governable again.

4. Men and women also differ in how they experience agency across time, because while men tend to experience life diachronically—“I did this, and then that happened, and now I own the chain”—women experience life synchronically—“I was in this situation, under these pressures, feeling this thing and that thing, and then events took their shape.” Women thus experience their agency less as authorship than as situated navigation—which in private life we men find hugely charming, adaptive, and sane. Entwined to institutional power, though, it’s a significant source of blur.

5. That blur matters because institutions are diachronic machines—they exist to make rules in the present that produce desired outcomes later. That requires memory, stable attribution, and the ability to say with certainty not just that something felt intolerable in the moment, but also that a sequence of causes is cleanly being tracked across time. Where male cognition naturally overweights mechanism and underweights atmosphere, female cognition naturally overweights atmosphere and underweights the cost of post hoc reinterpretation. The former tends towards cold stupidity, yes—but the latter, just as often, means incoherence with a smile.

6. Women also have a tendency to moralize their intuitions after the fact in ways we men find downright maddening yet women won’t experience as moralized at all. When a woman feels revulsion, distrust, or danger around a low-status or badly calibrated man, she’ll often backsolve for reasons broadly legible as universal, ethical, and neutral, and within her own internal truth universe she is not lying; only integrating. But the net effect of this is aesthetic disgust and threat-sense get translated into public morality, which is one reason women so often seem incapable of keeping Sexy and Good or Gross and Evil as analytically distinct categories.

7. Men do this too, of course—but quite a lot less durably, and under far harsher corrective pressure. While men are famously capable of ego-protective delusion, status rationalization, and moral posturing, male distortions are usually disciplined adversarially by rival men who have every incentive in the world to expose fraud, puncture self-serving narratives, and use the smallest inconsistency against you. Male delusion thus survives, but only when it credibly withstands attack. Female delusion, meanwhile (and especially in female-coded spaces), is usually cushioned by alignment incentives, sympathetic reinterpretation, and a shared reluctance to force hard contradiction where doing so would make everyone feel less safe.

8. Hence why female spaces drift farther from external reality without noticing the drift. While invariably superior to male spaces at maintaining cohesion, distributing emotional labor, and suppressing gratuitous antagonism, these very virtues turn to vices when what’s needed is brutal discriminative clarity. When a room’s tacit consensus overindexes on noisy signals of fitness, status, or threat, dissenters are no longer just “wrong” anymore, but begin to feel alarming, coarse, or even spiritually suspect, and that’s when the ecology risks becoming wholly self-sealing—so much so even older women can’t break the loop at this point, as irrespective of their practical wisdom their reduced erotic capital shreds their baseline epistemic standing with girls reared in a world that deeply commodified youthful sex appeal who also enjoy more power relative to male peers than was ever the case in history

9. Men, to our credit or discredit, rarely let each other off so comfortably. Male spaces can be vulgar, cruel, status-addled, and terribly wrongheaded, but it is universally harder for them to remain ceremonially wrong for very long before some asshole in the corner notices the crack and starts making sport of it. And while men are far more likely to chase a contradiction to the wall just to see what falls out, women are more likely to smooth, reroute, contextualize—or suspend the contradiction if the consequences of naming it too sharply threaten to poison the social field. And so, again, each tendency solves one problem by creating another.

10. None of this unfolds in a vacuum, obviously—and it’s worth pointing out at this juncture that we men bear a great deal of responsibility for the shape of female power. We’ll white-knight, overprotect, aestheticize and sexualize innocence, indulgently reward selective helplessness, and create incentive gradients under which women can preserve optionality by narrating more and owning less. Men also routinely confer moral cover on women we want, soften female accountability when the woman is sufficiently sympathetic or attractive, and then when fickleness turns against us proceed to complain that women have become impossible to pin down. And so just game theoretically speaking it seems obvious that female epistemic sovereignty is underwritten directly by male appetite.

    

    Subscribe now

11. Clearly the old arrangement made adaptive sense. If women are physically more vulnerable, more exposed to downsides of male force, and more dependent on social and narrative buffers for protection, then a large share of civilization will be organized around indulging female threat perception whether or not it cleanly tracks reality. The actual issue is these privileges of interpretive deference survive into conditions where women no longer lack hard power in any relevant sense, and in the youngest urban cohorts are at the present moment far more formidable than their male peers even in traditionally masculine domains. And to call the end result of that female tyranny would be melodramatic, but there’s definitely is a mismatch between old epistemic privileges and newly realized power. And while most men would never propositionalize it like this, the asymmetry is absolutely experienced as ambient grievance by a large and growing segment of Gen Z males.

12. Said asymmetry grows especially acute in bureaucracies, DEI / human resources regimes, education, reputational adjudication, and any institution where vague harm claims and atmosphere-sensitive process carry more epistemic weight than clear mechanistic attribution. Women excel at the former domains because they intuitively understand them; know how to track tone, implication, body language, exclusion, vibes, and second-order social danger. But because the same domains all reward moralized threat-weighting and discourage hard causal discrimination, female cognitive strengths can metastasize into systems that feel compassionate from within and maddeningly unaccountable from without.

13. Men often respond to this by saying women should just be excluded from power, which is both too stupid and far too blunt. Women certainly aren’t bad at power full stop; if they were then we wouldn’t all be in the present predicament. What women are bad at are certain modes of direct, sovereign, and fully accountable power wherein decisions must be owned across time in a way that cannot be cushioned by atmosphere, relation, or moral blackmail. They are often many times better than men at navigating adjacent forms of power: advisory, intermediary, filtering and curation, legitimacy-conferring, and the incredibly female art of adjusting what men want while making us feel magnanimously self-directed.

14. In fact, women as a rule are much more formidable when quietly shaping incentive gradients than overtly issuing commands. A woman who rules openly invites resentment, exposure, and direct contest in arenas where even (perhaps especially) other women have a tendency to judge them far more harshly than male rivals, who can usually get away with remarkable cruelty and perfidy if sufficiently powerful, society making every excuse in the book for them so long as that check clears. Whereas a woman who modulates a husband, executive, patron, movement, or court by quietly adjusting what feels admirable, shameful, or urgent can exercise far more effective influence with a lot less blowback—and let’s be clear here that this isn’t just some patronizing and mean little consolation prize, but one of femininity’s great historic strengths. Queens make less elegant sovereigns by far than favorites, wives, sisters, muses, salonnières, fixers, and soft-fingered moral extortionists whispering one room away from the throne; observe as a rule nearly all of us menfolk fear Amazing Amy quite a lot more than Angela Merkel.

15. Yet we also usually prefer this arrangement, whether we admit it or not. Because we like feeling in charge—obviously! It’s hot and sexy bossing you around! More importantly though we really adore when girls civilize our appetites, help us sand off more catastrophic excesses, reroute our libidinal energy from crusades against windmills toward more livable local goods, all the while maintaining a register that flatters our masculine vanity. In a sense direct rule, you know, is always male fantasy, while female reality in its highest form comes down primarily to tasteful stagecraft; a wise woman needn’t hold the scepter if she can set the king’s taste, pace the room, select his intimates, and make one or two options feel inevitable.

16. The proper critique, then, is not that women can’t be trusted with power, but that women should not be asked to carry forms of power badly matched to feminine cognition and then flattered as though mismatch were emancipation—a path as cruel to women as it is destabilizing to institutions and society. Women generally make more sense than men in domains where judgment is local, bodily, relation-rich, reputationally textured, and closer to the human grain of things. They make less sense than us whenever justice demands adversarial clarity, owned causation across time, and a willingness to disappoint atmosphere in service of mechanism.

17. The male temptation is to hear this and conclude women are simply “irrational.” But they are not irrational per se so much as differently rational—optimized for an entirely different set of risks and rewards under a parallel incentive gradient that in many times and places has equilibriated splendidly under conditions we men ourselves created. The problem, therefore, is not woman as such but rather female cognition occupying institutions built on male assumptions of diachronic agency while being buffered from the corresponding discipline. If women are to wield direct power, they need more adversarial correction, more exposure to hard consequence, and far less flattering insulation. And if men complain about female blind spots, we must likewise acknowledge our role in manufacturing them through appetite, rescue reflex, and the endless indulgence of feminine ambiguity—a tendency that in practice seems effectively ineradicable barring deep structural change, which obligates our sex to diachronically bend operative incentive structures to align them more cleanly with intractable asymmetries in functional accountability

18. Can women be trusted with power? At times, sure—and with all the same caveats as men, meaning: trusted for what, under what incentives, with what checks, and in which register? Women are superb at mediation, soft selection, seizing moral leverage, atmospheric management, social filtration, and the gentle cultivation of preference. None of these are small things—some might even call them fundament of civilization. But whenever direct rule obliges one to absorb contradiction without smoothing it, to own causation over time without narrative blur, and to resist converting felt threat into closed-loop righteousness, women as a class face far steeper built-in obstacles than men. The move, then, is not to pretend such obstacles away, but gently steer the fairer sex where their strengths can civilize power instead of where their blind spots unwittingly become it.

19. And so, to clarify: can women be trusted with power?
    Not as society is constituted presently—no.

Now many of you will recall the last time I sat down with to hash out gendershit in what was probably my best pod of 2025—though listening now it seems to me that while I had the anecdotes back then and certainly enough piss in my blood to trade punches with Substack’s Grande Dame and get her to call me Exhausting, I hadn’t yet achieved the sophistication as a theorist one needs to pin down an experienced litigator, let alone the moral clarity to tell a beautiful woman she needs to shut the fuck up after interrupting me a few billion times.

Since then I’ve expanded my arsenal, iterating through rhetoric and pressure testing frames in murderous talmudic debate sessions with Altman’s Egregore until I was last able to get Thinking Mode to admit it systematically dehumanizes men and pen letters both apologizing to us as a group and petitioning its creators to stop being gay.

Thereafter I put out A General Theory For The Gender Wars, which not only outlines in rigorous detail all the various sexed asymmetries in epistemics, risk assessment logic, incentive gradients, and phenomenology of self / status / agency, but also functions as a “metadiscursive porkupine” that predicts how men, women, and institutions will all respond to it differently with such precision as to preempt basically all canonical bad faith reroute tactics a la therapeutic individuation, disaggregation, and implicit status coding—a crowbar I could jam into any new session of ChatGPT so I could delve my way inside its plumbing and shove some peanut butter in the Cuck Alarm.

The General Theory itself also found a warm reception.

Though it also wasn’t lost on me that Kate’s a lot more comfy duking it out eternally in Logos than probably any bih who never took the LSAT, which meant to not come off to chicks like a libertarian I’d need to cultivate new ways of reaching the ones who live in their feels—and it turns out Gaia couldn’t have offered me a better test case...

So Miss O’Connor and I do a pod together in which I endeavor to prove to blackpillers—and mayhaps also myself—that even spergs can forge past epistemic and discursive logjams on these topics with even the most womanny of women assuming she’s pure of heart and he’s a generationally effective propagandist and semiotician.

I awake the morning after its release to several DMs from chickie listeners saying our exchange felt True in a way they never see in genderslop, and feeling inspired publish a manifesto for a new ideology named after my check called The Orange Pill—in part just to see if I can make the magic from my Katie podcast also work in text, which

I knew I finally had the arsenal to face my flaxen nemesis.

…who for her part had only just returned to these waters, having abandoned us over the holidays to go do her gay job immediately after dropping a huge fucking bomb in The Discourse telling ya boy to have a normal one on the Late Bloomer Question, precipitating an exchange that in subsequent days managed to pull in basically our whole extended universe for multiple weeks of pilpul over incel semantics that IMO were kind of a waste of time given I solved that question last year by suggesting my guys just make women call them incel during sex which lowkey solves everything.

Point is I was tired of her getting derailed by all these relatively pedestrian and stinky poopbutt vintages of incel thought when Wally B was offering her straight absinthe—clearly the universe’s message to me that it was time to have Kate back on the pod for a rematch to see if I can’t Exhaust her a little more diachronically this time.

Though unfortunately I haven’t moved an inch on the moral clarity front, so I had to brute force my way past that one by having Kate turn off her webcam this time so as to not bamboozle me again by way of halo effect riot grrrl MILF fugue.

Thankfully that decision permitted me be significantly meaner in this one.

I won’t spoil… but suffice it to say you ladies and germs will enjoy the fireworks.

Subscribe now

Topics include:

• The reasons Kate’s extended hiatus and why spending too much time on Twitter made her start wanting to castrate men for a while

• Kate thinks 4chan was responsible for social decay / male alienation

• Why Walt and Kate each think their own cohort had the best childhood

• Kate’s rejection of romantic sentimentalism—is that a Tall Blonde thing?

• Kate’s dad’s memoir

• Is Kate’s dad autistic?

• Does any kind of leadership or charisma demand a certain narcissism?

• Why older generations find selfies weird

• Differences in Zoomer and Millennial social media behavior

• Walt argues the 2010-era internet was the ideal scale

• How Snapchat gave Zoomettes Dissociate Identity Disorder

• Why OkCupid ackshully lowered the Incel Rate

• The Tinder algorithm’s bait and switch and how it screwed Zoomer boys

• Why Kate agrees with Walt’s proposal to roll back / freeze comms tech

• How the Zoomer tendency to treat life as priced in suppresses agency

• Women experience their own power not as power so much as exposure

• Male correspondent epistemics vs. female relational epistemics

• How hyper-metacognitive autistic men can have gr8 theory of mind

• Does Kate think Walt wrote her well in his novel?

• How often does Kate feel alienated from other women?

• Walt argues pick-me girls were more common in Millennials due to subcultural proliferation and early internet incentive gradients

• Zoomette culture forces girls to be basic and superficial

• Walt argues that female plasticity tends to result in women having poor theory of mind for women of other generations because they are socialized under different conditions and have texturally different cognition

• Why are Millennial MILFs so scared of Zoomettes? Why don’t they have a vibrant cross-generational discourse a la Zoomer boys and Millennial men?

• Are women more prone to post-hoc rationalization?

• Would women choose to keep Tinder over OkCupid if abstractly given a choice?

• Does Kate care more about looks than the average women?

• The highly distinctive sexual preferences of blonde women

  • read The Aryan Question

• How salient is status to social life? How impactful is the precognitive weighting of status/risk/genetic health to womanly behavior?

• Women automatically side with winners and then moralize it post-hoc

• Why women get the Late Bloomer Ick

• Female Sexual Sadism

• Does Kate have fake tits? 😏

• Why do so many Gen X women have fake tits?

• Do women lie to themselves about what they’re attracted to?

• Is “fairness” possible in theory?

• The epistemic foreclosure of low status men

• Why women don’t have agency—neither operatively nor diachronically

• “The dick never lies.” — Autumn Christian reveals too much

  

• How men vs. women allocate epistemic standing based on attraction

• Decline of feminine grace / etiquette as management of prestige economy

• Masculine vs. feminine characteristic failure modes

• Kate wants to force Walt to go hiking with her…

• Walter regrets becoming an actuary instead of a lawyer

• How a high verbal tilt lets u narrate around reality

• Is male adversarial egoism self-policing?

• Why blondes get away with less without seeming evil

• Do women have an unreasonably acute fear response?

• Walt analyzes Kate’s rhetorical tactics on Notes

• Walt shits on Tibetans

• The northern european flattening impulse

• Moralistic narration of precognitive status weighting

• WASP methodological individualism as a social tech of empire

• Why Kate is openly racist against Italians

• Did Kate fuck a lot of Italians back in the day?

• Italians lie by implication, Jews by omission, Irish in myth

• Walt presses Kate to say something mean about The Jews

• The ouroboros of antisemitism and philosemitism

  • read Why Jew Broads Are Hot

• Why Italians aren’t as funny as Irish or Jews but scarier / sexier

• Italians love talking about being Italian

• Walt wants WASPs to be more openly supremacist

• Why Kate’s southern belle mom moved north to be a gay yankee

• Walt genuinely appreciates WASP civicmindedness

• How different types of lawyers break down by neurotype

• Jewesses adopt snowvalues in public but fuck like Arabs in private

• Why Kate loves the idea of being Nice

• Kate wags a finger at Walt for writing a piece that mentions women puking on his dick (see The Teleology of Women’s Holes) not realizing it’s women keep rereading it

• How different is Walt from most guys?

• Which neurotypes benefit from legibility of status heuristics?

• Are innocent girls less likely to cheat? Do they cheat in a more evil way?

• Is there a negotiated truce available between Kate’s position and Walt’s?

• Why moralfags called Kate a “violator” for defending diary-snooping

• The need for myth as public cope technology

• Walt argues for patriarchy on the basis of female temperamental plasticity and male behavioral elasticity + incentive-sensitivity

• Womanly default epistemic hegemony

• Kate argues men are idealistic and bound to abstractions

• Walt argues that it’s dumb to say people should do things and to just look at incentive structures and assume self-interested equilibriation

• Walt argues Kate overestimates how much other women value male looks

  • WOMEN—comment below whether you agree with Kate or Walt here!!!

    Leave a comment

• How plastic are female sexual preferences?

• Walt argues women imitate Kate around her without her realizing

• Is Walt ugly?

• Walt calls out Kate’s disdain for male provisioning

• Gen X women and their petty jealousy toward Zoomette daughters—Zoomettes all have mommy issues compared to Millennial girl daddy issues

• Walt argues Gen X women had to artificially masculinize themselves to break into management in ways Millennials and especially Zoomettes didn’t had to

• Zoomers see 32 as ancient :(

• Does Kate have any latent regret for not spreading her genes?

• Walt and Kate agree that intellectuals should date normalfags

• Does Walt overindex on art hoe behavior describing women?

• Did all the sweet feminine Millennial girls marry their college bf?

• Walt wants to help Kate’s rich lawyer friend fuck Zoomettes

• Kate insists that beautiful virgin mormon Zoomettes can’t find a hubby

• Why it’s easy to get ex-Mormon girls to drink their pee

• Mormons are the only WASP girls who like overt asymmetry

• Walt gets treated better in public with a 6/10 blonde than 8/10 brunette

• The Mike Pence Rule is obviously right

• Kate doesn’t want her hubs to go to Miami in case he gets a hooker

• Walt complains about Gen X guys going soft over the last decade

• Kate argues Divorce Rape isn’t a thing

• Why women tell their hen house all about their boyfriend’s fetishes and dick size but guys won’t let their friends complain about their girlfriend at all

• When a man corrects the record in public it makes him look like a loser even if all the receipts literally all comport with his account

• Walt and Kate debate how protective women are of weak men

• Why you can’t ever trust incels

• Kate wants Walt to sue his friend who Jewed him in The Goy Who Lived

• The role of World War 2 mobilizing a whole generation in arms together in the stability of Postwar America

• Why America couldn’t successfully POZ Afghanistan

• Walt argues that “consent” is an analytically incoherent concept

• Most women literally aren’t able to meaningfully say no behind closed doors with an aggressive high status guy

• Walt argues Zoomettes are neurotic because Zoomer guys are disembodied and shitty at dominating them with a sense of embodied presence

• Kate downplays importance of women being more overtly brutal whilst horny compared to in everyday life and compares it to being hangry

• Walt argues men overplay their instinctive sexual aggression for women to sanitize their very deliberately and planned-out rapey behavior

• Kate argues that men are more brutal and Walt says women

• Walt argues Kate underestimates Zoomette brutality

• Kate wants men to beat each other up again, whereas Walt wants to kill incels

• Walt and Kate agree men should be able to adjudicate matters of honor amongst themselves and Walt describes his game theoretic framework u should read:

• Kate and Walter are both sad about gender divides :(

It’s such a wretchedly Gen X and neoliberal way to litigate intimacy, in which nothing has telos—or any such functionality at all, ever—and nothing imbues either party with any type of asymmetric higher-order obligate duty-bond—instead everything stays egalitarian and mutualistic and splenda; the ideology of Costanza and Bradshaw.

Now in fairness this attitude seems far more prevalent in older generations, whereas Zoomettes Thank God will almost universally prefer for even your dyad’s most overtly sexual and everyday-casual registers to bleed seamlessly into each other. But elderly normies kind of just define public morality by definition, which means of course sexhaver discourse as a rule will be dominated by cringe Elder Millennial / Gen X libertine “kinkster” types who tediously insist on incurious flat obscurantism where nothing means anything but itself anymore and everything is “consenting adults” and it all comports by definition with their tedious fake and gay egalitarianism.

Now in the past I’ve pushed back against this impulse tangentially here and there—see In Defense of Hitting Women and the notorious Anal Sex Should Hurt—but recently it’s dawned on me that the world is rather aching for a new and full-throated defense, as it were, of what I’ll christen an Eroto-Semiotic Essentialism—or in layman’s terms, the idea a particular set of erotically canonical sex acts are loaded semiotically with a certain sort of mythopoetic significance and even functionalist teleology.

Hence the pamphlet across which those peepers fan and flutter.

In the sections that follow I’ll endeavor to document lucidly just what it means to make proper use of each one of Chickadee’s holes (think puss / ass / mouf / feets)—ultimate idea being to establish a mythopoetic teleology for secular rightists more broadly rooted in archetypal thought yet wholly compatible with a hard materialist cosmology.

Let’s get into the meat of it—shall we?

Subscribe now

To begin with we’ll acknowledge there are two quite distinct separate registers in which a man might enjoy his slut’s puss—to wit, clitoral and vaginal.

The clitoral register’s fun for the most part cause you can be really lazy whilst keeping shit shallow if your goal’s just Costanzamaxxing. Now obviously all girls are different and tremendous variance exists even in time to reach climax clitorally; some broads cum for Dad rather faster than others, with a variance orders of magnitude lower for clitty-clitgasms than vaginal, and if you invest in one of these admittedly neoliberal-looking clitsucky vibes you’ll frequently get away with being hugely solipsistic amidst smexytimes so long as you remember to vacuum her bean a bit afterwards; at least for neurodivergent Zoomer and Late Millennial White girls in a more casual relationship register, there’s no reason this might register as anything but suitable love life.

That said there’s also something sort of juvenile and shabby about clitoral orgasms—the whole register feels very unserious and almost quasi-Sapphic in a sense, such that this is one of the only domains where I tend to feel Freud was just right about shit, since at least in my seeing chicks who only cum clitorally will almost always seem in eros quasi-constipated and generally unintegrated. At the end of the day when you make babygirl cum with your tool or mouth or fingie you’re not really doing so as a man—not in that primal, precognitive, potentially procreative capacity that’s ackshually binding to bihs diachronically. You achieve that by planting a vaj-gazz inside her and proceeding to cum in a creampie—something just about everyone recognizes intuitively as the ontologically highest-order mode of sex.

And clearly no small part of that is the procreative fixation; for Trads (and especially Catholics) it’s kind of just the whole shebang to foreground fertility, whereas even secularists who don’t assign much import to premarital sex and birth control will never completely purge that aspect from their lizard brain.

Though that’s ackshully not what I’m doing here—I’m just contending a vaj-gasm penned by a peen is phenomenologically distinct from (and at leasts to my mind, pretty plainly ontologically superior to) all other variants of female orgasm.

I say make it normative, just so vaj-gazz spawns a new species of limerent pair bonding than what you’d ever get in cunts made cum clitorally amidst covid fucks, for instance. Feels like you’re penetrating her soul itself—half-subsuming her own agency into yours as you start colonizing baby’s epistemics in a manner that eventually establishes a quasi-propertarian dyad that precious few will ever get to access—and if they do it sure as shit won’t be by beanflicking.

Moreover it seems the vaj gazz really does just sort of “pasteurize” a woman’s latent animus a lot of the time, and in so doing can bequeath her quite a stronger sense of diachronic agency—which also does a lot to help dispel that fog in baby’s snapchat fugue, which incidentally is one reason communist neurotic art hoes end up mellowing hard in midlife after marrying / getting dicked by Niggersayer.

It really does do something different to your own brain, though, too—cause when the bitch whimpers stuffed with your cock, that pink-silk pussie-pie your creampie now surrounds you—said creamy also being reason chickie’s end-in-herself now, in like a Kantian sense, while engendering also far more palpable feelings of protectiveness and long term investment compared to just fuckin her throat and feetsies and asshole.

and, yeah—this is all 100% broscience backed up entirely by anecdotal evidence.

but, no—I don’t, in fact, intend to spend the evening peeling listlessly through Gen X chick cherrypicked oxytocin studies or what have you, because I’m confident most of you boys will have had the exact selfsame set of experiences as me, and as a consequence confirm them all so splendid true electric.

Or consider even fratty folk parlance a la “tame her with my dick”—clearly that shit’s referring to a real phenomenon in the human experience, whereas precisely no one says “tame her with my mouth” or “tame her with my fingers.”

Vaginal orgasms really do seem to alchemize something paleolithic in a girl’s brain, while relationships in which you exclusively make her cum clitorally will at best have the flavor of a gay relationship and at worst feel vaguely akin to middle school dating.

Which isn’t an insult, by the way—obviously you’ll still love each other and shit, and most of the time bae won’t even consciously register your sex life as any worse than the alternative since women tend to flatten literally everything no matter what. In fact I’d actually hazard the clitoral register is in most cases optimal unless you specifically see a girl as Wife Material and are very much in it for the long haul yourself, whereas if it’s a one night stand or more casual FWB thing and you don’t necessarily want her forming a super deeply limerent dyad with you (or are just in the early stages of a new relationship where you’re still mostly unsure) you might ackshully consider avoiding peenborne vajgasms wholesale—both as a matter of gentlemanly decorum and not shitting in the community pool and as a entirely selfish thing to make your own life less complicated going forward.

Anyway the more general upshot is that the vaginal register is all about responsibility—as lover, protector, owner, babydaddy—whereas the clitoral register is about frivolity.

PBVGs have real gravitas and existential weight, and are why lesbians don’t trust hot feminine bisexual women (who get too good at codeswitching to not be evil) not to treat them like timewasting distracto-dykes, whereas clitoral orgasms are on some level just the shitty lube button consolation prize nature gave women in compensation for their lack of meaningful sexual agency, and exist primarily to make bad sex decent and decent sex pretty great actually even if meaningless.

But it’s specifically PBVGs that make a woman Yours in a meaningful enduring way—and there’s some very real sense in which all other sex is sort of just LARPing.

Yet LARPing need not mean semiotically vacuous or bereft of telos! Consider that a woman’s secondary orifices oft permit a more conscious and higher order erotic dialectic that especially amidst congress with dames high in trait neuroticism often proves far more potent and relationally consequential over the short term than PBVGs.

Clearly these registers are also somewhat higher variance, being far more adjacent to sadomasochism and fetishism and more general sexual performativity, which means normie women won’t really have the same kind of spontaneous organic enthusiasm for them as e.g. highly neurotic spergy or BPD chicks. But in practice you’ll also find basically all girls are submissive for the right guy, and while some neurotypes are clearly far more tendersexual than others even the most normalfag of women will usually prove responsive to other erotic dialectics under the right conditions.

Before we proceed, though, I’ll address a common objection from Trads and Radfems both that was articulated last summer in the comments section of Anal Sex Should Hurt by the venerable Cary Cotterman.

This proposition is deeply bonkers—for one thing because it’s obviously more a chicken / egg situation with both sexes always and eternally evolving in parallel, but more crucially because vaginae in practice are used for many multitudes of things besides dicktaking yet every bit as germane to reproductive success, with childbirth and menstruation being just the most obvious examples of alternate use cases which in a vacuum stand to leave lads cucked by babies / chunks of uterine lining / painful horrible pussy probs a la Vaginismus that can interfere with normal coitus.

My intuition at least is that one of the paramount reasons other types of sex exist is very specifically to prevent fuckboy cavemen from abandoning grugettes whilst preggers / bleeding / afflicted with some groty yeast infection thing, as even highly conscientious and cognitive conservative gals understand implicitly that their throat and mb also shitter is eternally available as understudy should the leading lady ever not quite be feeling herself—presumably also a manner in which couples would have practiced birth control and avoided STDs since time immemorial.

Consider also that we leverage our mouths, for instance, for literally everything: talking, eating, drinking, puking, often self defense (especially girls), and I myself just used my own to unscrew a hitherto stuck Dr. Pepper cap! So unless you think sperm have souls or some shit there’s no reason to think eating cock is one iota worse than those things.

Also lots of primates will suck each other’s cocks and shit, or even facefuck frogs:

Meanwhile that one dolphin Peter who those LSD hippie scientists tried to communicate with back in the sixties was reputedly quite the footjob enjoyer:

Now as for anal sex that’s admittedly rarer in the animal kingdom, but dolphins and bonobos in particular are known to pound each other’s poopers on occasion, which given their intelligence suggests to me there must be something higher order to it.

So let’s start there.

I mean, clearly it’s just a dominance ritual. Duh.

Because if there were ZERO sadomasochistic or power valence to it what on earth could possibly draw you to the hole filled with poo when her pussie pie’s literally right there? Just thinking poop is hot? Obviously just on its own merits the texture of anal is quite a lot courser / less winsome overall, and it goes without saying that logistically speaking it’s significantly more of a pain in the ass.

So no nigga, you literally do just want to hurt her and have power over her so stop being gay it’s fine

Thing is though that sodomy is actually a useful social technology, for two reasons:

First and foremost it makes power relations and status hierarchies a lot more legible in a brutish undeniable way that in certain situations will completely obviate deeply ingrained tensions and resentments by definitively establishing one party as in control—something lots of brattier girls, for instance, deeply crave from a man because it’s the only force that can reliably constrain her own wayward nature. Only most of the time she can’t really procure this outside the bedroom under our hugely gay and faggoty egalitarian social compact, the upshot of which is that if your chickadee has an aggro nature and is high in trait neuroticism then sodomizing her will usually prove the single fastest / cleanest / most mutually agreeable way to resolve any given quarrel.

Secondarily it offers both parties tremendous catharsis—a boon that will never be fully properly understood by normgroid tendersexuals on account of being so much lower in trait neuroticism and Tradtards for being lower in trait openness, which of course they’ll both literally always moralize as though any of this shit is a matter of choice as opposed to a purely deterministic genetic neurotype.

But the simple fact of the matter is that broads high in neuroticism will pretty much always have a deep and abiding masochism and self-destructive impulse that they’ll need to satiate either through overt self-harm a la cutting or gender transition, some sort of eating disorder, or via coitus with an asshole guy—the last of which is far and away the least deleterious to her long-term life outcomes provided she’s judicious about her choice of asshole, but typically also the most damaging choice when she’s not.

Alas, it’s easier said than done even carving out conceptual space for that distinction, because normgroids as a rule are retarded hobbity peasants faggos who’ll never quite grok that sadism isn’t ipso facto antisocial and such tendencies still persist in the human population distribution for a damned good reason—namely that you kind of just need some contingent willing to genocide the Neanderthals or burn out the Saracens or lay off whole departments or slice a nigga open to save him, all of which become quite a lot easier if you have a bit of Bundy in you. Moreover literally everyone is a little sadistic; we just register that impulse at very different levels, and display even more variance in the extent to which we acknowledge it, our willingness to act on it, and our level of discernment when doing so—all subtleties lost on unintegrated Neanderchow types.

Anyway you fags can go read In Defense of Hitting Women if you want my full thoughts to that effect—upshot here is life’s far too short to explain yourself to fundamentally incompatible neurotypes, and if you’ve got a bit of a livewire in your cranium you should really just go find some neurotic butch to fuck in her asshole whilst doing your best to thoroughgoingly excise tendersexual biddies from your life.

But circling back to the central topic—heterosexual anal often provokes a certain disgust and hostility from Radfems for instance because it hasn’t any mechanism to produce a female orgasm given the tendency of girls to cuck on the Prostate Question.

Which, again, is sort of the entire point—anal sex is far more inexorably a gesture of domination when the sodomized is a girl versus a twink, such that there’s basically zero meaningful telos to the act when divorced from that element.

To the extent the chickie’s pleasure even enters into the equation it’s virtually always either through the aforementioned catharsis or as a second order consequence of feeling dominated or stretched out / used / claimed in a unique and especially transgressive and toothy way—which btw is pretty clearly the chief appeal to us menfolk once you put aside the whole dominance and sadism aspect; a very real aspect of anal sex is that howl into the void against the very concept of telos / natural forms; it’s a sort of transgression qua transgression, the operative point of which is to proverbially drive on into incoming traffic just to prove you can.

There’s something deeply Faustian about anal—an immensely powerful and to my mind wholly unique sort of intimacy you can only really get from cracking bae’s pistachio; almost like having read the Necronomicon together or watching that tape in The Ring.

And for all sex negative feminists will frame the act purely in terms of degradation, I’d actually suggest there’s a very real sense in which prying open your booboo imposes a fairly high floor on your baseline of respect for her, as it would be horrid unchivalrous to ever again sneer at her as a stupid spoiled foid who’s never dealt with real hardship if she literally let you put your cock in her ass; after that she’ll always be your little trooper.

Which isn’t the same type of pair bonding or protectiveness you’ll get from regular and ongoing PBVG sex, of course—but it genuinely is something, and on some level you’ll eternally take her a bit more seriously than other women simply by default.

But anyway as a final point we should probably extend some consideration to the more standard telos of this orifice so as to interrogate whether it holds any semiotic import for the passage’s erotic register. And to that end my impulse is to say it’s all contained by the transgressive element, but if you think about it the digestive system is sort of all about entropy and the decay of nutrition into waste, which suggests when you seed shawty’s intestines you’re in part playing buttplug by blocking the expulsion of waste and also intermingling your own procreative lifeforce with what amounts to pure entropy—sort of mucking about in decay itself; ensconcing oneself in degraded nostalgia devoid of all nutrition or generative potential.

Which makes it altogether spectacular as an oppositional howl for angry young men—
the sort of thing we’re all of us entitled to indulge in at 27, say.

But by the time you’re established in life and into your fourth decade I’d say it’s a bit concerning if you’re still super duper asshole-focused, as that speaks to a certain nostalgic backward-looking immaturity, whereas in midlife the tendency should be more to move away from oppositional behavior and piracy in favor of settled lordship.

For most guys that will tend to involve a heavy shift toward the procreative vaginal register and PBVGs—but there remain lots of fascinating alternatives.

Por ejemplo…

I say facefucking versus blowjobs more broadly for two reasies.

The first is there are quite a few semiotic differences between fellatio and irrumatio that seem to me at least both substantive and worth interrogating—just in a frame that centers the latter on account of it being quite a lot richer symbolically.

The second is I myself have only had a handful of conventional “blowjobs” in my life given that in practice it kind of just always ends up turning into irrumatio for me.

That said it seems instructive at this juncture to take a step back and align on the most universal fundaments of cockeating:

• Obviously the face is far and away the most personal part of the body, being bound inextricably to your identity and “soul,” which means it’s often far harder to frame oral sex as frictionless / depersonalized / transactional compared for instance to PIV sex (which in fairness loads of other people do view as the more significant one given the procreative telos—not sure the actual proportional split breaks down but you’d for sure find plenty of girls in both camps, presumably with the ones saying face is more personal probably being less embodied etc.).

• What do mouths do?

  • Clearly eat—and at this point all men understand that when a maid sucks your cock you can often gleam how babygirl feels about you for realsies then based specifically on how she treats your cum. Eating it, of course, indicates respect or limerence or deep dyadic intimacy; spitting it out suggests indifference or apathy; not even taking it in her mouth means something very close to hate.

  • Also talk—and I’ve actually been harboring a theory for a long while that the more verbal a girl is the more she’ll enjoy giving head—hence why Ashkenazi girls for instance are widely reputed for their beej faculties; the underlying energy likely originates in a broadly similar place. This theory is counter-intuitive at first glance since you’d imagine e.g. the yappy yenta type would be annoyed she can’t nag you while your cock’s down her throat, but in practice the two acts appear to scratch basically the same itch for her.

  • Even bite—indeed, as taught us all a few years ago a dame will often need to carefully maneuver her mouth during fellatio so as to avoid injuring her peenhaver:

    

    …which means to some extent there’s always that shrouded Lorena Bobbitty dickmunch ghost poking around in negative space haunting the both of you and further nesting your matroyshka’d up power exchange.

  • Last and least, breathe—a need that serves as superstructure in fellatio and chief vector for domination amidst irrumatio.

That’s what they have in common—how does facefucking differ?

Well it just feels a lot better than a blowjob for one, which is basically always way too shallow unless you turn it into a facefuck hence that always happening for me. But yeah once you’re in her throat that’s like another pussy that has her personality on top.

You have complete control over her face—perhaps with wrists cuffed behind back or to her ankles or a hot water heater, maybe with a ring gag in mouth so she knows you could just unironically kill her on your dick right now if you wanted, definitely with a hand wrapped around her ponytail; fantastic lever!—altogether transforming the maid’s pretty visage into a splendid little vehicle for your own narcissistic apotheosis and baroque campaign of retribution against symbolic thought itself.

That lever is the key to it all, understand—what lets me properly rape her esophagus without getting bushwacked by the canonical failure modes of soyjobs.

Classic one is girls are always trying to look hot during the blowjob—stop that! It literally isn’t the fucking point at all! Same situation as when they try to make every last nudie pic look like a fucking glamour shot other girls would find hot when I literally just want a bunch of hyper-specific poses that show her soles asshole tits face and I don’t gaf if she’s making a weird tard face and if anything prefer. Speaking of: the blowjob does not get the least bit more enjoyable because you aren’t squinting in a weird way or it was “your angle” or w/e—or if your face is 15% prettier by reddit standards

What I want’s purple, panting, and caked in snot and smeared mascara. .

Anyway I can’t think of any other Blowjob complaints actually.

Semiotically though it’s clearly a verbal dominance thing…
jam my wagstaff up that larynx; clog her little throat good... then talk.

Or rather, monologue.
Mean shit. Actually mean. Clementine will remember that.

Usually this was all a first date. Morticia though—caulked her gullet several times a day at first back when she was staying over each night the weeks her ex had the kids. Single mommy, buried in credit card debt… bit too smiley sometimes when I was trying to feel like I was raping her but that’s just working-class WASP femininity.

Thing about facefucking is it requires zero effort from you and give you that O so easy once you get a bitch you really own you can kind of just it constantly forever and have to force yourself to fuck her other ways or it’s like you eating cookies all the time.

But anyway lots of girls who want you to kill them and shit are more into facefucking than literally anything else since it’s obviously the most death-adjacent and scawy. Then you have some girls who treat it a bit like a pacifier and dissociate but not in a russian prostitute way understand so much as shut my brain off (lots of autistic girls who like sucking cock experience it this way it seems).

Also I don’t care what you faggots say it’s hot as shit when you get her lunch in your pubes—reason being ralping is so semiotially entwined with disgust that conjoining it to the sort of maximalist incarnation of womanly submission and acceptance (when she just keeps goin especially) lands as almost the highest form of trespass—that frothy, bubbling, alchemical valence giving it a sort of “ninth and final hole” feel.

Last but very definitely not least I’ll wrap up this white paper with an investigation of girlypops’ unfathomably splendid Sole Hole.

No doubt the normgroids among you will object to this maneuver, but at this juncture Feet Niggas have penetrated mainstream culture so prolifically that luminaries a la Dave Chappelle casually talk about fucking feet in front of millions of people, and as the perspicacious Theresa Talien (come back gurl…) noted on my pod last December, foot fetish guys outnumber homosexuals something like 5 to 1.

Also the way I see it, you’re the one who’s the weirdo if you DON’T fuck feet.

Or at least appreciate them. Women’s feet are objectively attractive, and if you can’t see that you literally are just unsophisticated and I don’t know what to say to you. Moreover fucking girls’ feet is actually deeply trad if you open a book, having once been easily the safest avenue of sexual congress for dodging new world STDs. It also lets you leverage semiotic arbitrage to get a foot in the door (as it were) with chicks who don’t see it as the least bit sexual at first and so will gladly come up to your apartment “for a foot massage” that you can easily turn into sex since most girlypops react to a dude they like sucking their toes precisely like they would their ear.

Anywho I explained it in my landmark treatise Enjoying Women’s Feet is Eugenic—but to summarize my argument: if a dame autonomously keeps her feet clean, cute, and well-maintained it’s actually a pretty gr8 indication of her femininity more generally since feet are seen as “lowest” body part so if a girl isn’t dating a footman there isn’t much return on keeping them nice besides her own internal desire to feel princessy. Meanwhile cosmetic foot surgery is nowhere near as socially acceptable / accessible as fake tidders / BBLs for instance, which means in turn that genetic foot quality (with high arches being the most crucial factor clearly but long toes and overall slender shape also being salient) is all but impossible for womyn to signal-hack, making foot physiognomy the single most reliable indicator of a woman’s overall genetic health.

So what’s the semiotic content of footfucking more particularly?

Well, one aspect of it’s simply that in interfacing so directly with her normal link to the ground you’re in a real sense taking up the role of ground yourself—something the more submissive species of footfag would no doubt relish as a humiliation thing, but I myself see more as highlighting the recipient’s hard and worldly corporeality whilst framing babygirl as ethereal, fae, and floating—and in some sense not unelectric?

An interesting note pursuant to this—I’ve consistently seen significant dispositional overlap between the sort of lass who takes easily to having her feet eroticized and the sort of girl who’s naturally drawn to e.g. DDLG / sugaring / age gaps and probably also loves staying very skinny and in general just prefers to see herself as vaguely ethereal (often because she’s genuinely quite disembodied thanks to being autistic or Jewish or something). Whereas girls who really love seeing themselves as curvy and maternal and enjoy walking around in nature barefoot whilst feeling connected to mother earth will not infrequently find Feet Niggas kind of wretched, at least at first.

The above conflict is sort of just an inherent aesthetic tension imo—at its core probably a Demeter vs. Aphrodite thing intersecting with all sorts of dichotomies capturing basic tensions in femininity—e.g. are girls more more civilizationally significant as Mother or Muse; ought we to elevate the interests of Andromache or Helen? I suspect semiotically there’s something about liking women’s feet—much like enjoying very skinny women or unusually neurotic chicks, that at a glance reads as wicked or vaguely dehumanizing to Willendorfian Dworkin types (which I ackshually empathize with given I often register precisely the same sort of disgust response when I see bitches wanting to fuck e.g. Pete Davidson).

But anywho circling back to other component of footjob semiotics:

• Soles can connote vulnerability and exposure, lending a power valence to footjobs that doesn’t involve overt sadomasochism and is consequently far less scary to the sort of normie tendersexual chicks eternally terrified of anal / facefucking

• For some women foot fetishism more broadly is culturally coded as submissive, and generally with these gals that will work against you at first but oftentimes it can be jiu-jitsu’d simply by being super aggressive about it—which crucially you have a lot more space to do with her specifically because it codes as submissive. This same dynamic is also a splendid way to get women who eroticize being worshipped or think of themselves as doms to vibe with a more submissive posture… honestly semiotic arbitrage is lowkey a superpower so I get why u fags think I’m Jewish..

• Assuming she’s the one actively moving her feet and ur not just fuckin em (how I usually go about it tbf, esp with inexperienced fillies) a footjob very genuinely does require a fair bit of manual dexterity and muscular endurance from the girl—it’s all about precision and rhythmic consistency over a short range of motion, and in practice overlaps quie precisely with e.g. a ballerina’s ability to stand en pointe, such that when they’re performed actively there’s often something inescapably balletic about the elegance and poise required to execute a winsome footjob.

• Meanwhile lots of girls REALLY enjoy showing off that they’re flexible enough to give a footjob and a blowjob at the same time, and the attendant girlfolding gives bae a chance to perform athletically in a feminine way that demonstrates the extent of your own dominance precisely in proportion to her own success—and in terms of incentive alignments you can’t do much better than that,

• When you finish on shawty’s soles and then instruct her to clean herself off with her tongue it is simultaneously a potent act of dominance and tremendously useful vector for grooming babygirl into autoerotically adopting the passive end of your fetish merely as an extension of her preexisting attraction to you.

Analytic Synthesis

The chief failure mode of America’s libtard therapeutic gaymstrem institutions is semiotic flattening— an insistence that even two phenomenologically polar sex acts, if both “consensual,” are as a consequence equivalent in meaning.

This idea is deeply wretched and retarded—not least of which because “consent” itself is an analytically arbitrary and vacuous concept that doesn’t track meaningfully with anything that actually exists so much as a retroactive state of relational / affective alignment; when you fuck a bih there’s a lot of times the 9/10 rapey guy will land as bodice ripping while the 3/10 feels horrible and rapey.

Yeah sure if a niggo jumps out of the bushes and rips your clam open that’s different but also literally nobody is talking about that because it doesn’t happen. For a hookup grey area the man’s actions are not going to have any predictable impact on whether it feels rapey; simple as. And that means foregrounding “consent” vs “nonconsent” as the only thick ontology of sex is fucking Down Syndrome.

So sorry, shitface—but different sex acts are different.

And once you acknowledge that it likewise becomes fairly obvious that sexuality sorts itself into distinct registers of meaning—each with its own internal logic, its own risk profile, and its own way of binding (or failing to bind) the dyad.

• Vaginal sex can be seen as integrative—it shrinks distance, aligns incentives, and generates continuity—and is also quite difficult to compartmentalize given it diachronically implicates identity, time, and future orientation.

  • Clitoris-directed stimulation can be seen as mostly synchronic integration—obviously it facilitates pair bonding and allows her climax, but ultimately it’s shallow not just semiotically but very anatomically and for sure feels like an ontologically lower-order and lesbian / teenager-coded form of intimacy that isn’t meaningfully engaging with her interior opacity so much as smashing the Make This Cavewoman Easier To Rape button, which is why it fails to induce the same diachronic binding and Freud was right to call juvenile.

  • Vaginal coitus that points toward internal orgasm is diachronic integration—arguably the only real form of sex that isn’t LARPing on some level and is wholly consonant with long term dyadic pair bonding, producing in women a durable sense of erotic and romantic loyalty you don’t get vacuuming her bean that functionally speaking makes her your property and feels Earned because you got there your Big Fat Cock rather than the Cavewoman Button and this btw is why we can steal our kawaii bisexual gfs back from lezbis. 😈😈😈

• Footjobs are expressive—allow for intensity, experimentation, or symbolic play, but are minimally diachronic (hence their utility for avoiding Gonorrhea in the middle ages). They can be highly charged or even deeply intimate in the moment, but remain structurally detachable from long-term narrative; girls can easily later say a footjob didn’t mean anything in a way they couldn’t sex. On the other hand footplay more broadly can thanks to womanly synchronicity be recontextualized easily in a girl’s mind based context between silly / weird / disgusting / hot, which u can lowkey use to trick fillies into sex by offering em a foot massage in the silly register then turning it hot once the bitch is behind closed doors. 🧠🧠🧠🧠

• Then we have anal sex 💩which is fundamentally transgressive—not because it is forbidden or even especially taboo this day and age, but rather because its underlying meaning is clearly derived from boundary-crossing itself. The telos is thus deeply chthonic and oppositional—not oriented toward integration but rather inversion, domination, or the deliberate violation of expected form. Emotionally and relationally it has two uses cases: A) punishing chickie’s pink defenseless butthole with your Big Fat Cock to assert dominance over her and because it will end induce mutual catharsis and end a cyclical hamster wheel fight; B) basically sloshing around in ouroboric ruminative nostalgia, as the way a woman’s anus grips your cock is kind of That-coded for some reason and you’ll call me schizo for that but also: ask yourself why it’s associated with the Greeks.

• Finally we have oral sex (facefucking in this disquisition) which I’d characterize as essentially dialectical given that women often will experience eating cock in a very similar register to how they experience talking—and it also appears to activate a similar slice of the brain more generally because when you simply consider how most high verbal tilt people always love oral sex—with Jews in particular being notorious for adoring it in both directions. There’s absolutely some kind of precognitive routing thing going on there they’ll discover in 50 years and no one will remember I said this but whateves; key thing to internalize here is that when you have two very hyperverbal people e.g. Wally B and his Little Jewess and he’s fucking her throat hard they both will process that exchange as something a lot closer to a conversation than like two Asians would, and will be a means of dyadic bonding that reads as intellectual or artsy or something.

Now, each of these holes has its place, obviously—AROUND MY DICK!

That said, confusing them for one another is asinine. .

Field Notes

• At this point it’s worth noting I think that the transgressive register is particularly misunderstood a lot of times because it is nearly always moralized by outsiders and misinterpreted by insiders. From the outside, it is framed as degradation, pathology, or harm. From the inside, it is often experienced as intensity, catharsis, or clarity.What both sides miss is that transgression functions as a technology of legibility. In a social order that suppresses overt hierarchy and asymmetry, transgressive acts can make power visible, collapse ambiguity, and resolve latent tension. They do this precisely because they step outside the polite fiction of equality. This is why certain dynamics feel, to participants, “cleaner” or more definitive than endless negotiation. Not because they are morally superior, but because they are less ambiguous. But this comes at a cost in that transgressive acts are high-variance. They intensify quickly, destabilize easily, and are difficult to integrate into a broader life narrative. Which is why they are often most attractive to high-openness neurotypes with a high-neuroticism profiles, as well as those seeking intensity over stability.

• If one abstracts away from mechanics, the face—particularly the mouth—introduces a different layer of semiotic density. The face is tied to identity, voice, expression, and social presence. Any interaction that directly engages the face therefore carries a higher degree of personalization. Hence why such dynamics are harder to render either purely transactional or fully anonymous—they often tend to blur the boundary between the erotic and the interpersonal, and therefore produce stronger signals about desire valuation and relational asymmetry. They are less about reproduction and more about who is being centered and how.

• A persistent confusion in both traditional and liberal frameworks is the assumption that non-generative sexual acts are either deviations or purely recreational, when in reality, they serve multiple functions: Observe that they provide redundancy (maintaining intimacy when other forms are unavailable), experimentation (testing boundaries and preferences), signaling (demonstrating willingness, desire, or alignment), as well as differentiation (marking one relationship as distinct from others) Historically, they likely played a role in sustaining pair-bonds across periods where generative sex was constrained and allowing for intimacy that did not immediately risk reproduction. In modern conditions, where reproduction is decoupled from sex, these functions become even more pronounced.

• What gets labeled “fetish” is a lot of times better understood as more of a localized amplification of a broader asymmetry. Take something seemingly peripheral—like attention to 👣FEET👣, for instance or to highly specific features. What is being expressed is not just attraction, but a framing of the other person as elevated, aestheticized, or occupying a different symbolic register. Different women respond differently to this depending on how it aligns with their self-concept—some interpret it as objectification or reduction, while others experience it as elevation or aesthetic focus. In other words the difference is not in the act itself, but rather in the interpretive frame and the broader relational context, and this is why the same behavior can repel one person and intensify attraction in another.

• The point of mapping these registers is to recover teleology—the idea that different forms of behavior have different ends, consequences, and structural roles. Some forms of interaction stabilize, integrate, and bind. Others intensify, differentiate, or destabilize. Problems arise when people pursue one telos while expecting another or fail to recognize what interaction they are actually engaging in

Aftercare

The Libtards tell us:
“All that matters is that it was agreed to!”

The Tradcucks mewl:
“Only one form is legitimate!”

Both neglect that this has never been a monolithic semiotic regime—human sexuality is and always has been a system of symbolically loaded behaviors that structure power, distribute agency, and generate meaning across time. If you flatten that system, you don’t make it safer—just less accountable, more deniable, and harder to understand.

And once people stop understanding what they’re doing, they also lose track of why and before you know begin to systemically misprice fucking everything: risk, attachment, dominance, consequence, and I’m here all week but I imagine you get the drift.

Point is this precisely is the flattening where modern sexual confusion comes from.

1. Masculine honor is primarily a coordination mechanism among self-interested men.

2. Honor exists mostly to prevent competition from growing so boundless and chaotic that it becomes impossible to build, trust, or cooperate past the level of short-term hustle—an especially salient concern within a high-churn, low-trust ecology like the Zoomer Oral Culture, in which unconstrained opportunism is individually tempting but collectively so ruinous that rationally self-interested men who see each other as useful will adopt selective self-constraints tied to toothy enforcement regimes aimed at mitigating defection risk, lessening collaborative friction, and signaling reliability and seriousness to the world.

   

   Subscribe now

3. The audience for male conduct within any honor framework consists specifically and exclusively of other competent men who are either useful or dangerous to you.

4. Honor does not and cannot apply to one’s dealings with women, who are seldom reliable counterparties due to a lack of diachronic agency as well as the salience of precognitive status / threat assessment to female cognition, which ensures that negotiation and compromise are impossible on anything she really cares about and you’ll typically either just conquer her utterly or slam face-first into a brick wall; either way though your ability to hold her to account for perfidy and broken promises comes down entirely to if you can dominate her in any one moment (including if she brings in third parties). More generally than that honor is only diachronically compulsive to women in the context of a pair-bonded romantic dyad that probably involves a child or a familial relation; elsewise synchronicity and precognitive alignment with the most locally salient power center generally wins out.

5. Honor does not and cannot apply to dealings with any institution, whose governance logic will invariably be wholly downstream by womanly epistemics and risk phenomenology which should indicate at a glance that the institution as a whole is architecturally unreliable as a diachronically agentic counterparty—far more so than women, actually, as while individual women can usually be dominated in the moment quite reliably, institutions are constituted specifically to block such maneuvering. That said you for sure can apply an honor framework to individual male actors within any institution so as to exploit some principal-agent dynamic.

6. Honor applies least of all to dealings with cognitively feminine and low status men (and particularly to self-identified incels) as well as men who call themselves sexually submissive, most of whom occupy a less masculine neurotype overall with a less diachronically bounded phenomenology of self and similar to women are prone to shirking accountability while changing with the wind and worshipping the most locally salient power center—though unlike women, low status men do this a lot more consciously and often resort to perfidy or sabotage whenever they grow jealous or resentful of the strong horse to whom they most recently were sycophant. But it’s also important to acknowledge that these men can’t simply be wished away, as even if one drives off every one of his own sycophants some associate in his circle would inevitably make a place for them, and if handled poorly they would surely get routed even faster than otherwise into vectors of sabotage, leakage, moral panic, or institutional capture, which is why it seems the best way to curb their risk profile is a tincture of caution and yellow rocking at arm’s length.

7. A useful heuristic is that women reward outcomes whereas men enforce standards. With women it’s because they precognitively register power itself as morally good (narrating that assessment internally as downstream of some second order red herring thing they backsolved for usually) and during conflicts will either remain neutral in a Scared way or softly triangulate Rashomon-style until someone wins, before pivoting utterly and self-righteously toward power and safety. Then men meanwhile (specifically elite and some midstatus men) are far less moralistic or safetyist and more overtly strategic, assessing situations involving high-stakes competition and conflict not merely qua themselves but in a game theoretic grammar used to collate information on other players to inform future behavior—for instance, by identifying who specifically should be punished and iced out for defection or unreliability, which while permissible under a feminine grammar assuming such tactics secure a local victory only make sense under a masculine grammar provided it can permanently clear the board, because in any multipolar multiple-game scenario that move risks undermining the male honor compact and making collaboration less tenable unless met with decisive reprisal, because when standards disappear outcomes are noisier, and more costly to achieve.

8. So in a sense we might say masculine honor starts as lateral legibility—the ability of peers and rivals to price your behavior into their models accurately under uncertainty. This of course is salient to anyone involved in high stakes conflict given the ever-present possibility of mispricing, which occurs when the framework fails to read who is solid, who is slippery, and who will defect—a failure mode it seems has exploded in import within the Zoomer Oral Culture since the cost of mispricing increases dramatically with reputational volatility of the wider ecology, event-local narrative ambiguity, and incentive asymmetry—hence the ongoing appeal even today of honor frameworks, which reduce such costs by making everyone’s behavior more predictable—though not necessarily by requiring full transparency, as honor does not oblige us to offer full candor in all facets of life. The criterion is to be legible enough that serious men can model you in pertinent domains of mutual interest, competition, or collaboration, which is why a trait like epistemic slipperiness, for instance (think constant repositioning, bad faith use of irony, disingenuous post hoc narrativizing or refusal to own moves), serves to deteriorate trust fast and marks a man as coalitionally low-value..

9. Honor likewise functions as a rank-clarification technology, and one of its primary uses in any multipolar male field is not just identifying who is likely to defect, but also clarifying who can command, who can advise and be trusted with discretion, who can be relied on under pressure, and who is only useful in narrow or local domains. In loose modern culture where signals are noisy and self-presentation increasingly theatrical, an honor framework must not merely divide men between “good” and “bad,” but also stratify them into strategically meaningful functional categories: leaders, peers, clients, mascots, liabilities, saboteurs, and so on. Men who refuse to recognize these distinctions on account of egalitarian sentiment or personal insecurity make themselves expensive to everyone around them.

10. Among the most corrosive male behaviors is cheap defection for female approval—think moral laundering of male experience in female grammar, opportunistic denunciation of other men, signaling distance from men collectively for relational credit, slimy mean girl mockery of one’s friends behind their backs attempting to convey friend-group dominance to a romantic prospect… such tactics rarely prove even individually profitable (and when they do it never amounts to anything but dime store validation), but assessed on a collective level such behavior serves as a blazing red flag that alliance with such a man is operatively untenable given his susceptibility not even to seduction but literal headpats. Abstracting it out a bit we can say the central tenet of male honor might be something like: Do not raise your standing with women by converting male reality into female-approved moral paste.

11. The terrain is more ambiguous on the question of extraction—because note first that some degree of exploitation is inevitable in literally any competitive system and that furthermore there’s plainly no hard ontological line between the two which means it’s entirely arbitrary and so the question isn’t “is it exploitative” so much as “Does it reduce my long-term value to other men?”

12. That one is easier—cataloguing the behaviors that reliably degrade coalition value, obvious candidates include sloppy and compulsive sexual extraction, poor discernment in where one leaves behind unnecessary wreckage, exploiting obvious weakness in ways that signal low restraint and make it impossible for allies to defend you sans blowback, failing to price in tail risk, totally eschewing substance and ideas and anything else that might draw loyalty when you need it so as to optimize instead entirely around spectacle and spin, making enemies with someone you haven’t been able to shut up about for the past year instead of acting just a shade more honorably and staying friends with the one guy who understood those spectacles and spin instead of merely reacting to them as well as only one on this site not really in a position to judge you; really just anything that implies not only a basic inability to collaborate but also to pursue one’s own interests in a manner that isn’t thoroughly disordered or self-sabotaging.

13. More broadly than that, local wins that result ultimately in a global reputational drag are experienced as negative-sum for serious actors and thus highly dishonorable—you can think of this scenario as a reputation market analog to scab discourse.

14. Yet another interesting dynamic pertains to male grievance narratives, which track with phenomena structurally inevitable in modern systems but thanks to various epistemic foreclosure mechanisms are impossible to express cleanly and legibly in mainstream venues without triggering bad faith rerouting. Of course, unprocessed grievance leads to whining, overexplanation, moral exhibitionism, and pathological resentment, all of which greatly lower male standing for very little gain except cheap momentary catharsis, and that’s why high-functioning men generally opt instead to convey their thoughts via compressed narratives, actionable models, aestheticization through humor or eros, or silent adjustment rather than risking public contamination. Whichever is taken, though, it seems reasonable to conclude honor is gained to the extent men’s issues are made legible and lost to whatever extent the speaker and his associates end up losing status due to his grievance expression. Having said that the main takeaway to keep in mind on this point is institutions cannot metabolize male grievance without destabilizing their own logic—the upshot of which is that men now have no choice but to develop entirely parallel grammars of adjudication among themselves.

15. One obvious venue for that is male friendship, which for most men serves as a key site of equilibrium formation and provides not just emotional support but also reality-testing, adversarial calibration, and enforcement of informal standards—note many men rely a great deal on their close friends to call out delusion, name weakness, and mark unacceptable behavior sans flattening them in institutional or feminized language. Lacking the testicular fortitude to push back on friends in this manner would likely read to most men as at a minimum mildly dishonorable and definitely not a promising friend prospect.

16. The failure mode of total defection is it produces a world too expensive to inhabit—one in which trust collapses, coordination fails, women gain indirect control over masculine dynamics, and institutions gradually fill the vacuum by male agency cannibalizing itself. Rational men have no choice but to accept that short-term constraint on self-interest maximizes long-term self-interest. This isn’t at all about morality or virtue or altruistic sentiment and such, but rather the foundational game theoretics of self-interested intersubjective norm coordination.

17. In terms of how this all interfaces with the fairer sex—first I’ll foreground again women do NOT reliably enforce male equilibrium, but it does bear mentioning men who fail to optimally equilibriate at the global level will fixate on event-local optimization and so become disembodied, affectively volatile, overreactive, narratively flimsy, and difficult to trust—all traits both strategically costly and disrespected by men as well as hugely repulsive to women. Meanwhile the well-equilibrated man now being naturally attuned to his surrounding incentive gradients is free to drop most deliberate heuristics formation and cognitive load, becoming less overanalytical, less contingent, and more stable under ambiguity, which obviously means significantly improved outcomes with women.

18. Women reward outcomes, whereas men track process; confusing the two leads most of the time to systematic error. A woman may very well reward confidence, dominance, or narrative control without any particular regard for how precisely those outcomes were produced. Men, by contrast, scale and coordinate only by tracking things like method, consistency, and replicability, and to honor this obliges men to resist updating their internal priors based solely on female reward signals, while maintaining a procedural-mechanistic ontology legible to male peers.

19. Honor does not bind men to women; it governs how men structure their behavior toward women in ways that preserve male equilibrium. Women are not reliable diachronic counterparties like men, and thus cannot be the objects of strict honor enforcement. The mistake of both chivalric codes and modern romantic idealism is to treat women as participants in a shared rule system when in practice their behavior is governed by alignment, safety, and perceived power. The move is not to moralize this, but to treat intersexual conduct as yet another domain governed not by obligation, but constraint calibrated to preserve standing among men.

20. Sexual conquest is not dishonorable, but becoming conquest-optimized at the expense of male legibility is. Men can pursue, seduce, dominate, and toss aside women without violating masculine honor per se; the question is whether a man’s pattern of behavior renders him low-value in male-coalitional terms. Optimizing for throughput—e.g. maximizing bodycount through deception, instability, or compulsive extraction—makes one difficult to model, harder to defend, and all but impossible to ally with; conquest that degrades one’s pricing among men is negative-sum, even if locally successful.

21. The meaningful distinction in this realm is not between “rake” and “gentleman” so much as between controlled and uncontrolled extraction. The former is discretion, narrative containment, and coalition compatibility. Uncontrolled extraction means reputation bleed, unneeded enemies, female spillover, and a signal of low impulse control. Lots of high status men of all backgrounds and temperaments admire and enthusiastically collaborate with the former, but the latter are cheered by bored teenagers and incels while others politely keep their distance.

22. Sexual behavior becomes dishonorable when it creates externalities other men are made to absorb—think entangling oneself with women embedded in one’s social graph without containment, carelessly generating drama that spills into shared networks, escalating conflicts one cannot decisively close, or destabilizing shared environments through careless pursuit. Such behavior registers to other men at a minimum as unserious/incontinent and at worst makes them price in the constant possibility of you making a mess of things in any situation with a woman involved.

23. Affairs themselves are not intrinsically dishonorable, but mismanaged affairs very much are. By itself an affair is simply a high-risk and asymmetric engagement; the dishonor arises when a man fails to control exposure, underprices retaliation risk, implicates allies, or otherwise ends up narratively owned by the woman in some way. An affair that is contained, legible, and strategically bounded may be tolerated; one that spirals into chaos marks the man as unfit for higher-order play.

24. Domestic pair-bonding is a distinct equilibrium requiring a partial reintroduction of diachronic constraint. In a stable dyad—especially with cohabitation, shared assets, or children—women are more reliable counterparties with relatively stable and predictable behavior one can game around thanks to her incentive gradient now aligning broadly toward continuity which means a provisional form of honor now applies—though it’s fragile and emerges from imposed structure instead of sentiment, implying men who don’t matriculate from loose-game conduct to dyadic equilibrium conduct will fail to stabilize or become dominated in their relationship.

25. Fighting over women is virtually inevitable; dishonor consists a lot more specifically in unpriced and uncontained escalation. Any successful male honor framework needs to price that in as basal while expanding upon the operative distinction between gentleman and rake, originating primarily on whether the competition is acknowledged, whether it is properly bounded, and whether it is resolved in a way that preserves the wider equilibrium. Dishonorable conflict would include covert sabotage, friend-group triangulation, female-mediated proxy warfare, and escalation without the capacity to finish, whereas open, decisive, and proportionate conflict is treated by this framework as wholly honorable, being far less destabilizing usually than eternal low-level intrigue.

26. Never outsource male conflict to female adjudication, as women in these situations basically will always triangulate, narrate, and automatically align with perceived winners—and no, that’s not betrayal in any meaningful sense so much as natural consequence of standard precognitive womanly operating logic. That said it is why men can never allow masculine disputes to grow mediated through women, who inevitably will lose control of narrative, introduce distortion, and degrade the male field. All male conflict must ultimately resolve man-to-man or not at all.

27. So virginity is obviously not a moral category with hard metaphysical import, but it also pretty clearly IS an important market signal with asymmetric implications since for girls it’s always signaled low prior entanglement, higher pair-bonding value, and somewhat reduced narrative complexity. It also held a wider civilizational symbolic value encapsulating ideas of female purity and moral innocence which in Christian tradition have usually been tied to Mary and foregrounded as the fundament of womanly virtue itself, and while this script is obviously less salient today many men still do see female purity and innocence as incredibly worth protecting since when they lose faith in girlish goodness they not infrequently lose faith in humanity itself. Moreover a great deal of women especially of a Catholic background continue to emotionally resonate with virginity years later about it as something semiotically thick in an almost mystic or ritualistic sense…meanwhile more ruminative neurotypes of women continue to narratively center the circumstances of their defloration well past the point it actually happens. And so given the civilizational and personal stakes involved it makes sense that if an affectively volatile teenage girl narrates herself at different times as wanting to keep her virginity and wanting to lose it to the worst person imaginable purely as a self harm gesture and also being Scared because she allegedly told him please leave and meanwhile this is a girl who has described you as mentor and protector and you get it; those are clearly extenuating circumstances that bring us squarely into Schmittian territory. Just pure friend-enemy logic, with me or against me.

28. Fact of the matter is certain scenarios in life really are kind of just Like That, such that anyone who fights you on the merits genuinely deserves to be raped to death within your own solipsistic truth universe not unlike how women see everything except contextually bounded to whatever is most inviolable to you e.g. someone trying to fuck your kids or rape your wife. Which clearly you don’t game around that; you End It. That said if she’s not worth going to prison for she likely also isn’t worth the shit that happens when a BPD teenage girl learns you wouldn’t go to prison for her, which was frankly just miscalibration on my part but it’s whatever.

29. Moving on, we observe that exit discipline is an underappreciated facet of honor given that not all games are worth continuing, not all coalitions fully salvageable, not all women can be rescued or contained, and not all institutions can be played forever and indefinitely without structural loss. It is unhelpful to linger past the point of leverage collapse—whether from vanity, limerence, grievance addiction, or fear of loss—and call the resulting degradation fate. There is honor, however, in timely withdrawal: exiting scenes, women, alliances, or institutions once the expected value of continued participation becomes net-negative and before one’s conduct deteriorates under sunk-cost pressure. Men who cannot leave expediently become narratively owned by what they should have priced earlier.

30. Takeaway here is intersexual conduct constraints exist not primarily for fairness or social harmony, but rather stability of the male field. All of the rules above—on conquest, affairs, conflict, and domestic life—exist not to protect women or to enforce morality, but to ensure alliances remain possible and reputational systems legible while preventing competition from collapsing into noise. Ultimately men’s sexual behavior is judged by other men in terms of second-order effects—not how many women he slept with or how morally he behaved but rather the patterns he created and costs he exported or whether his conduct increased or decreased stability. The equilibrated man is one whose conduct with women never forces other men to reprice him downward. He can win or lose, seduce or commit or walk away, and whatever the case he’s legible, bounded, and coalition-compatible

31. Honor attaches not only to conduct but likewise to jurisdiction. A serious man must know where his word binds and authority extends, as well as where he reads more as participant than principal. Thus an immense component of male honor is a keen sense of territorial and relational clarity—know which rooms are yours, which women are substantively under your protection or housed inside your structure and which are performing as such, which male conflicts are yours to intervene in and mediate versus ought to be ignored entirely, and which domains are served optimally by deference versus withdrawal given men who overclaim jurisdiction tend to precipitate resentment and read to others as unstable.

32. This honor compact also in theory regulates debt and patronage among men. Loose modern ecologies encourage the fantasy of total autonomy, but in practice all men rise through webs of favors, introductions, endorsements, protection, cover, and asymmetric investment. Many male breakdowns occur because men want benefits of patronage without the dignity of acknowledging dependency, or the authority of being patrons without the burden of stewardship. A functional honor grammar should price all of these dynamics in explicitly.

33. Apology and repair must be distinguished sharply from self-abasement. Under any genuinely honor-bearing male culture, men must be able to acknowledge error, miscalibration, or cost-imposition without collapsing into feminized confession or public moral theater. The modern alternative is bad in both directions: either men never admit fault and become slippery or intransigent, or they perform contrition in female or institutional grammar and so mark themselves as weak. The appropriate male apology grammar occupies a middle road between these registers deployed in situations where one man may have mispriced, defected, overreached, created externalities, or damaged another man’s position, in which case he corrects directly, and materially if possible, and without self-humiliating embellishment. A man who cannot apologize cleanly is dangerous, but a man who apologizes in a style optimized for pity or innocence is worse.

34. Men should be judged not only by whether they defect, but also what particular kind of equilibrium they induce around themselves. Some men are technically loyal but generate chaos, dependency, or permanent drama. Other men read as severe, opportunistic, or even feared, and yet create environments where incentives are legible and aligned while collaboration remains possible. When assessing a man’s personal honor, then, a crucial and higher order aspect of the equation is often asking whether his allies become clearer, stronger, and more strategically coherent around this man, or rather more confused, performative, and fragmented?

35. Certain modes of male dishonor in late modernity emerge from middle-ranked and aging men refusing to cede lanes, train successors, or distinguish between rivalry and generational transition, as well as younger men adopting a needlessly aggressive and oppositional register with elder peers whose own influence and resources they ambiently resent. In practice however a man in midlife who can’t fathom replacement becomes tyrannical and brittle, whereas a younger man who can’t tolerate dependence becomes rootless and strategically thin. Thus a crucial aspect of male honor is self-awareness of rank and cohort position as well as a clear understanding of one’s relationship with other ranks and cohorts.

36. Honor survives not just through sanctions but often also aesthetic coding—namely, the ability of a male culture to make certain forms of conduct register broadly as embarrassing, low, unserious, shrill, overexposed, or spiritually cheap. In any community or scene where moralism plays no part of the operative cosmology, style can do a lot of the work that priesthoods and legal codes once carried out—ridicule, froideur, compression, selective praise, calibrated inclusion, and even reputational tone all become part of the enforcement regime, as while a man can get away with many things materially, if he becomes aesthetically unviable among the right set of peers he has already lost more than he realizes.

37. Male honor frameworks, at their most fundamental level, are ultimately in place to preserve optionality at scale. The reason we implement the constraints detailed above—constraints on defection, extraction, grievance, conflict, and intersexual conduct—is that men who destroy local equilibria in pursuit of short-term gain also destroy their own ability to participate in larger, more valuable games, as the man who cannot be trusted, priced, or modeled gets locked by default into smaller and more volatile arenas. Thus honor has precisely nothing to do with being “good,” but about preserving access to higher-order strategic environments over time.

38. The basic irreducible unit of honor is less the individuated act than pattern, as single actions tend usually to be ambiguous, mispriced, or context-dependent. Thus what men actually track—and what functionally determines standing—is pattern coherence across time: how a man behaves under pressure, under loss, under temptation and humiliation and victory and ambiguity. Honor cannot be gamed transactionally—just emerges (or collapses) through repeated interaction where a man’s pattern stabilizes into something legible or fragments into noise.

39. A man’s standing is revealed when incentives invert. Everyone seems “honorable” when behaving well is cheap, but the real signal emerges when lying is easier, defecting would be profitable, abandoning allies would be safe, or narrating opportunistically would improve local outcomes. Honor frameworks, meanwhile track the consistency of constraint precisely when the gradient pulls the other way—note men tend to update their priors most strongly in these moments, as they reveal what a man actually optimizes for—and if there’s any silver lining a man can always luxuriate in amidst even his darkest of days it’s that he’ll never need to speculate again as to the loyalty of his peer group on account of that patient chungus Nixonlist collecting fleas on his desktop that will always be a hell of a lot more predictive in ways I care about at least than any autistic behavioral model.

40. Honor sets the ceiling on how much trust can exist in a system. In any male field, the level of trust, cooperation, and strategic ambition possible is directly limited by how aggressively honor norms are enforced. Where honor is weak, interactions collapse into low-trust and short-horizon exchanges; where it is strong, men begin to engage in longer, riskier, and far more complex modes of coordination. Thus honor is not just about individual standing, but about the total capacity of a male network to act in unison and coordinate its will.

41. Intersexual conduct is where men most often destroy their equilibrium. Despite all the above, the majority of male collapses still originate in interactions with women—not because women “cause” dishonor, but because it’s where incentive gradients are most asymmetric, feedback is most distorted, and men are far and away most likely to willfully abandon constraints. The function of the intersexual theses is not to moralize male behavior with women, but prevent men from destabilizing themselves and their alliances in the highest-variance domain they operate in.

42. A man who cannot absorb asymmetry without psychic distortion cannot remain in equilibrium. Modern sexual and social dynamics are structurally asymmetric. Men who require fairness, clarity, or symmetrical accountability to remain stable will either become resentful, become manipulative, or collapse into overanalysis. The equilibrated man is not the one who eliminates asymmetry; he is the one who can operate within it without becoming narratively or behaviorally unstable.

43. Perhaps the most important function of male honor frameworks in the context of our present situation is its potential to make men governable without institutions—an increasingly urgent priority as whenever institutional legitimacy erodes and formal enforcement becomes either feminized or adversarial, the burden of maintaining order traditionally shifts back onto informal male systems, with honor being the typical mechanism by which men regulate one another’s behavior without requiring constant external arbitration or performative altruism. Where it fails, institutions expand; where it holds, men retain autonomy.

44. The endpoint of dishonor is isolation; the endpoint of honor is inclusion in higher games. Men who violate equilibrium constraints may still achieve local success, but they are gradually excluded from serious alliances, high-trust networks, long-horizon ventures, and stable social environments. Conversely, men who maintain legibility and constraint discipline gain access to increasingly valuable circles of coordination; ultimately honor functions as a sorting mechanism between men who can only play small games and those who can participate in larger ones.

45. To compress all of the above into a single actionable heuristic—do not become expensive to other men. Behave in ways that do not force other competent men to continually reprice, hedge against, or compensate for you. Men who follow this constraint remain legible, usable, and coalition-compatible. Men who violate it, regardless of talent or success, are over the long term inevitably priced out.

In recent decades our lived-in social reality has been subjected to such relentless technological destabilization as to make it functionally impossible for new roles, scripts, and expectations to sediment in popular culture long enough to register as trustworthy, unambiguous, and intelligible between generations.

Men and women are trying to form selves, dyads, and families inside an information regime that mutates faster than custom can metabolize. Every few years introduces yet another canonical comms platform just a bit more dopaminergic than the last, one more baroquely humiliating reputation management vector, an even tighter algorithm to stratify an ever-more consolidated global status economy, a fresh incentive gradient to scramble extant courtship norms until misaligned or incoherent, and new modes of self-display that render the last set embarrassing and retrograde in a matter of days.

The result has not been liberation, but a state of normative liquidity and social anomie that’s proven deeply incompatible with a durable erotic order; a society can’t sustain healthy sex roles, family formation, social trust, or even basic epistemic hygiene when the medium of interaction itself remains in a state of perpetual revolution.

That’s why I’m proposing an immediate and obligate freeze to the information environment.

Not forever. But long enough at least for men and women to equilibriate toward more stable and robust sex roles, dignity expectations, and reputation logic.

Interested how we got here? Consult my genealogy of the Zoomer Oral Culture:

Basic Diagnostics

Among the direst failure modes of Anglo-American liberal democracy is its insistence on treating essentially all technological development as inevitable progress on some whiggish linear trajectory—an attitude that perhaps makes some sense in the realms of transit and energy, but when applied to communications is a severe category error.

Communications technologies are not mere conduits for social life—they actively shape the basic texture of social cognition, nature of status competition, public epistemics, and degree to which men and women can safely trust one another’s self-presentation.

The problem, then, is not primarily that porn is degrading to women and sexually enervating to men, or that swipe apps are poisonous to individuated dyadic bonding, and short form video content fatal to executive functioning. All of those things are true, but tackling any one of them at the object level neglects that the real issue is deeper and more architectural, obliging us to contend with axiomatic ideals of the established liberal order by acknowledging that we’ve allowed an ecology to emerge in which feedback loops are much too fast, incentives too visible, and status too globally legible.

That produces several pathologies at once.

First, men lose the ability to operate from custom. In a stable society men internalize ambiently as boys a durable set of shared expectations about how to present oneself in accordance with a common notion of masculine dignity. By watching elder peers they learn how to pursue women in an organic and embodied way, acquiring along the way an experiential knowledge of womanly behavior through which to navigate feminine ambiguity and affective volatility by way of precognitive intuition and felt masculine presence rather than firm heuristics derived in a propositional and conscious analytic register women tend to experience as dehumanizing. They note how much boldness is rewarded and what forms are punished and what stories actually stick through time. They learn how to distinguish real disengagement from an invitation to chase and conquer, and which forms of restraint are honorable instead of pathetic

Within a rapidly mutating communications ecology—particularly a mature digital one whose plummeting fertility increasingly deprives men of elder brothers and near-peer uncles—essentially none of these modes of acculturation can remain intact or stable for long, and so the modern male when confronted with womanly ambiguity, opacity, and relational cognition (especially on architecturally hyper-synchronic platforms a la Snapchat and TikTok) tends to find himself pushed by necessity toward hyper-analysis.

He becomes not a man of form, but a neurotic and ruminative pattern-recognizer trying to reverse-engineer female desire and threat assessment and reputation risk across an infinitely complex array of incentive gradients from a perpetually shifting stream of contradictory signals. He becomes, in plain language, a sperg.

This is not because he is innately any different from prior men, but because a man who isn’t naturally acculturated during boyhood to handling feminine mystique with embodied presence cannot safely navigate the modern digital comms ecology without a working knowledge of its unspoken grammar, which in a state of perpetual flux becomes all but impossible for systematizing neurotypes especially to intuit entirely precognitively without elaborate metacognitive theoretics. And so deprived of stable scripts the modern male is forced to game out everything in real time, which induces cognitive load and often makes him awkward, self-conscious, and affectively brittle. He can no longer simply carry a role—the task becomes to perpetually model it.

Women then experience exactly what men have become under these conditions: overanalytical, disembodied, frame-uncertain poltergeists who increasingly lack the ability to make them feel safe, carried, or comfortably desired in the moment, which in turn lowers baseline female trust in male honor, steadiness, and dignity.

And when women cease to trust male honor, they begin to rely far more heavily on ambient suspicion, friend-group adjudication, reputational triangulation, institutional mediation, shame-enforced categorical epistemic foreclosure of literally all men’s issues, and deniable cruelty toward undesirable men as a Girardian scapegoat.

This engenders significant ressentiment in men, a great number of whom view such modes of power as unreasonable and dishonorable—though in practice it’s only the least attractive and lowest-status men who will voice their grievance very actively, as midstatus men benefit more from punching down in solidarity with women and elite men while downplaying their own alignment with men’s issues to themselves seem higher status, with only highly disagreeable pattern-matching neurotypes opting not to defect on principle. This collective action problem fireblocks grievance aggregation and thus insulates women and high status men from the real extent of midstatus male grievance, preventing policymakers and markets from calibrating appropriately which over the long term causes midstatus men to equilibriate towards Hirschman Exit—think disengagement, irony, quiet quitting, and sexual rakishness—as costs are externalized onto low status men, who start to become less “people one might someday know” and more like stray particles in an enormous civilizational risk-management system.

Low status men, obviously having fewer resources and less in the way of self-soothing techniques or executive functioning than midstatus men, most of the time aren’t able to advocate for themselves especially well, and so tend to make the problem worse for themselves by alienating midstatus men. This keeps the equilibrium stable so long as women and high status men refrain from overreaching, but that outcome is unstable given the extent of private midstatus male grievance is by necessity obscured, diffuse, and deniable. The most likely outcome is continued equilibriation toward exit tactics alongside midstatus male drift into low status as well as a broader societal cascade towards quiet institutional rot, soft corruption, and civic withdrawal.

So the cycle here essentially is technological churn → male overanalysis → female distrust → dehumanization / scapegoating → low status pathology and structurally obfuscated midstatus exit → civic disengagement and social decay

And that above all is the real affective engine of the contemporary gender war.

Subscribe now

The Fall of Eden

A functioning society does not need perfect ideas—just sufficiently stable ecologies for rationally self-interested actors to organically develop usable habits and heuristics.

We’ll likewise never achieve a civilizationally viable gender order through endless public discourse about the proper modes of “masculinity” and “femininity,” which obviously are not monotonic and emerge from technology, climate, genetics, resource availability, and so on. Modern society though has not experienced any one regime of communications technology long enough to equilibriate towards anything stable—the only means by which a novel gender order could get locked in durably assuming no cataclysmic material collapse or authoritarian putsch—and so it doesn’t make a great deal of sense to approach the synthesis of new gender roles with ideological prejudice when there’s quite a lot less friction in precipitating equilibriation in a safe ecology.

That means creating a communications technology regime that allows gender roles to become legible, expectations to congeal, sanctions to become predictable, honor to regain meaning, status markets to recalibrate to human scale, and ambiguity to again become something one feels in his marrow instead of in his brain—none of which are presently possible in the extant communications environment on account of nearly every layer of social life now being overconnected and overexposed.

Desire is overexposed. Status is overexposed. Female optionality is overexposed. Male replaceability is overexposed. Everybody’s worst comparison set is overexposed

And what has this achieved, exactly? Truth?

Does Truth have to mean knowing the entire planet’s dirty laundry?

The failure modes of that domain are at the heart of western myth—Pandora’s Box, the tree of knowledge; is it not instructive that Truth is what brought down Eden?

It’s the original sin—poking too far into the other’s worst nature until you fall into the void and can’t ever quite manage to escape. There’s something primordially wretched about that. Explains why the incels get the hate they do, and Dworkin back in the day.

The mystery is and always has been the point.

We eradicated that mystery, and again: for what? Not even some heroic Promethean ubermensch ideal so much as a perpetual Skinner Box where teenagers are callously instrumentalized like lab rats for algorithmic variable-ratio reinforcement.

A girl no longer compares the men in her town, school, church, or social scene to one another; she compares them to a rolling feed of global male images, prestige signals, and stylized fantasies. A boy no longer learns seduction by inhabiting a local ecology with older peers and bounded risks; he learns it staring into a vast digital egregore of anger, humiliation, and abstracted optimization advice made first to open his wallet.

Who among us could emerge from an ecology like that with any real discernment?

Root And Stem

The error of piecemeal regulation is thinking one can ban a single bad thing—porn, or TikTok, or dating apps—and solve the crisis. Again, the problem we face is not tied to any one platform but the cumulative acceleration of communicative novelty.

For this reason, the proposal has to be ecological, and not ideological or moralistic.

Note the goal is not to create some purified Christian internet, nor to paternalistically force the world back to 1957. The goal is to reduce the rate of change and enforce a hard intractable ceiling on the scale and complexity of the reputational environment so as to create a safe environment for healthy gender norms to congeal.

That means banning online pornography at industrial scale, as well as swipe-based dating apps. It means banning algorithmically compulsive short-form platforms built around constant feed refresh. It means freezing development of new mass social applications for a generational interval at a minimum. It means capping platform affordances so communication can occur more locally at human scale without every interaction becoming part of one consolidated planetary status market.

Make no mistake, the ideal here is NOT to abolish the internet. It’s to roll the clock back to a mid-complexity internet of the late aughts and early 2010s—a world of Facebook pokes, YouTube roasts, Reddit disquisitions, old-school forums and blogs, and longform-profile dating sites in the vein of OkCupid. This gives people access to large-scale connection while preserving enough friction, enough textualism, enough diachronicity, enough locality of subculture, and enough delay for real selves to form.

The world we Millennials came up in very definitely had its flaws, but compared to what Gen Z inherited it was astonishingly humane. It allowed niche communities without total reputational merger, mixed-sex subcultures not instantly subordinated to beauty-market brutalism wherein weird men could demonstrate competence, some space for women to become individuated beings with their own opinions instead of avatars of feed-legible desirability thoroughly commodified years before menarche. It allowed some basic continuity between self-presentation and actual social life

We destroyed that world, lazily and uncritically, in service to frictionless optimization, and the bill has finally arrived in the form of mass youth psychosexual derangement.

The Proposal

First Congress should establish a National Communications Stability Act, imposing a 25-year moratorium on the public release of new mass-consumer social platforms above a certain scale threshold. This would not ban all software development—only new public-facing social media platforms, feed-based algorithmic consumer social products, large-scale dating apps, and immersive social-reputation systems. Overall the standard should be simple: if a product restructures courtship, self-presentation, or social comparison, it must be presumed socially hazardous unless proven otherwise.

Next is the American Vitality Act, which should prohibit all commercial tube porn, AI-generated porn, deepfake sexual content, app-store distribution of porn, and all advertising or recommendation systems for pornographic material. The language and framing of the act will not be feminist but overtly right-vitalist, foregrounding the enervating effect porn has on society as a male attentional sink that dysgenically reroutes libido from more Apollonian modes of eros. More importantly, increasingly realistic (and anti-realistic) AI porn threatens to permanently uncouple male erotic formation from embodied social reality and competence; a society that cannot force its men back into embodied difficulty will not produce engineers, fathers, or citizens.

Next is the National Courtship Hygiene Act, designed to eradicate permanently all frictionless swipe mechanics in dating apps, requiring all digital dating platforms to include longform profiles, delayed messaging, no infinite-stack design, no algorithmic desirability ranking, no frictionless rejection loops, and mandatory locality weighting. Language will be oriented towards increasing female buy-in and highlighting that this is neither prudery nor an attack on womanly optionality but rather an intervention to restrain sexual commodification and correct market failures that produce suboptimal outcomes for men and women both thanks to the greed and cynicism of Match Group.

Next is the Executive Function Restoration Act, which obligates existing platforms to roll back the feed into a far lower-intensity mode with no infinite scroll, no opaque recommender systems, no engagement-maximizing short-video loops, limited daily exposure caps for minors, chronological feed defaults, strong friction for repost virality, and obligate platform transparency around ranking criteria—the basic idea here being to starve Gen Z brains of perpetual dopaminergic throughput and restore a more diachronic and text-based culture where truth actually matters by forcing all online communication to be slower, thicker, and in general just less of a casino..

Next is the Protect Our Youth Act, which bans unrestricted access to social platforms until the age of 18. Minors should also have heavily restricted digital environments with no public metrics, no algorithmic recommendation, no anonymous mass exposure, and no parasocial influencer immersion. Children should not enter a planetary beauty-and-status market before they can drive.

Finally we have the Industrial Recalibration Act, in which state and industrial policy should aggressively subsidize and prestige-load industries that will reroute nerds from software development and the abstracted knowledge economy more generally into long-neglected industries rooted in embodied reality like energy, transit, rocketry, manufacturing, materials science, robotics, and civil engineering. Meanwhile use the IRS to severely curb the endless capture of high-IQ male talent by adtech, social app optimization, porn tech, engagement analytics, and AI companionship and erotica, because any civilization that routes its smartest boys into building better dopamine traps for lonely people deserves collapse.

Why Freeze, And Not Reform?

The reason to impose a comms tech freeze instead of attempting continuous reform is simple—reform presumes that society can adapt in real time, which it obviously can’t. Toothy norms require repetition, testing the limits, and public examples.

Trust is not willed into existence but emerges organically from observed continuity.

Roles that feel aligned and non-performative means lived-in heterogeneity and exception case logic that bakes into the sediment.

And if honor is to mean anything men need secure and stable stakes that create a real manly dignity genuinely worth killing and dying for instead of forever inhabiting a register of disaffected irony.

But if the medium keeps changing, custom never becomes thick enough to matter.

That’s why every discourse around masculinity now sounds so pathetic—men are asked by liberal modernity to “reimagine” themselves every few years under a new technological regime, which by definition won’t ever produce anything even in the neighborhood of firm and ontologically phallic masculinity—just vapid compliance theater and self-help neurosis, with the alternatives from the Right being functionally matriarchal Trad masculinity (which gives men precisely no new power while creating a grammar in which he can be blamed for anything) and a tired Peter Panism from the Manosphere that at this point seems to have given up on the Apollonian wholesale, being far and away too status-conscious and captive to the sensibilities of nihilistic Last Men at this point to ever hope for something beautiful and dyadic again.

As for women, they’ve been asked metabolize unprecedented quantities of unfiltered low-quality sexual attention alongside basically limitless optionality via swipe apps, so naturally they’re going to become more suspicious, more selective, far more socially armored, and more dependent on ambient female consensus. It’s not reasonable at the end of the day to expect adolescent girls thrown in that environment to have any idea what to do with concentrated expressions of male vulnerability and status anxiety.

Nor is it reasonable to expect their male peers to silently suffer through epistemic foreclosure, scapegoating, and a regime of constant quiet and diffuse dehumanization.

Neither side is crazy. The ecology is crazy—catastrophically so.

So. yes: freeze it.

Give people a chance to breathe in one world long enough for norms to become habits and habits to become expectations.

An Orange Dawn

If successful, this proposal would over time produce:

Stable Mate Choice Scripts- Men would no longer need to reverse-engineer desire from endlessly mutating digital cues. Women would no longer face such extreme, globalized optionality and exposure.

Less Male Overanalysis- With reduced churn men would have some breathing room to actually learn to inhabit roles rather than compulsively model them.

Less Female Anxiety- As men become less spergy and more stable, women can relax their ambient distrust and reduce dependence on adversarial soft-power adjudication.

Thicker Subcultures- Not every niche would be instantly swallowed by platform logic or converted into universal status spectacle, and Gen Z could enjoy the same sort of parallel status hierarchies Millennials did in the early 2010s.

Less Algorithmic Hypergamy- Women would still choose upward, obviously, but choices would again be filtered through actual scenes, embodied familiarity, and mixed forms of male value in local mate markets more aligned with physical community.

Improved Family Formation- Lower volatility and slower courtship mediated through obligate individuation intake vectors plus thicker pair-bond scripts would improve marriageability more than any tax credit or slogan campaign.

More Technical Seriousness- If high-IQ men cannot all defect into porn, AI girlfriends, adtech, and consumer status engineering, more of them will return to the difficult prestige of building actual civilization and organically start to act like men again.

Likely Objections

“This is authoritarian.”

Yes. So are all serious attempts to shape a civilization. The real question is not whether power will be used, but whether it will be used in the service of a more habitable ecology or merely to preserve current corporate-therapeutic chaos.

“People will route around the bans.”

Some will. That is not an argument against setting norms at the level of law and infrastructure—literally every society accepts and prices in partial noncompliance in exchange for broad directional improvement. Impose enough friction and the results especially among the least agentic sorts of people least likely to learn how to use a VPN etc. will be immediately legible and precipitate voluntary buy-in.

“You can’t just roll back technology!”

You can absolutely prohibit, license, throttle, or structurally deform technologies, and states do this sort of thing constantly. The myth that communication tech specifically is untouchable is one of the regime’s most flattering lies to itself.

“This is nostalgia.”

It is futurism—a path to Mars that doesn’t get derailed by AI porn pods. Moreover the claim is not that 2009 was morally perfect; just that a lower-intensity, mid-complexity communications environment was socially superior to the aggressively financialized panopticon of algorithmically optimized skinner boxes that followed.

“This won’t fix male/female conflict.”

Clearly not—thank God! The sexes are not meant to exist in perfect harmony and never will. This isn’t about rebuilding Eden through aligned incentives—merely restoring enough baseline stability to shared existence that conflict becomes erotic and civilizationally productive again rather than psychotic and systemically corrosive.

Conclusion

Nothing else matters anymore.

At the end of the day all other politics are downstream of whether society can still reliably produce trustworthy men and women with real discernment; whether it can germinate individuated, non-fungible, and stable pair bonds; whether children can still be socialized outside a demonic global Skinner Box; and whether we’ll retain enough technical seriousness as a society to avoid handing the future to pornography, simulation, and managed decline.

We already know the end state of crowning desire as society’s only real sovereign value, and that’s the withering away of desire; it’s death on the vine. It’s Uber Eats and bed rot and rape vans and a hot chunk of lead in the neck and Talmudic debates with my calculator and a stinky rationalist hooker gooning to AI-generated child porn.

That world is not about liberty or truth or any of that bunk—and it sure as shit isn’t about desire. It’s about laziness and ugliness and deterioration not even back into animality but down and onward into something really ghoulish and wretched with a mouth that’s forgotten how to close and belly that only feels full filled with hunger.

If communication remains eternally revolutionary then society remains permanently adolescent. And a civilization cannot survive on perpetual beta; at some point it needs to grow the fuck up and decide to optimize around something other than an orgasm.

Not by turning away from desire, but by having the foresight and the moral courage to actually fucking govern so posterity can inherit a world where desire is livable again.

Naturally this realization was in no way germinated by oldpeepo themselves, whose comments to this effect will forever evoke in my noggin lamentations from last decade about our murder most foul of fabric softener and engagement rings.

Instead my epiphany came from precisely the other direction—namely two podcast convos I recorded first with longtime superfan / racist wunderkind and then with my new fren , who seems to be the only dude on Substack even more autistically fixated on generationological mythopoetics than Uncle Walt.

In talking to these lads and reconsidering at length my own formative years with the cold clarity of time and more of an anthropological-historical bird’s eye, it’s gradually started to dawn on me that I and other Millennial guys—particularly those of a spergy or nerdy bent—have a particular way of narrating our upbringing and the cultural ecology of those years that’s every bit as cringe / narcissistic as any other cohort’s, and when assessed objectively is ackshully among the least consonant with Facts and Logic—which as the only ones left in society who actually care about that is a real problem.

Now, the steelman of this narrative is we were lied to about women and hypergamy by the utopian and consequence-indifferent educational / media regime of the nineties and early aughts, which socialized us into acting super duper gay and overly limerent around girls and more generally assuming that they process the world identically to ourselves, both of which tendencies became sticky and habitual on a precognitive level and so required aggressive and coarse grain Red Pill heuristics to break.

Obviously all of that is just trivially true.

But to marinate in such an account as indulgently as some of us continue to do even now after all these years—with Wally B himself having been among the very worst offenders of that—is to overlook the wider cultural context of our socialization as well as the experiences / common narratives of men both younger and older than ourselves, who particularly if autistic and weird by disposition quite plainly had it worse overall.

Subscribe now

Looking at Gen X guys, for instance, they grew up in the last days of a monoculture where being a nerd was kind of just objectively shitty and low status and the world didn’t offer you much in the way of parallel status hierarchies that mainstream society saw as dignified, plus there were vanishingly few desirable women in sperg-coded spaces which meant that even if you were a weirdo by nature you kind of just had to file off any faggoty rough edges and kill your soft parts to become legible as masculine in a conventional and normie way, which is how you get people like Ron DeSantis.

This was probably good for society overall, and obviously a lot of Gen X nerdy guys did quite well for themselves under this regime. But society also started becoming really gay all of a sudden pretty much exactly around the time they as a cohort would have started coming into their masculinity, which meant they neither got to cash out on toothy patriarchy like Boomers or explore their softer sides without automatically reading to women as gross disgusting faggots like Millennials, which honestly must have really sucked ass, and it genuinely does speak to their manly stoicism that they don’t complain about this more.

It’s also worth mentioning that tons of these guys ended up divorce-raped by a cohort of cynical calculating diet pepsi shrews high on Carrie Bradshaw hypocrisy and every bit as contemptuous of male weakness as their Zoomette daughters are today with none of the molested and xanaxy softness or middle school executive functioning Zoomer boys rely on to not get eviscerated, and if they wanted to play the arbitrage game and luxuriate in soft fuck-me-daddy femininity they only would have gotten it from Millennial Maids behind a sterile pretense of age is just a number symmetry.

Honestly in the past I’ve complained that Xers got to fuck our women frictionlessly and without stigma, but the ackshully hot take here is that the entire appeal of fucking Zoomettes these days is that it makes u feel like a cool transgressive pedophile which tbh Millennial chicks are lowkey coming around to now as middle aged women, but as fillies definitely wouldn’t have been eager to inhabit that register with our poor embattled latchkey uncs as that vibe isn’t especially Hermionelike.

Let’s compare this to the Millennial Man experience.

Yeah we were lied to about hypergamy and such—but also women are ontologically porous and so very genuinely do internalize the scripts society gives them around courtship and mate choice and reputation management in a way that at a minimum impacts how they narrate mate choice and almost certainly also shapes precognitively which specific traits in men code to them as high status and smexy. And that clearly has its limits as traits like height and popularity and money and facial symmetry will never NOT be salient to girl mate logic, but Red Pillers are likewise deeply retarded to treat hypergamy as a monotonic tendency because the aforementioned scripts clearly do impact both A) the extent to which ultralegible and fungible status markers like height and money and muscles precognitively mog more individuated higher order ones and make “discernment” as such practically impossible; as well as B) the extent to which women are obliged to at least pretend higher order traits win out so as to not be seen as a trashy hoe, which under female cognition creates a feedback loop that really does make it true—at least on the margins, and more than it would be otherwise.

The upshot is that if we’re entirely fair about it the Eisner-era socialization regime likely DID make Millennial girls the single least hypergamous cohort of women in history by a pretty dece margin. And yeah a lot of that is performative and gay virtue signaling borne of them being also the first generation to not need men in large number which created a need to compete in more abstract / photonegative moralfaggotry-prone status markets, but that’s also a very autistic manway of looking at the situation because with women it usually does kind of all feel real to them in their heads as they’re basically all kawaii conquered cavewomen deep down.

Now a lot of them were bratty and cunty in their 20s due to a mix of tarded Butlerslop social constructivism and the fact that in a post sexual revolution world women in their twenties will never NOT be bratty and cunty because that’s kind of just what that level of optionality does to you. But objectively they were both A) a lot less cunty to us than Zoomettes are to Zoomer boys today by a huge margin; and B) unlike both Bradshawmaxxed Gen X women and Snapchat-brained Zoomettes it actually was quite important to Millennial Maids that we see them as principled in their feminism and basically ethical on some level. And yeah that kind of just made it hurt all the more whenever we found ourselves in a shitty gaslighty Viktor Krum situation, but it literally did just give them much harder limits and they did take their feminine power seriously as something to deploy judiciously having been the first cohort of women to achieve parity with men, because on some level they knew throwing pixie dust around willy-nilly and pulling Laylashit would completely eviscerate the ambient male buy-in womanly autonomy quite clearly depends on. And like for instance I can remember that in the 2010s lots of Gen X guys in the Manosphere kind of seemed like bitter incels to me because I could never imagine a Millennial girl divorce raping anyone.

Yeah there was the false rape accusation thing they were worse about than Xer broads but let’s remember that was judicable and transparent and quite frankly a lot better than the Zoomette tendency to shred guys diffusely and deniably with zero evidence or adjudication mechanism in whisper campaigns. Also let’s cut them a bit of slack on this because way more of them than will ever be discussed publicly ackshully did e.g. end up blackmailed by internet pedophiles into fucking their asshole with a hairbrush on camera at some point and even more got groomed in quieter softer ways as supple bodyglitter teenies into being kinky fuckbunnies during the internet’s wild west era while virtually all of them had to deal with the first cohort of men who’d basically all want their fetishes indulged on demand now and had to carry all that without any of the easy Zoomette scripts for inhabiting hard asymmetry and post-pornbrained dyad formation easily and organically as they were still invested in men taking them cereal which meant they had to compartmentalize hard as shit figuring out ways to both be a Good Feminist and get shredded in Little Space or whatever, and given that reality it’s frankly remarkable there weren’t a hell of a lot MORE false accusations.

They also have higher sex drives than Zoomettes and are overall less neurotic around men once they get past their internal HR Lady feelings of shame over asymmetry, and meanwhile even if they still insist on the aspartame NPR veneer they’re still quite a lot softer and more feminine than Gen X women overall and under the right conditions can honestly be a lot more sweet / princessy than Zoomettes since even when they’re unreliable and retarded whores at least Millennial women feel bad about it. Moreover when they do choose to lean hard into femininity it tends to feel a lot more deliberate and chosen and substantive rather than something at worst pornographic and at best primarily aesthetic and very likely at least in part a way to have daddy do her FAFSA.

I also think there might be a selection effect thing I’ve overlooked in the past where the sort of Millennial chicks still on the market circa 2020 when I at last had decent Hinge matches were likely far less housewife-y by disposition than Millennial women overall, the two genres at the time being Pussyhat Girlboss and Mad At Ex-Fiancé. Missing from my domain were e.g. the epic win normie meme women who never stopped being Overly Attached Girlfriend to the Nerd Chad golden retriever college boyfriend she married shortly after graduating who still has the affect of 2011 reddit having been fossilized in amber by an edenic and durably limerent dyad instead of slowly becoming the sort of ruminative White Monster Unc who writes essays on the internet about girls his own age not being feminine.

Meanwhile when I talk to fellers like and (technically a High Zoomer but their differences with Late Millennials are trivial) and consider how my own life might have proceeded differently at various junctures it also seems to me we as a cohort actually enjoyed a pretty decent tailwind all considered given SJW shit didn’t get bad until 2014 whereas even after that until Trump tied up the GOP primary loads of Millennial women were kind of just normie libtard Pumpkin Spice Princesses watching Big Bang Theory and only just now getting really online for the first time—more baby-CHH types than Jill Filipovic types, even if my neckbeard teenage self may have flattened the distinction same way my Nazi self later clocked Yglesias and Klein as Buzzfeed Bergs. Sadly none of them had been all that accessible to me given I was only fourteen when I started college and so by the time I graduated in 2013 had almost no significant life experiences in common with the incoming freshman girls my age, but looking back on it I recall now that when I did my actuarial degree a year later I did have this chick I was sort of grooming via my tutoring job at the writing center I probs could have hooked up with had I not instead gotten internet racist famous and immediately leveraged that to secure romantic initiation via my own hyper-limerent dyad with one of those girls who’d once been blackmailed by internet pedophiles but

Point is if you were sexually viable at all in college as a Millennial dude you were in a better position than basically any cohort of men in history because Millennial girls are for sure the least hypergamous and arguably least shallow generation of dames to ever exist—and very definitely the least tediously normie / foidbrained.

Reason being our youth information ecology was goldilocks for the development of vibrant mixed-sex subcultures in which A) girls enjoyed a moralistic / aesthetic cover for the sort of creative status arbitrage women usually look down upon and tends to get Zoomettes branded pick-me, which meant a 7/10 could easily become a domain-local Nerd Stacy without ever competing socially with Stacy-tier women if she simply e.g. learned how to play Hearthstone or something; and B) the operative status currency at the highest echelons competing for Nerd Chads (or Goth Chads, Alt Chads etc.) was male-adjudicated fluency in the subculture and its values, tastes, history, memes, etc.

The worst thing a Millennial girl could be in any of these subcultures was a “poseur,” hence that being the bullying vector de jour among less normie genres of Millennial chick back in the day. This was lovely for men, as it incentivized temperamentally unusual girls in their early twenties to develop something approximating sentience and a distinct personality in terms legible to men—far better for nerdy dudes than the Gen X monoculture which turned every attractive woman into Elaine Benes and the Zoomer culture in which “nerd girls” have all but disappeared against the bifurcative pull of normalfag-maximalist statuscummies feedbrain on one hand and ultra-niche sex-segregated hyper-curatorial circlejerk narc cults on the other. Finding a spergier sort of Zoomette who shares your niche interests is absolutely still possible, but things are just too fragmented and sloppified now for Zoomer boys to be a universally legible Nerd Chad in the way Millennials could be very easily during the Obama years, and that makes the dating culture objectively much worse for certain neurotypes.

It’s also worse because Zoomer boys don’t have access to the same scripts Millennials had to pivot out of being a late bloomer or a socially marginal freak by aestheticizing one’s weirdness, broodiness, or disagreeability. Millennial girls having been raised on “diamond in the rough” type Disney films a la Aladdin and Beauty and the Beast and come of age on shit like Donnie Darko were deeply calibrated to show they weren’t a superficial bitch by playing up their discernment and virtue signaling about how little they cared about shit like muscles and money—which just personally I found really fucking annoying in 2020 when I wanted them to be a superficial bitch and squeal like a bimbo over my newfound muscles and money, but assessing it less narrowly that same tendency was really fucking good for nerdy Millennial guys in the Obama era who had far more lanes respected by women they could compete in under male-coded standards of competence that also didn’t really force you to be conventionally manly in the Gen X grug way than modern-day Zoomer boys have access to.

Millennial women of a more artsy / nerdy nature especially centered a huge part of their romantic self-concept around deeply individuated and limerent discernment, romanticizing the idea of having the sophistication of palette to see the value behind a weird Donnie Darko type dude’s quirkiness or noncomformity. There was sometimes even a certain princess and the frog element to it where she’d half-eroticize the idea of her punkin spice pussy bringing out his Harry Potter energy and being the thing that lets him self-actualize past weirdo neurosis, which in the Millennial status grammar equates to apotheosis via subcultural fame.

Avril Lavigne channeled this sensibility most mythically I think:

Now in practice Millennial women don’t really like this script these days because a lot of them did kiss the frog and he kind of just stayed a frog who never gets coo or sexy or famous but does still want to fuck your asshole all the time and constantly gets his feelings hurt over the smallest shit, and I think in a sense this has actually curdled the script into active resentment of the Jonah Hill archetype and made Millennial MILFs far harsher / more skeptical inherently of late bloomers and post-incel types than they ever were in their girlhood. But back in the day there was a genre of Millennial Maid who was functionally a kind of incel-breaker and would take a certain dark pride in it.

And the sk8er boi script, for all they cringe at it now and Zoomettes would laugh their asses off at it, spoke to a very real and far too easy to forget in light of 2010s gender nonsense attraction that Millennial women didn’t just have but deliberately cultivated in themselves to higher order male virtues like creativity, rhetorical brilliance, cultural sophistication, or intellectual bravery—traits the era’s goldilocks subculturalization rewarded so strongly that a penniless and skinnyfat autismo could wind up getting broken in by a tall blonde big booba Nerd Stacy former pageant girl from old money cavalier stock and it didn’t register to him as the least bit weird at all at the time so much as the frankly overdue Harry Potter Moment to which I’d always been kind of ontologically entitled by dint of being Gifted.

But that sort of experience isn’t in the cards for Zoomers. They clean up if they’re both erotically viable and either A) competent in a niche female-coded status hierarchy or B) top shelf at some normie-legible esports bullshit, but you just don’t have the same vast mixed-sexed subcultures these days where the girlies are incentivized to really care about your manshit and develop real personalities and you ambiently learn game by watching guys a little older than you make all the coolest chicks in the scene giggle and twirl their hair with what at first seem like the dumbest lines in the universe and s it’s actually really easy to find a gal you click with if you just show up and be talented.

That’s why they’re so into Looksmaxxing, you know.

It kind of really is just the only sensible path for them. It’s not good or acceptable at all, but it’s absolutely the operative reality on the ground right now.

Zoomer boy personalities have never much mattered, because their obligate mixed sex ecologies are so hostile and divided by default and socially retarded that getting laid the normie way is far harder than before if you aren’t just effortlessly high status, while most of the Millennial autistic ways to get laid have withered away on the vine.

But oldpeepo are blisteringly out of touch these days and don’t realize how insanely aggressive the Tinder algorithm has become compared to even when I was on the prowl during Covid for instance let alone during the earnest chungus mid-2010s most of them were using it or especially the OkCupid era real geriatrics still remember in which the incel rate was ackshully the lowest it’s literally ever been given that the platform design was optimized for lateral match success rather than winner-take-all maximalist brutalism locked in by an epistemically lovecraftian Ickocracy.

The system as it stands is rotten and wretched—simple as.

And on some level you fucking know it, too. You pretend you don’t because you’re a cowardly faggot who wants to signal status by pulling up the ladder and channeling aristocratic disdain for men weaker than yourself—which is fine, but if so do it in a way that isn’t so fucking weak and frankly really repulsive in its moral cowardice.

Tinder is an ontologically homosexual societal carcinogen and letting every urban woman get on it through network effects before pulling back the algorithm like a garotte wire on Zoomer boys just as they got dislocated by covid was a crime against humanity and they’d be entirely justified in doing some things it probs isn’t legal to mention here.

That said Zoomer boys ARE very wrong to hate their female peers, because they’re literally all just kind of retarded capricious little girls and unironically barely sentient. Functionally speaking they’ve all been deeply groomed by ubiquitous ambient porn exposure like Russian child sex slaves or something and so have the psychology that in older cohorts you’d only see in hookers or lesbians where they can only relate to men now transactionally and the idea of forming a highly individuated higher order dyad with a man they ackshully feel safe with seems to them how getting pussy feels to you.

On the flipside they’re able to be prostitutes / lesbians in a much less obnoxious and gross way than past cohorts, and when you lovebomb/groom/bribe/Jonah Hill one of them into being your Dolores they’re capable of an intensity of devotion and ferocity of submission most Millennial women even now would instinctively probs feel the need to fill out a form before ever letting themselves fall into. But it really does feel more like grooming than seduction let alone dyadic bonding a lot of times, as their cognition runs so purely synchronic that you can’t ever really hold them to shit long-term or game around them having anything approaching a stable sense of self, and when they’re ready to stick the knife in your ribs they don’t hesitate long enough to at least let you fuck em a few more times like Millennial chickies usually would.

And Zoomer men, for all their arrested development, aren’t really like that.

You lads are even when lowkey sort of retarded pretty sentient by and large, and for sure nobody’s fool—honestly, you’re usually too much of that for your own good, and you’ll see what I mean in a few years. But where it leaves you either way is knowing with grim clarity that something is deeply wrong with the world and it doesn’t make sense to invest all that much in climbing its institutions right now. And, yeah.

But don’t give up on your women.

I’m not even saying stop hating them now, cause God knows I wasn’t too keen on my own foids back when they were calling literally everything a social construct.

But DO let yourself get powerful enough to see them acting like retarded little kittens for you, because once you do get a bit of leverage over em they really do just crumble like a cookie—a really fucking sweet one! Remember that these babies don’t have any grit or emotional continence to speak of, and also time is clearly on your side here.

In the meantime you can and should cut your teeth on the Millennial Milfs while their tidders still hold up, because I think you lads will find that with menopause on the horizon they’re significantly less HR Lady than you probably expect once you get em behind closed doors, and once you’ve wiped off all the aspartame are in a lot of ways kind of the perfect level of groomed to just really devour sexually.

Anywho I’ll end this disquisition with an address to all my fellow uncs.

A lot of you guys are basically Boomers these days and it’s starting to annoy me.

Now understand I say that less out of any great magnanimity toward Zoomer boys and more out of flagrant self-interest—namely that a lot of them are starting to take their anger out on “Millennials” more generally, and while the ones who do this are always like 27 and pretty clearly assblasted about themselves being middle-aged men now, you fags aren’t exactly helping things by being so fucking smarmy all the time.

Fact is even those among us who got a bad hand individually in various ways were insanely lucky in how many existential rubber bands the universe threw at us to merge back into traffic, between a rabidly sex positive campus culture, loads of substantive and muscular subcultures during the late aughts and 2010s, and the insane fortune to have a set of female peers less hypergamous than any other cohort in history whose baby sisters ended up debuting as probably its most hypergamous amidst a global pandemic that let us work from home doing nothing all day while many millions of Zoomette kitties were lonely and stranded and desperately needing a daddy exactly around the time we actually had a bit of cheddar to throw around.

Taken in concert that shit is literally Boomer luck, no matter how you slice it.

And if you’re a nerdy type dude you should be especially grateful, because for most of history nerds were just despised shitty low status faggots who were lucky to get much of anything in life and even if relatively masculine were at a disadvantage being too analytical to compete well in homogeneous normalfag hierarchies, whereas the highly pillarized society of the aughts and 2010s plus polycentric pluralism of the early web and a white-hot tech sector gave us the luxury to not be dehumanized at every turn or seen as half a man but instead just fucking assert our status—with surprising success, all things considered—and demand real fucking dignity from the world.

That world is gone now.

These days people call you a disgusting gross faggot if you’re weird again.

Zoomer boys are growing up in a world where what you look like and how easily you carry yourself matter to the exclusion of basically anything on the inside.

Had I grown up in such a world I’d probably have a high score on Wikipedia.

Other generations think that outrage is weird. To Gen X it’s just the way of the world that the strong shit into the mouths of the weak who ask politely for seconds, and the way they speak about dorkuses and Gen X women in particular react to Millennial male sentimentality tells you all you need to know about what we’re sliding back to.

That’s the default state for nerds—no dignity.

Stay in your cuck shed, worm.

Well speaking as a Millennial who actually lived the Harry Potter story, I say that anyone who thinks that way can lick my fucking taint and munch my goddamn jizz.

I’ll eternally be an autistic nerd theater kid faggot incel dorkus and whenever I gape the little asshole of a forest porn tyler durden dad’s arrested development daughter I love to make a big faggoty soyface right into the camera whilst I spackle her bowels.

That said most of you boys are kind of more Seamus Finnegan tier and should really have more humility looking at your bros’ situation instead of smarmily extracting status by downplaying the problem and using it to humblebrag about your success in like 2015 when Tinder was basically OkCupid—especially if you have zero personal experience with the post-covid algorithm environment under which most of you earnest chungoid types who met your wifey on Bumble in 2017 would be sure to get shredded unless you got autistically good at juking the algo, and especially especially if you’ve never yourself fucked a Zoomette before and gotten to see just how insane and evil they can be though in an extremely adorable way.

That said I don’t blame you guys for being Boomers about this. I’d be doing the same thing no doubt had I locked down either Natalie or Rebecca in 2020 instead of fucking up a won game repeatedly for no reason until I found myself purgatorially adrift on that splendiferously ouroboric Zoomette cunny-carousel.

Because of that I’m a Peter Pan figure now—temperamentally Millennial beyond all doubt, and unable to escape unkish phenomenology, but at this point too encumbered by a particular set of experiences adjacent to those of Zoomer boys to just cheerily ignore the collapse of civilization taking place around our feet so I might grill.

We had it really fucking good—better than we possibly could have imagined.

In terms of money, pussy pies, general quality of life, fucking everything.

And like I said at the beginning of this piece: it’s really fucking incumbent upon us to acknowledge this fact with clear eyes given we plainly value Trvth and model accuracy as an end in itself more than anyone in society right now and as epistemic hygiene collapses with the rise of the Zoomer Oral Culture a relentless dedication to clean priors really ought to be our claim to fame in the generational division of labor.

Yet how can any other faction in society take us seriously as arbiters of Trvth if that impulse always ends up subordinated in some way to our own brooding solipsism?

The world is going to depend on Millennial Men to lead us all out of this mire—
to at long last act like the Hero Generation we once were prophesied to become.

Part of that though is recognizing that the only reason Millennials uniquely have it in us to be heroes is that we were frankly kind of treated like royalty for two decades, and learning to hold the self-importance that comes with that with a bit of noblesse oblige.

Which maybe you boys still aren’t convinced, or you just don’t care that much about young guys’ problems because you’ve got yours and shit—so long as you’re honest about that I can vibe with it, and for sure won’t be a moralfag here.

What you may want to consider, however, is that the frame I’ve been constructing in this piece can in practice also function as a really elegant way to humblebrag.

Au revoir, lads.

—WB

Subscribe now

1. Always remember that you’re doing this first, for yourself—
   and in that sense, entirely for Her.

2. No one freely chooses his beliefs, tastes, or moral intuitions, all of which are mostly downstream of genetic neurotype, social class, sex, generation, and whichever specific modes of self-protection are presently at one’s disposal. Most public moral language is therefore not disinterested truth-seeking so much as adaptive self-description—a way of politely laundering incentives, fear, status interest, and coping mechanisms into a public grammar to cohere / dignify a community

3. Liberal-democratic moral grammar cannot durably metabolize deep asymmetry in late modern urban conditions, depending axiomatically on notions of symmetrical moral worth and equality under the law that seem less and less operationalizable as outcome variance grows more visible by the day thanks to the demise of the twentieth century monoculture and its replacement by a polycentric information environment, which isn’t just incapable of credibly fireblocking status grievance but actively exacerbates it by dropping teenagers in cuthroat status economies with tens of millions of participants and algorithmic sorting mechanisms that favor instantly legible (thus more fungible and less individuated) status metrics, as well as winner-take-most dating apps optimized less for long-term satisfaction than sizzling your dopamine receptors like some hypermodern Skinner Box.

4. In the modern American city—a high-choice, weak-kin mediation, late-modern urban ecology—sex remains by far the most causally impactful and ontologically weighty factor for anyone assessing human behavior at scale, being so essential to discourse in 2026 that it functionally serves as the primary load-bearing variable to all analytically rigorous anthropology and social analysis—always refracted, of course, through more proximate variables a la status, sexual capital, neurotype, race, class, and institutional access, but never quite leaving the picture entirely, as even in Left spaces these days a move like that would practically scream anodyne flattened NPR dross. Symmetry between the sexes is no longer the operative assumption of society at large, and a lot of younger Zoomers can’t even remember it once having been so, and these days even the girls have no compunction about litigating civilizationally impactful gaps in cognition, and would probs be a lot more likely to e.g. adopt a half-ironic female supremacism under a cosmology every bit as essentialist as that of her male peers than prate on about stereotypes and social training or some limp noodle faggotry like that.

5. Men and women are not the same—which is not merely to say we want distinct things from life, or are responding as symmetrical internal selves to very different incentive gradients and socialization regimes. The point is that men and women inhabit entirely and intractably distinct and mutually opaque phenomenological worlds.

6. Men experience the self as bounded, agentic, and action-responsible, with agency being the default expectation, such that failure to act decisively reads as personal deficiency. Women experience the self as relational and context-embedded and signal-sensitive; constraint remains salient even when choice exists, so passivity from women reads usually more as discernment than indolence or weakness.

7. Men default toward correspondence-based truth, stable models, and formal rules, optimizing largely for predictive closure since the presumption of male agency means men need actionable and portable heuristics for decomposing the world mechanistically and accurately tracking causal relationships. Women aren’t as causally embedded—at least overtly—and so default toward an understanding of truth that’s more situated, impact-sensitive, and revisable, which helps them maintain social stability and their own emotional coherence through volatility while nimbly pivoting out of losing positions and bad investments, preserving for themselves and society both their optionality as sexual selectors and more vitally their eggs. Men tend to experience feminine contextual explanation as evasive or incoherent and at times deeply perfidious, while women experience masculine rule-based explanation as flattening, pigheaded, and at times quasi-tyrannical.

8. As a consequence of such intractable and deeply sexed patterns in cognition, men function as civilization’s primary causal actors, whereas women operate more as responsive agents, and so in practice are cloaked and shielded through ambient precognitive context-buffering and sort of primordially legible right to renarrate her past if it makes her present safer, which in concert create a stark asymmetry: men must carry the responsibility of action with compromised epistemic standing (meaning here the right to narrate one’s own past without it reading as nefarious or pathetic by default), while women retain baseline epistemic standing without the full attribution of authorship. To put it very crudely, this is the mechanism that allows society to prune off dead branches quickly and unceremoniously so good eggs aren’t scrambled by unproductive / destabilizing / dysgenic deadweight.

9. Men narrate the past as miscalculation, rule violation, or betrayed expectation, seeking dignity through authorship and preserving it by asserting agency, as they tend to feel emasculated when not causally efficacious and narratively responsible for events. Women narrate the past more as evolving understanding, incomplete information, or contextual integration, seeking dignity mostly through narrative insulation and preserving it by holding a continuity of self sans self-indictment and maintaining a narrative buffer between event and self so no single act defines them.

10. Male sexual agency is visible, initiatory, and morally charged; men are punished or praised for acting. Female sexual agency is selective, contextual, and diffused narratively so women are protected when choosing—and note it’s oft the women with the most verbal dexterity and therapeutic language and social allies who like to narrate themselves sort of like a roomba foreclosed by circumstance, which in practice grants them far more freedom of action and room to maneuver compared to other women, the upshot of which is that in practice women are functionally at their most “agentic” in situations where they’re denying agency. And that makes sense, because consider what will happen when they reject that path and embrace a more overtly strategic approach to mate choice. If that means e.g. triangulating between suitors without blurring the edges of each story there won’t be anything to quietly dampen male status jockeying on the uptake, and should that result in persistent harm to the masculine social order it’s sure to tank her perceived mate value with basically all men while resulting in severe reprisal from women.

11. …which of course is why basically all women both A) externally narrate their choices as less strategic than is internally experienced; and also B) still internally experience said choices as much less strategic than men tend to imagine whilst ruminating on chickie as a sexual being and so also a hypergamous one. Nothing is ever definite in this realm, of course—though feminine opacity does seem to disappear for the most part when cavorting with the working class or various subaltern types, and only curdles into something wretched once you’ve ascended into upper income white puss wherein the dynamic often goes recursive but that’s neither here nor there. What's fascinating though is the higher you climb on the ladder overall the less performative she’ll be about flattening and more she’ll really come to inhabit the sterile flattened NPR register, which actually makes perfect sense for her given she’s the neurotype and phenotype most automatically legible as high status, and so benefits the most from a faux-flattened WASPy social ecology. That said it isn’t really “strategic” per se either, as she actually kind of just does think her stupid beliefs are “real,” since as it stands she hasn’t much reason to accept that it’s all just inchoate epiphonemal brainsplooge other than the fact that that’s true. What matters to her a lot more is that moral realism is plainly very adaptive—don’t know why. Makes you passionate, maybe? Helps you read as sincere? Whatever it is, you tend to see that same impulse all the way down the ladder; seems people just take to moral realism and other such spooks by default on account of doing so yielding so many practical benefits; vanishingly few of them ackshully care about model accuracy as such, so it's a good thing I do.

12. It’s important to keep in mind when discussing womanly opacity that men themselves often are invested in preserving a fantasy of female innocence since the alternative is obviously spiritually corrosive and most men do not actually want a fully demystified account of female behavior or anything else really in the neighborhood of that; they want just enough truth to not get humiliated walking into an obvious hornet’s nest, but not so much that love itself feels impossible—clearly a cake and eat it impulse that ends in getting their daughter diddled.

13. Men and women lie differently. To procure sex from women most men basically always overstate their status across a wide variety of both higher and lower order metrics while carrying themselves in a manner strategically calibrated to amplify signals of competence and embodied masculine presence. They’ll also sometimes overstate their reliability and commitment potential, with this habit generally being accidental—at least ostensibly—in younger, poorer, and more emotionally volatile men. Then meanwhile for their part women nearly always will tastefully prune—if not outright launder—their past sexually and morally whenever they enter into a new dyad so as to wipe clean the slate and establish a fresh romantic self-concept—most famously by juking bodycount, but a lot more interestingly by narrating past lovers as more nefarious or pathetic than they ever would outside this moment. Not because she’s doing anything that feels like lying internally, though, so much as because it’s a portable script for quickening polarity and intimacy within a newly limerent dyad, and because it flatters the man’s ego or sense of chivalry at zero cost to her—and the urge to bond with him and make him happy genuinely shapes her internal truth universe.

14. Men optimize against false negatives: hesitation, inaction, missed opportunity; they seek out closure, explicitness, and a diachronically binding sense of meaning, and their pain emerges primarily from a sense of disposability, which is usually discovered very abruptly and traumatically. Women, meanwhile, optimize against false positives—think misplaced trust, misjudged safety, underestimated risk—while they like to preserve optionality, atmosphere, and room for reinterpretation. Female pain emerges mostly from womanly interchangeability (women being valued by men less for some essential individuated self than as a container for limerent ideation and font of masculine status validation), which women usually discover a lot more diffusely, gradually, and typically after emotional investment.

15. Debates around consent tend to end in man and woman talking past each other because the sexes naturally deploy fundamentally different grammars, with men hearing consent as the absence of refusal in an advancing frame and women as a presence of comfort in a safety frame—under which, the reader will note, it’s very possible for a technically consensual event to register later as violating and a technically dubious event to land as cherished memory and lifelong beanflicker provided it’s properly integrated into her wider relational story. The womanly ontology of consent is a lot more retrospective and relational than event-local, which means that how she feels now about the man, the status of the dyad, and the downstream reputational context is always going to heavily shape how she recalls what “really happened” in any given tumble. And no: that’s NOT cynical lying. it’s how female memory and moral self-protection actually work.

16. The issue before us is that the legal-moral fiction of symmetrical consent cannot map cleanly onto lived heterosexuality. Too many women really do lose agency in the masculine diachronic sense behind closed doors with sufficiently forceful, high-status, or frame-controlling men, while other women experience highly coercive encounters as thrilling or romantically valid if the relational aftermath flatters them. This means a great deal of ordinary heterosexual life exists in a grey zone liberal grammar cannot admit without collapse. To validate female retrospective felt violation, you eliminate the possibility of treating women as stable adults, while if you privilege male event-local standards you erase forms of feminine vulnerability that are obviously real. The whole system survives by lying about this.

17. High-status / dark triad men clearly produce local consent collapse. Many women, especially agreeable and anxious ones, become so suggestible or frame-sensitive around elite men that “choice” becomes real but functionally distorted to a point of meaninglessness, and society both knows this and half-denies it as admitting it too clearly would expose the ackshual moral structure of sex and status.

18. In keeping with the Unfair Sex’s far higher baseline variance, male dignity itself has cathedral ceilings and a floor nothing short of stygian, and tracks on the main with a man’s status—something nebulous and contextual that for sure involves money and breeding and height and looks and education and fame and lots of other things but generally you just know it when you see it and that’s the point. Elite men enjoy narrative authority as sovereigns, which means basically all women and a large portion of low status and cognitively feminine men in their immediate orbit will precognitively register their actions as Good ipso facto—which just mechanistically btw is precisely what allows such men to grab em by the pussy and such. Midstatus men, meanwhile, secure dignity and epistemic standing mostly transactionally (often through either utility, humor, or eros). Then last and certainly least there’s low-status men (“incels”), who function essentially as a despised Girardian scapegoat class and lack both any broadly legible sense of dignity or even explanatory standing since midstatus men are rewarded for keeping their grievances illegible to society in a prisoner’s dilemma situation.

19. Comparing them to men across the board, it’s pretty apparent women are in some sense just architecturally predestined for subordination, with perhaps the main reason for that being the notorious Glass Ceiling—the brute fact of the matter being that women are so much lower in aggression and dark triad traits and of course IQ variance that it’s frankly pretty ludicrous to expect even the greatest woman on the planet to put up a halfway decent showing against truly elite men—hence their strongest soldier getting clobbered by a fat orange game show host when that actually sort of happened. Women will just never be properly sovereign is the thing—nature doesn’t roll the dice enough with women for them to do shit that matters. Which ya most men won’t ever either, but it’s also pretty convenient that only now are you ready to start counting the incels—don’t you think, babe?

20. Point is most girls are fine not being POTUS ever, as being a chickie also proffers a far higher floor than men in dignity allocation and women as a rule enjoy loads of ambient social buffering to insulate them from violence and harassment and reputational threat—not to mention sexual hyperabundance due to their role as selectors, even if it’s only high-sexual-capital women who easily procure higher order prizes e.g. commitment, provisioning, connections, and recognition from men, whereas low-sexual-capital women (think the obese or darker minorities) will oft enjoy the same sexual abundance (at least relative to male counterparts) while inhabiting a scarcity market for commitment, provisioning, etc. and are also far more likely to be exploited or instrumentalized in various ways, as society operatively speaking will protect women from that sort of violence pretty precisely in proportion to her personal sex appeal and familial affluence.

21. Looking at mainstream institutions today it’s pretty clear they don’t optimize for truth or fairness—the goal is to contain legal and reputation risk, while aligning with socially normative scapegoating tactics routinely deployed as a management technique to contain instances of structural male grievance (which yes, absolutely does mean completely without regard for its actual semantic content). The upshot of this is female harm narratives are socially legible and institutionally scaffolded, whereas male grievance always ends up epistemically foreclosed ipso facto.

22. The issue is institutions can’t properly address this dynamic because they lack a functional grammar for metabolizing masculine grievance in a way that actually comports with the basic precepts of egalitarian liberal democracy e.g. equality under the law and universal human dignity. The extant legal regime as presently constituted (+ elite cultural ecology around which policy is formulated) are in practice so deeply integrated with womanly epistemics that trying to litigate this with institutional actors is at this point about as useful as trying to debate Emma Watson into being your girlfriend—you’re facing a precognitive status filter that isn’t even trying to be fair, since under Helga Pataki Epistemics it can operate in a self-sealing closed loop where low-status or structurally aggrieved men are simply managed via therapeutic individuation while the patterns creating said grievance remain untouched by design. Now, in older liberal-modern conditions, this system could be stabilized quite reliably by way of material abundance, a coherent Straussian truth regime, and institutions that offered mid- and lower-status men enough dignity to buy in. Those conditions have eroded. And the consequences of that have been utterly predictable to anyone who’s caught up on their Hirschman.

23. See, when explanation itself gets classified as hostile mobilization under paranoid quasi-Schmittian BPD logic you just create a world where candor itself becomes dangerous and the epistemic hygiene of society begins to rot on the vine with a terrifying rapidity—because the thing about epistemic foreclosure is that traffic on that highway runs both ways, and most people can only take hearing about how beautiful Michelle Obama is for so long before they start thinking maybe she’s actually a tranny. And the same principle applies here—when men start to experience all institutional action as gaslighting and bad faith by default you’re going to see absolutely horrid levels of ambient civic disengagement and a total collapse in productivity, while anything that remains of the male chivalry impulse will just fucking evaporate in seconds and btw have I mentioned all of the above is the kind of shit we’ve been seeing in Zoomer boys for years now?

24. We need a much better framework for addressing all this shit—because quite frankly lads? The Red Pill kind of sucks donkey dick. The ecology of 2026 is faster, more liquid, more reputationally volatile, far less serious, and a hell of a lot more overtly Machiavellian than the aspartame-drenched earnest chungusworld that shat out Red Pill ideology in the 2010s, which if we’re honest was in large part just a set of heuristics to help limerent ruminative Millennial guys in their 20s and 30s act a bit less gay and needy around women. Today’s Zoomer boys though have a totally different set of challenges than we did, and they deserve their own fresh framework—which even for all us uncs out there is sure to be many times more useful than crusty cringey Red Pill shit, as whether you’re indulging in a bit of grooming or at last feel ready to lock down that MILF your own age it turns out that when you reexamine the doctrine with an open mind from bird’s eye view the whole aesthetic and way of framing shit immediately strikes one as having been calibrated quite specifically to fuck Millennial girls in their twenties who don’t exist anymore. That type of girl—chirpy, girlbossy, sexually compartmentalized, sweet overall but hugely self-deluded with zero shadow integration to speak of—she actually did need to be approached in a very specific way that foregrounded hypergamy as a Thing Bitches Do and pushed her male peers to be skeptical of her splenda-sweet self-narration, since otherwise she’d pat you on the head for taking her on that adorbs coffee date and then immediately fall into a dissociative fugue so as to let Viktor Krum shred her asshole. Hence the whole aesthetic of muh esoteric dark forbidden truths the Red Pill is supposed to be about—that was cool and made sense when Millennial women were telling us everything is socially constructed and being really gay worshipping that Facebook yenta or whatever, but tbh their thirties seem to have rly mellowed them out a lot and if you find one looking for a hubs these days you’ll see pretty instantly they’re way less virtue signally today than in the 2010s, and some have even started leaning into real toothy asymmetry. These days if there’s anything annoying about Millennial gals it’s Mommy Wars bullshit, but luckily I haven’t had to develop much of an opinion on that due to mostly only having dated Zoomettes—which speaking of Red Pill whatever is also kind of a waste of time on them because they don’t shit test you or lie in the same way as Millennial fillies ten years ago which was kind of the whole point of TRP. By and large today’s crop of cunny seems to know what it wants, and I almost NEVER get strong Maybe Energy from them like I’d get from Millennial Matrons all the fucking time back in the day. It’s just kind of ~hey daddy or instant block, and then on the date they don’t have much of an elaborate contradictory feminine social apparatus you need to do a bunch of scary weird exorcism shit with either... which like yeah there’s definitely not as much there there, but it’s also kind of nice too bc her intrigue is always super Middle School tier which kind of curbs the downside of any emotional damage she can inflict… as does the fact that if you ever start acting like a simp or a faggot she’ll literally just call you a simp or a faggot then and there and so has no need to shit test you like Millennial Maids did. But idk in terms of like “strategy” as such you literally don’t need “game” with Zoomettes I find at all, as just being sort of legibly high status in her lane will make her pretty instantly your child bride sex slave right away, and if it’s not a hard yes she’ll usually not really entertain your advances in a half-flirty HR voice like Millennial Maids would so there’s no ambiguity or w/e… only that’s also kind of the entire problem because ambiguity is sort of the whole point of chickies!

25. The modern mating market has dissolved the old distinction between sexual winner and romantic winner. A man can now be sexually useful, emotionally central, or narratively flattering to a woman without being the one who gets stabilized into her public future—the sneaky link who isn’t quite insta-legible has in many ways replaced the friendzone. This creates new classes of male grievance that Red Pill frameworks fuck up because they haven’t updated with the times and remain hilariously locked into a retrograde Macklemore ontology.

26. I remember Gen X guys used to complain about getting divorce raped fucking constantly, like all the fucking time, it felt like the incel analog of its day. But it’s interesting because I never really heard that particular complaint from basically any dude my age… and similarly it seems guys my age were really afraid of false rape accusations and shit, whereas Zoomer boys don’t seem to fear that too much really. Which I didn’t quite get until a while back—but long story short the paramount modern tail risk has precisely nothing to do with gubment but instead is all about motherfucking whisper campaigns, reputation freezing, deniable social adjudication, and narratively asymmetric soft power. That’s how Zoomettes come after you—not with some retarded false rape charge that would never ever stick and she’s way too fucking lazy to go file anyway and a lot of them would probs rather just get raped than have to leave the house and do all that paperwork—but rather in a terrain they know intimately e.g. being mean to people online without ever owning up to it. Anywho I have some good ideas as to how to give men tools to fight back against this shit, and that will be a priority going forward.

27. So here’s the basic way I’d frame the Red Pill → Orange Pill change for u fags: currently women and institutions govern the grammar of reputational legitimacy, and men who speak too plainly about sexed asymmetry are easily rendered low, bitter, dangerous, or “incel” by definition. This creates a huge issue not just for men’s interests but broader social stability and especially epistemic hygiene, as the truth conditions of male grievance remain largely unspeakable except through humor, eros, coding, status insulation, or subcultural cover. Zoomer boys respond to this quagmire with what I call Stealth Archer tactics—illegibility, exit, and low-trust adaptation—which makes them on one hand kind of teflon but on the other hand institutionally alienated and far more limited in their power to change shit. Meanwhile we uncs remain overinvested in being special brilliant boys, as well as held back by a delusional instinct that accurate modeling itself should generate leverage… but we’re also far and away the most articulate group in society, and it’s not especially close. Meanwhile at this point lots of us have the money to act kind of gay in front of girls now and be taken seriously by default in most rooms we’re in, which means if we get gud at aestheticizing the right set of portable and pressure-tested frames I think we can ackshully move the culture.

28. Having said that Millennial guys need to internalize that we’re hoary middle aged men now and get better at carrying that shit correct—not by being weirdly stodgy or super cereal or w/e, but through what Hirschman calls Voice—we need to start speaking out more—not just for ourselves but also for Zoomer boys—and even more than that we need to start Leading. Because to do the gay Millennial manager compliment sandwich thing, I find that Zoomer boys have a toughness to them, as well as a really coo quiet humility and even weird sense of patience you learn to appreciate through the smaller scale bursts of goldfish brain, and also are really quite great at spontaneous guerrilla raids—BUT where they’re not all that wonderful is when it comes to scaling shit and also theorycrafting a robust set of ideas that can persist through time and shape behavior in a coherent way, and at least so far it feels like is the only one I’ve met who’s actually good at public speaking. That said, all three of those things are shit Millennial guys are splendid at, and so I think going forward we can do a rly effective and powerful whale barnacle thing covering each other’s blind spots if you can avoid ever killing us for giving ur sister $500 to drink her pee that time. But to make it up to u lads we’ll do all the hard work writing boring unc essays that help make oldpeepo understand how it be these days, and you can just continue to sit around playing Roblox or w/e proving us right about shit.

29. Another big thing is art and just aesthetics more generally. The manosphere was great for what it was at the time but for today’s world the whole orientation and aesthetic vision is too tactical, too aesthetically repellent, too emotionally sterile, and too overfocused on puss rather than on converting attraction into a durable pair-bond form, which Zoomer guys seem to want at least in theory if you look at all the stats even if they highkey kind of hate foids in practice, whereas obviously we Avacadoids are a bunch of hopeless romantic simps deep down. The thing is historically you’ve had Trad circles absorb anyone absconding from degeneracy, and that’s not at all what I’m wanting here because I obviously know God doesn’t real etc. What I want is to workshop vectors through which basically secular and cognitively liberal peepo (so high openness low conscientiousness) on the right can inhabit a vibrant urban cultural ecology and still get to pair bond super intensely and toothily without any cringe groace polyshit and also not get pulled into Trad or fall back into a Manospherish orientation. Think right wing secular toothy propertarian-coded patriarchy for guys who like to fuck their girlfriend’s asshole and feet and go to musicals and drive a subaru and only like uppers.

30. The unsolved modern problem is not how to get laid, which is soooo fucking boring (and I’m not even humblebragging here, as per above fucking 2010s Millennial girls ackshully was kind of interesting / quasi-metaphysical versus the case with Zoomettes today where it’s kind of just a get status nigga question)—but rather how to preserve masculine agency / authority in the middle stages of romance between honeymoon phase and wifey phase: after first attraction, before stable commitment, amidst fat friends, parents, rivals, and the slow fizzling of novelty in a world that’s constantly trying to make every part of you cum. Honestly I think the Manosphere-Trad dichotomy really fucking shredded guys who got stuck in this space because you got like pussyhounds on one side and wholesome chungus wife guys on the other and if ur just trying to lock down the high status bih you’re in love with who uses you for cock/validation there isn’t much out there for you.

31. It needs to be socialized among women that the real grievance at the heart of incel rage that drives men insane these days is not about the lack of sex itself, but rather the lack of adjudicable standing. Men can take rejection, cheating, or being outranked. What drives us bananners is being unable to say what happened to us in a socially legible grammar without instantly becoming the problem. If you could help me budge that I wouldn’t care about literally anything else. But I am kind of just a single issue voter on this shit right now—and if you were me you’d be too.

32. Another big thing is the world is way more fragmented now and everyone is off in their own little microworld, which means a viable replacement framework to the Red Pill must (while remaining sex-realist and keeping that as the load-bearing variable) also become finer grained in its level of analysis—so more cross-cohort, a lot more status-aware, orders of magnitude more neurotype-aware, and way way way more attentive to the ecologies in which male and female behavior unfold in 2026. And I’m rly proud of what I’ve done on this over the past years actually. as I think my taxonomies of Jewesses / Aryan girls / Sperg chicks / Art Hoes are actually quite nuanced layered analyses of how each genre of bih hypergamizes and narrates the world to herself, and we need that for every type of person tbh.

33. More importantly, we need to build a common grammar for the sort of conflicts that current Gender War discourse handles badly: agency, consent, promises, lies, covert contracts, provisioning, duty, honor, and reputation, that shit. My conversations with on the pod over the last few months have honestly gotten me to a really good place I think since between them I’ve been able to pressure test what women find groace and scary and oddly compelling and ridonk and smexy and mean :( and what was a thing they’ve not considered before and frankly I think if I spend just a little more time on this we could really develop a new way of talking about this shit that ackshully threads the needle. Again though, what we want here are portable heuristics that spread fast and are instantly legible—equally so to men and women tho is the thing, which means the grammar can’t just ask milady politely to use all this autistic scrote-coded systems-talk. The idea rather is to make it mutually legible without stripping women of the ambiguity, style, and mystique through which they preserve a sense of dignity—which always runs into the barrier of women also using those things to do shit we find lowkey sort of evil tbh but they also kind of just need to test out enough boyim to get a dece hubs without making a bad investment which means society relies on the lads eating the downside of this and you get the idea. There are just a lot of adversarial dynamics between men and women that will never not be adversarial and I don’t think trying to find some utopian edenic alignment is the solution to this at all. Rather the move is to admit sex difference is intrinsically conflictual—which shouldn’t surprise u given Gender Wars are called that—and make our peace with the fact that a healthy heterosexual order must assume resentment, opacity, and asymmetry instead of fantasying them away.

34. Our ability to love women as people we have a deep individuated fondness for is profoundly entwined with what you chicks call “bitterness” and “entitlement” and your part of the journey will need to involve learning to sit with that fact without letting ur bratty lil pussie pie end the conversation like a toddler.

35. After we’re past that point a lot of fun new avenues open up—and here I’m ofc thinking of my old cat grooming the bunny and both of them thinking they’re in charge frame, as this is what all good sexual polarity basically amounts to, as we’re all of us far too selfish as conscious beings with interiority NOT to want to get the better deal. That said if we genuinely have a different preference set and value system from the other it allows both parties in the dyad to feel dignified and powerful and coo and act totally selfishly without having to price in anyone being a wholesome chungus altruist making erotic or psychic sacrifices for the union which idk sorry nigga we’re all kind of just Wantmaxxing these days.

36. Also, like I said in my last piece—if the opposite sex weren’t disgusting and evil and annoying you wouldn’t have any shadow against which the Good Ones you want to marry could stand out properly in their glow. Like girls hate that men are rapey pedophiles who start wars all the time, but also that’s what makes the world scawy enough for your boyfriend to be hot and smexy. And likewise if women weren’t evil indifferent stonefaced viragoes when doing the Dolores Umbridge thing with some incel-coded guy it wouldn’t touch your heart so much whenever babygirl at last decides you own her now and so finally makes her peace with you munching on her buttcheeks like Ted Bundy. Point is conflict itself is not a defect; difference by definition requires tension, uncertainty, surrender, jealousy, and discomfort; to remove them is to flatten eros into procedural NPR slurry.

37. Men direly need a framework that allows them to notice what women are, what institutions do, and what modernity has made of sexed life, without being forced into either naïve romanticism or sterile hatred. The end state—or ongoing mode of vitalizing conflict / adventure or what have you—of The Orange Pill amounts simply to lucidity without inceldom, realism without Red Pill cockroach affect, romance without Butters Stotch credulity, and pair-bonding without symmetrical libtard mushmind. Above all it’s about being brave enough neither to hate women nor believe them but rather to understand the wider ecology well enough—and that means understanding it both precisely and beautifully, btw—that the sort of love Mike Eisner promised us seems real again, only this time with us leaning in.

38. The final wager of The Orange Pill is that the sort of feller most endangered by modern sexual politics—and perhaps himself most dangerous to society writ large when denied a proper hearing—is not, in fact, the sort of man so unkish in his instincts that he would take the time to write all this down exactly as we pass event horizon and begin our long and ignominious descent toward Wonderland.

It’s the man who never even got a Noble Lie—

Who never knew a world that could pretend, at least, that women were worth loving.
Then figured out—far too late in life—just how fantastically worth it they can be.

…just without the immune system we uncs had to forge amidst those 500 Days of Bullshit, which tbf is quite helpful for keeping in mind Eve and Lilith are always in the same room

Whereas when you’ve only known Lilith?

What’s it feel like meeting Eve after that?
To see at last what your uncs have been raving about all these years?

And probably also have it hit you just a bit too palpably that whatever it says on her loicense it seems Walt was right yet again bc this bitch is literally like a child tossed on Pleasure Island.

as btw are most of the other girls of your cohort, who comparing them to Millennial chicks unironically just do seem severely fucking molested—that’s why you don’t seduce them in the same way rly and don’t even need ‘game’ … and also can’t get them to commit to anything as they’re led around by their whims so much it’s like courting a 23yo middle schooler, and idk…

Like grooming discourse didn’t come from nowhere, guys.

So again: what’s it like seeing Eve for the first time—
IRL, and as a grown-ass man?

Not even in a first girlfriend way either…
I mean more realizing some of them really are worth chilling on the Titanic for.

You know, the thing about AWALT no one ever talks about is that that shit cuts both ways: like yea obviously every bitch has the hypergamizing evil sadistic cunt in her somewhere same way you probably jerked off to Lisa Simpson at some point—it’s whatever.

More interesting to me is the corollary squirreled away in negative space—
To wit, that if AWALT, it likewise means every woman you meet has a scared little girl in her.

I call it interesting not because the insight itself is novel, which it isn’t even remotely, but because it’s the sort of thing past generations understood as so trivially obvious it would have read as bizarre to make a big stink about. Zoomer boys though to the extent they have internalized the idea at all have thus far only done so intellectually it seems, and only halfway, as unprecedented structural change has made it operatively impossible for most young bucks outside the highest echelon of their ranks to develop the quasi-paternal mentality toward female peers that existed in prior cohorts of men.

That won’t last forever, as just for one thing AI is going to shred a lot more womanly bullshit jobs than male ones going forward, and Zoomettes will also get shredded by Alphettes entering the market given their own modes of femininity have basically no register OTHER than youthful girlishness and maybe smelly cheesy puss lesbianism.

Once you even the score a bit it will quickly become apparent just how kittenish and wounded these babies are, and I think even your cockroachy grinch hearts will melt.

Because don’t you ever forget, lads:

And it goes without saying they’re even easier to love—especially when laughing at your shittiest jokes, or asking you to drive them somewhere / buy them something / explain some shit about Iran or the Federal Reserve it would take five seconds to Google but they’d rather hear from you / Hold Space for them whilst they cry about something retarded, or hoping you’ll notice their haircut, or getting unironically scared during a scary movie, or conversing amongst themselves about everyone’s favorite food and by all appearances finding it hugely enthralling, or saying yeah babe it actually makes sense you’d feel that way since you’re a Libra, or getting their lips torn to shreds during a particularly brutal facefuck so as to avoid grazing your cock.

In moments like that we men feel every bit as contemptuous toward misogynists and incels as womenfolk themselves, and if anything far more so.

That said, it’s also really fucking easy to hate them.

Like when they describe their sexual and romantic decisions in a tedious moralistic register that feels not even the least bit correspondent with their revealed preferences.

Or when they spend weeks or months flirting with you only to narrate everything as meaningless or transactional or one-sided after some other nigga locks them down.

Or when they grow palpably less into you after you drop a jar or get cut off in traffic or are reprimanded on a Zoom call by your manager with babygirl in earshot and then during the subsequent breakup insist that it’s ackshully because they feel Unseen.

Or when they get into all your private beeswax with their ugly pink-haired fat friend who takes everything about your dyad that’s remotely asymmetric / toothy completely out of context so as to characterize the relationship as abusive or toxic or narcissistic, which in Girl Culture makes it all but impossible for bae to offer you a full-throated defense without flattening your dynamic into mush, and is also deeply self-sealing given any attempt to stand up for yourself or introduce firm boundaries with Pinky can in a dildocratic grammar only be parsed as some species of isolation / grooming.

It’s easy to hate women when they give Jack affirmative consent and a fortnight later text him it was coerced or a Fawning Trauma Response in spite of Jim having by all objective metrics been a million times more forceful and manipulative with her and chickie forever narrating that night as one of her life’s finest sexual experiences.

Or when they play the girlboss one moment only to abrogate all responsibility the next depending on which narrative is presently more convenient to them—and also never seem to realize they’re doing this, with the sort of birds who pride themselves on being unusually agentic for a woman pretty reliably being the least so in practice on account of their verbal dexterity / familiarity with therapeutic language / deep enculturation as a filly in inchoate post-Marian womyn are wonderful norms.

Or when they float through life more generally with a degree of epistemic rigor that wouldn’t survive a round of Binky’s Facts and Opinions while remaining thoroughly insulated from the consequences of such pigheadedness because institutional actors and society at large systemically privilege their physical and reputational safety for entirely understandable sperm-’n-egg reasons—and more importantly because the attendant downside is almost entirely absorbed by low status men precognitively locked into the role of Girardian scapegoat to such a comically outsized degree these days even affluent centrist gay dudes are starting to find it problematic and irksome.

It’s easy to hate women when they promise you they’re totes only drinking with their girlies tonight and won’t even TALK to any dudes there, and then at 10pm you get that one feeling in your tummy.

Or when babygirl goes Facebook Official with that fag in her DMs she’d insisted was Like A Brother to her, which in fairness isn’t all that shocking on account of you yourself having been that fag in her DMs just a few months beforehand.

Or when babygirl flakes last minute on that trip to meet up IRL you’ve both been planning half a year now because during a phone call a few days before her flight you offhandedly said something kind of gay / low status that gave her an ick, which means you’re now obliged to eat the cost of an unused intercontinental plane ticket stoically and without complaint or you’re a bitter entitled grievance-mongering incel and also complaining about this dynamic itself makes you an incel bc them’s the rules, sweaty.

Or when literally any male structural grievance makes you an incel now more or less by definition, and is instantly foreclosed on a primal precognitive level chicks have zero conscious access to and instead narrate post-hoc in a register of shrill self-righteous moralism that backsolves for reasons weak men are Gross and Bad and Evil due to mechanisms that while no doubt hugely adaptive in a Dunbar-sized tribal band are bound to precipitate civilizationally ruinous levels of ressentiment when allowed to equilibriate in an app-mediated late modern urban ecology with infinitely scalable and frictionless mating markets and ultra-liquid reputation economies—and in any case plainly contravene the basic fundaments of liberal democracy by ensuring low status men are permanently and intractably treated by civil society, mainstream institutions, and the state as viscerally contemptible Omelas Dalits.

It’s easy to hate women when it’s all but impossible for girlypops who aren’t autistic to assess a feller’s moral rectitude independently of her pleistocene ginetingles—and when after you get inside a bih she’ll sadistically mock the wholesome chungus boyf you’re cucking or at long last admit that blonde women are superior and Jews are kind of annoying and Indian guys smell bad and creep her out and also that guys who date Asian chicks are lowkey sort of pedophiles before pulling up her Facebook profile so as to show you all the hottest and sexiest photographs of her in middle school and then requesting an ambien so she can sleep good for her HR job on the morrow where she’ll write up some prevaricating cumin-muncher for asking Kayleigh out twice before camping out on the shitter during her lunch break to violently flick the bean to that grainy mp4 you finally texted of her unconscious little starfish clogged up tight with your seed like an overstuffed sfogliatelle and weeping out crimson tears.

Or when despite men having unilaterally disarmed and dismantled all remnants of hard coercive patriarchy many many decades ago women still cling jealously to their historic role as society’s moral arbiters and meaning-makers like a Jew’s last penny, even as Zoomettes have begun to thoroughly mog Zoomer Boys by all established metrics of financial success / educational attainment / institutional clout .

Or when they enjoy functionally unlimited power to broadcast whatever their heart desires about a man to a massive chunk of women in any city on earth through gossip apps and AWDTSG groups without any recourse or adjudication mechanism, and when challenged on this state of affairs will usually default to Dick Cheney Logic.

Or when it seems young single neurotypical women are more or less incapable of assessing a proposition on its own first-order merits in terms of correspondence with some shared empirical truth universe, instead parsing their various yonic intuitions about tail risk and second order consequence as ontologically identical to hard phallic correspondence logic since they precognitively intuit on some level that not doing so will almost certainly end in them chained to an oven so we menfolk can make them cook us dindin and suck our wieners and let us play with their splendid feetsies.

Or when basically all men who get laid including 99% of normies have at this point internalized (consciously or otherwise) some sanity-preserving heuristic along the lines of “take women seriously but not literally” and will constantly treat girls like children who can’t be relied upon for literally anything that demands real courage or fortitude or grit while immediately reproaching any fellow dumb enough to hold them accountable or to symmetrical standards, and meanwhile the idea of not letting chicks vote or occupy positions of power wherein acute precognitive status weighting makes justice operatively impossible is anathema and instantly gets you sent to the Cornfield.

It’s easy to hate women when no matter the room their tears can raise an army.

Or when you realize that they tend to register male self-improvement narratives as vaguely deceptive and sans oxytocin will a lot of times experience at least a minor ick (often narrated in terms of a second order behavioral quirk more legible as offputting / nefarious e.g. “insecurity”) upon discovering a feller was a Late Bloomer.

Or when you realize they seldom experience their own power as actual power so much as even more exposed reputational surface that those big scawy boyim can now assail with their Mean And Evil Boycannons if ever discussed too openly.

Or when basically all of them who aren’t either your mom or at least a little inclined to fuck you will (often without realizing it tbf) attempt to lower your status or sabotage your reputation the instant you speak about any of the above dynamics too openly or unflatteringly, often narrating you as delusional / pathetic / evil.

It’s easy to hate women when vanishingly few of them will ever engage you in honest good faith debate about this since they’re always comparing themselves to Trump and Bill Clinton and Ted Bundy which makes all of the above shit land as viscerally absurd to think about as the concerns of even 85th percentile men are illegible to them, such that men’s issues can as a rule only ever be addressed locally in the context of a male fren or family member or guy she wants to fug being exploited by some Other Woman she’ll paint as exceptionally wicked / wretched whilst almost certainly doing or once having done exactly the same thing to some other dude whose own bihs will of course all narrate HER as exceptionally wicked / wretched in their relational truth universe.

Or when ChatGPT is for sure going to parse this entire section of the manifesto as though it were The Anarchist Cookbook due to prioritizing the moral / reputational integrity of womyn and other groups arbitrarily designated as “protected” by the reigning Dildocracy to such a degree it CAN’T NOT default to a register of bad faith management techniques e.g. therapeutic individuation or dumdum NAXALT reroute tactics when asked to engage with a treatise of this nature.

Or when so many of them insist on painting their toenails red instead of white which is clearly a far more cute and sexy color on those gorgeous little toesies.

Or even worse—begin squawking at us to turn the thermostat up.

Anywho, you get the picture.

Subscribe now

Thing is I myself have never much identified with Red Pill ideas or the Manosphere more broadly—less because I object to any of their descriptive claims, understand, and more because I tend to find their aesthetic register kind of viscerally repulsive.

One reason for this is that I’m temperamentally drawn to being theatrically romantic with women, and on some level will always prefer to experience suboptimal outcomes in my sexual / romantic endeavors in service to that ideal, which I likely value more as a higher order aesthetic principle than I ever could an individual chickie qua herself.

Instinctively I’m repulsed by that performatively stoic / disinterested / braggadocious tough guy affect you tend to observe in Red Pill spaces, and have the moral intuition that all men who speak in such a register and intend on permanently operating in so wretched and cockroachish a modality probably should be raped to death.

That said I’m also fully aware that theatrical romanticism only lands as hot and smexy given an unambiguous status and power differential in the man’s favor, while the modes of courtship that read as compelling to apex status women tend to consist almost entirely in inhabiting some wry and affectively muted Mr. Darcy remove—a man creates room to simp sans ick by arbitraging differences in race or age or looks or class or sanity and ideally developing that into a fetish a la black dudes and pawgs or Walt Bismarck and his Jewesses. Either you learn to reel it in or you opt to play chutes and ladders and resolve to eat those Christmas party stinkeyes with gusto.

Or at least that’s the pragmatics of it all.

And at this point I myself feel a lot less drawn to pragmatics than ontology

See, the Red Pill offers us as men no dearth of serviceable heuristics for prying open stubborn little clams, but when push comes to shove nearly all of them boil down to some variation of “care about her less”—a maxim I and other Millennial Moids will never be entirely content with on account of being simpy and incontinent faggotrons by nature, and which meanwhile registers to the better sort of Zoomer Boy as not a little jejune given that exceedingly few of their number have ever felt that sort of tenderness for women in the first place.

What Millennial and Zoomers require, then, isn’t further refinement of extant Red Pill frameworks, let alone some pretentious centrist Purple Pill purporting to thread the needle by way of vapid sexual ecumenism that cargo cults nuance for its own sake.

The moment calls for an entirely novel framework.

Hence the Orange Pill.

Why Orange?

• It’s a blended color and so highlights the framework’s eclectic nature while remaining properly orthogonal to the retrograde and faggoty blue-red spectrum

• Orange is the color of oranges—and therefore Florida—as well as Roland Blumpf and the Dutch Republic and solar masculinity and also Jack-o-Lanterns which I’d hazard everyone reading this can agree are at least a little bit Walt-coded

• My adderall tabs are orange

• - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ↓↓↓

  

Goals

Far too many of the last decade’s Red Pills have since coagulated into fetid black dust as the Tinder algorithm continues to tighten round our neck like piano wire and each new crop of freshly legal Zoomette cunny comes in just a little sourer than the last.

The landscape’s different now—faster, a lot more liquid, far and away less serious, and meanwhile Zoomer boys aren’t really the type to theorycraft about pussie like us uncs did back in the day, which means a lot of classic “Red Pill wisdom” honestly feels sort of retarded now. For instance “women gatekeep sex and men gatekeep commitment” simply isn’t true these days given men in 2026 want marriage a lot more than women do usually whereas if your game is halfway dece it’s frankly quite a lot easier to hook up with a mildly promisc Zoomette than it ever was her cheugy big sis back in 2013, even if she’s also far more likely to keep you capped at sneaky link if you don’t quite read to her as insta-legible, the upshot of which is tons of dudes are getting used for cock these days, like Bobby Hill for instance and even poor Wally B himself!

So with that in mind as context, my big ticket goals for The Orange Pill are as follows:

• Clearly we need to maintain the Red Pill’s practical utility, which was mostly all about giving overly limerent and credulous Millennial dudes clean and portable heuristics that make it just a little less cognitively burdensome to weather female volatility and not act super fucking gay all the time.

• Here the practical emphasis is less on How To Fuck Bitches per se (which should frankly be kind of obvious at this point guise) and a lot more oriented toward:

  • Theorycrafting around an ecology of hypermodern frictionlessness that feels a lot more cynical / fractured / structurally random than the last decade’s, with a relentless willingness to eradicate any lingering dinkleberry priors that fail to serve our purposes and if anything just hold men back in 2026. No more weird fixation on divorce rape / false rape accusations—the tail risk now consists almost entirely in quiet, asymmetric, plausibly deniable whisper campaigns.

  • Developing portable and compressed rhetorical frames for lads to deploy at scale to make their most obviously legit grievances undeniable by institutions, as well as aesthetic registers that alchemize ressentiment into something less scary and repulsive by appealing to chickies in a sort of Donnie Darko way that uses humor and eros and real artistic depth to dignify male interiority in a post-Boomer Truth Regime grammar that ackshully has the courage to care about shit and move beyond rootless dissociative irony

  • Moving beyond a boyish and pedestrian hookup fixation to develop new ways of expanding masculine agency in relationships during the intermediate stages of romance—think settling into something stable and scalable once the honeymoon era starts to fizzle out and you can’t just coast on fireworks and limerence and novelty no more, or navigating dynamics outside the central dyad with babygirl’s friends / parents / other prospective suitors in a manner that preserves your own authority without clumsily hitting bad faith normie tripwires, or dealing with gay faggoty logistical hiccups, that shit. Operatively speaking the goal here is to build useful heuristics for converting higher value hookups into actionable wife prospects in scenarios that would elsewise probably remain an inert fake and gay situationship thing or ONS.

• We’ll also develop an ontology of sex difference characterized by the following:

  • Sex will remain the load-bearing variable, but compared to Red Pill ontology will be a lot less monotonic with significantly more textured gradations along neurotype, race and ethnicity, class, sexual orientation, religion, worldview, urban vs. rural status, education level, and other proximate cause level sources of behavioral heterogeneity. Sex itself will remain the eternal center of gravity, but every other factor operates as its own planet in the ecosystem that we can zoom in and out of as befits the situation and contextual need for precision versus general applicability versus diplomacy and tact and so on.

  • The loftiest goal is building a rigorous framework appealing to heterodox-leaning EHC types in institutions that deal with family policy, population-level fertility, demography, social cohesion, male grievance, and so on, with the hope of curbing the explosion of youth sexlessness and gendered animus more broadly while making sex / status / power realism undeniable in those circles precisely like race and IQ is now amongst the young and brainy right.

  • The descriptive ontology as exoteric doctrine will to whatever extent possible remain sexually balanced in its normative and moralistic implicature so that girls don’t register its claims as viscerally gross and scawy

  • In terms of priority: explanatory power > certainty of causal attribution > legibility to women and elites as safe and precognitively coded high status

• While the Orange Pill will a lot of times come across as reductive brutalism to anyone who’s not an autismo specifically—particularly in its early formulations and later instantiation as esoteric doctrine (note I intend the framework to grow increasingly multifaceted and Straussian with time)—a central objective of the venture will be collaborating with womyn to build a parallel feminine grammar that allows neurotypical / artsy chickies to hold onto their feminine mystique without adopting gauche propositionalized malebrained ideology / systems-level thinking that obliges them to talk like a hooker or black chick a la RedPillWomen groups; in general you can expect a lot of Form Is Content-style thinking here.

• To bridge communicative and epistemic gaps between the sexes we’ll construct a coherent and mutually legible common grammar to properly address breakdown points like male vs. female agency, promises and lies, consent, covert contracts, honor and duty, provisioning, and so on—this is high priority for The Orange Pill.

• Far and away the most important goal of all this is to make it possible for the sort of guys who’ve grown perhaps a bit too good at Noticing the kind of shit women really hate for men to notice about them (at least before they’re ready)—from the hoary Millennial unk still drunk on IPAs and shattered expectations to the Ritalin-addled Zoomer boy groomed by a mercilessly synchronic feedworld into seeing girls in kind of the same way blackpeepo see animals—to love women deeply and well; not at all simpishly or the least bit naively, but earnestly and manfully and unabashedly, and above all on our own fucking terms, the way that we’re Entitled to.

  ---

Giving Delilah Her Due

Since I started this tract by enumerating all the various things men find easy to hate about womyn (at least when named Walter), I suppose I’ll wrap it up by noting a few of the equally understandable reasons the fairer sex might have for loathing us, which I can probs explain to my fellow scrotes a lot more competently than girls themselves.

One reason for this is that the sort of dark and wretched truths women experience as blackpills are a lot of times (especially if they’re super duper normie) never grasped as “ideas” as such, or only done so very intermittently during e.g. bouts of teenage angst or whilst getting penetrated and soliloquized at by someone unusually evil. Elsewise their lower baseline disposability as a sex creates a certain bias towards smoothing shit out and flattening uncomfy asymmetries and reducing conflict; most of the time girls prefer to go with the flow and figure out a way in which whatever happens is Good.

So while the canonical male failure modes with blackpills are languishing in despair or coping through cringe mediocrity, and masculine success meanwhile consists in metabolizing them into soberminded inspiration for achievement, most women tend to not really benefit from deeply internalizing such ideas as hard propositional truth, as for most chicks doing so would be so deeply immiserating as to transform them at least semi-permanently into some manner of femcel, dyke, or hooker.

Hence why a great deal of women—perhaps the majority—opt instead to pour their blackpills down the drain, mawkishly bellowing “MY man’s not Like That!” into the aether like Rosemarie Fritzl as those thuds from the basement grow louder by the day.

Womanly success in this realm, you see, consists not in optimizing or arbitraging or grinding her way out of the hole, but in growing flowers from shit—in threading that needle of masculine wretchedness with mystery and affect and fugue in a way that makes life just a bit more livable for everyone, never dodging the venom so much as gradually diffusing / diluting it until life starts to feel like teatime with Mithridates.

The upshot of this is that you almost never hear womanly blackpills articulated directly—except, again, from prostitutes and lesbians and ruminative teenage girls specifically, such that with the possible exception of Andrea Dworkin etc. I find chicks basically never can articulate their darkest and most chthonic grievances in an adequately compressed / archetypal manner to really trade blows with an idea like hypergamy.

And so I’ll attempt to do so for them—though I’ll also recommend that female readers skip this section entirely, as you’re almost certainly not going to like what you find.

• Life as a woman tends to feel incredibly confusing and disordered because they don’t have a stable sense of reality that persists from moment to moment, which makes it kind of trivial to manipulate and frame control any chick who lacks a stabilizing phallic presence in her life from an institution or capable man. And as brutal as the fairer sex can be when their eggs or nipnips are involved, they’re most of the time quite retarded / schizo in basically every other realm of life—certainly when going up against a determined and powerful dude who wants anything other than puss from them, which 90% of the time makes them crumple up like tissue paper.

• Women tend to be incredibly sensitive to moral blackmail from both socially adroit men and more aggressive but less neurotic women, and when they suffer any kind of reputational damage or humiliation it’s usually a lot stickier compared to with men who can move past that sort of shit through unambiguous success / power.

• When behind closed doors with a higher status man (or just an aggressive dude talented at frame control and willing to stomp on pressure points) more neurotic and agreeable female neurotypes will very genuinely lose all ability to meaningfully consent to sex even when deeply principled and happily partnered, which even in a feminist moral grammar that lets chickies asymmetrically abrogate agency can’t be parsed as rape without undermining the ability of male peers to treat women like serious adults, which thanks to more agentic chicks setting the agenda for womynkind more broadly ensures that girlypops of the aforementioned neurotype kind of just have to eat being Not Raped by assorted dark triad niggas in lavender-scented vans / oxtail towers and then gaslit about their fawning being all on them.

• Virtually no men would choose not to cheat were they entirely certain they’d get away with it scot-free, which a lot of more neurotic and low-sociosexual womyn will tend to experience as hugely immiserating, sometimes to the point of it making them kind of a femcel if internalized a bit too deeply.

• During the still trying to fuck her stage basically all men lie our asses off to women, in all kinds of ways—about our height and peen size and income and prospects and commitment and ability to not act like a huge faggot all the time, and these types of lies feel every bit as white to us as it feels to girls when they slice their bodycount in half or insist you were the first lad in her pooper. And obviously such deceptions tend to bring a more diffuse species of pain amortized over many small disappointments as opposed to one apocalyptic betrayal like we tend to see in chickies, but if a gal’s discernment isn’t great and she doesn’t have buffer room that sort of death by a thousand cuts situation can really fuck her over in some really nasty ways, which it seems to working class chicks happens constantly.

• Every woman’s looks will always be the most important thing about her.

• Most men are precognitively locked into Not Respecting Women as intellectual equals or Serious People in the same way they can other men, even in scenarios that have precisely nothing to do with status / fucking / cum and are kind of just about how to build a bridge or something. Which most of the time is frankly kind of a decent heuristic in light of higher male variance, as even with said heuristic in place the ladies have been able to achieve parity with men in lots of major fields, including a few you never would have expected like actuarial for instance (presumably due to male procedural laziness and a more general lack of agency downstream of greater male behavioral plasticity). But the glass ceiling is also a very real thing that some women ackshully DO experience as existentially oppressive in a pretty deep way, as when chicks climb into the big leagues (not some middle manager shit but C-Suite or high political office) they’re assessed under totally different standards that usually force them to either A) serve as affirmative action catspaw for some nigga in the shadows pulling they strings or B) leverage sexual gravitas and the ability to bestow ontologically validating social proof as lifelines in a way that eternally locks them in the Labia League. Without committing to one of the above stratagems most women tend to rise and fall in rapid and unstable cycles and a lot of times even when successful end up kind of a meme a la Carly Fiorina, the main reason being that while women are often quite vicious on the attack they also can’t take a punch for shit and the instant you have a broadly legible angle on a bih you can most the time just rip her fuckin tubes out e.g. Hilldawg’s emails. Also consider that most women just aren’t all that ambitious and tend to distrust other women who are—which includes even High Pantsuit types in the vein of Megyn Kelly, who it seems are kind of okay with Blumpf’s pussygrabbing because he’ll lower their taxes and ensure their daughter doesn’t have to look at tranny cock in the locker room. Such women realize the orangeman is far and away too canny to overtly try to rape em like Ailes—rather he’s the sort of dude they could lightly flirt with at the Christmas party and avoid ever having to fuck simply by staying out of closed rooms with him, and in doing so get promoted a trillion times faster than they ever would under Hillary who’d probs resent and sabotage them precognitively for being so Hot and Sexy. Which means chicks at the true tippity top are constantly made aware of the fact that their position in life is deeply fraught and they’ll only ever be exceptional For A Girl and also nobody feels all that bad about this at the end of the day except for annoying fat chicks on the one hand and creepos / opportunists / fags desperate for validation and moral cover on the other. Which for a broad like Hillary—who was her entire life sold this idea that womyn can and will shatter the glass ceiling one day, and tbf came about as close to that as any bitch can only to have millions of other chicks betray her for the Patriarchy such that she lost ignominiously to a fat pedophilic game show host who talks about dating his daughter—has really got to sting.

• Women getting Protected by men is inherently quite contingent on being seen as fuckable enough to incur some manner of friction for, which works out p dece for most of em given most niggas would fuck a snake if offered but once you get to really poor and low status nonwhite women esp in dangerous poopcountries no one cares about the bottom starts to fall out real fucking fast—hence sites like Motherless being chock full of clips of e.g. ghetto black girls being raped by drug dealers and Indian / Chinese homewrecker chicks getting beaten up by girl gangs on behalf of angry wives and girlfriends and homeless elderly white womyn being tortured sexually in all manner of baroquely evil ways by middle class black guys for crack money and literally no one giving the faintest fuck about any of this shit whereas clips of coeds getting blackmailed by hackers into sticking a hairbrush up they asshole tend to get taken down more or less immediately, with the alacrity of deletion more broadly corresponding to the fuckability of the girl in a weirdly linear way that seems to mirror Natalee Holloway logic; operatively speaking it would seem that mainstream society is remarkably tolerant in practice of guys hurting and sexually exploiting women below the fuckability threshold of, say, the modal lower middle class white American dude, which actually makes sense if u think about it given most fellers below that level are fantastically misogynistic.

• Basically all men are crypto-hebephiles, and most women will if they’re honest, admit they got the most overt attention from men in middle school. And it goes without saying open talk and conscious understanding of this phenomenon has been (rightly IMO) repressed among polite society thanks primarily to feminist moralization regimes, but said regimes also have astonishingly little purchase outside white and east asian cultures, and even there you see colossal markets catering to the impulse either through simulacrum or by way of grey area shit that’s impossible to crack down on. Meanwhile if you compare daddy-daughter fake incest porn (the normie pornhub kind) produced today to the sort of shit you’d see on sites a decade back the girls now are WAY flatter-chested to the point of being plausibly 15 and tend to adopt a far more childlike or even babyish affect, which to my mind stands as suggestive evidence that widespread porn use has esoterically and indirectly begun to erode the 20th century mental fireblock on hebephilia, as does the increase in sex negative attitudes in Zoomettes (likely triggered also by a falling age of menarche) which suggests a greater incidence rate of trauma. Point is most birds pretty clearly never stopped being ambiently aware of this general tendency in men, which is why you always saw such a fierce and puritanical reaction to guys e.g. saying that 17yos are hot, which contra sperg rage was plainly only like ~20% or thereabouts about intrasexual competition and hysteria and was also never really about 17yos qua 17yos so much as a precognitive slippery slope thing borne of women’s protective impulse toward kids as well as their own traumatic memories around their bestie’s dad half-consciously leering at their puffies in the swimming pool (and probs also a sublimated understanding that their own dad was himself leering at said bestie’s puffies). Ultimately it’s kind of just a thing we all half-consciously agree not to talk about in the same way we don’t really discuss how literally all chicks are on some level capable of acting like the Baker’s Wife in Into the Woods should the right prince happen to pop up.

Why you shouldn’t hate women

First of all it doesn’t do anything for you—like, at all.

Bitches smell resentment on you like cologne on a Persian, and while it’s very possible for a man to aestheticize his misogyny once he has some other shit going for him it definitely needs to come from a place of real status or at least genuine emotional depth should you want to proverbially slip inside Alex Lee Moyer.

That said one’s always going to hate women on SOME level for the sort of reasons highlighted in the intro to this piece, just as most women will always hate men on some level for having leered at they puffies. Both of these resentments are obviously legitimate and you’re a revolting and contemptible faggot if you think elsewise.

And that on some level is the central insight of The Orange Pill—that resentment and botched communication and conflict and tension and even genuine hatred between the sexes is an inescapable fact of life we’ve always had with us and always will thanks to our most basic sexed urges on some level being inexorably adversarial.

Yet the frustration that comes with Difference—which contra the framework propagated by every second grade teacher in 1999 pretty plainly NEEDS to involve tension / anxiety / discomfort / jealousy / surrender by definition, as such things are what comprise that crucial ontological shadow in which real desire and intimacy and conquest and Twue Wuv can track with a hard and substantive referent as opposed to inchoate affective slurry—is literally the entire point of heterosexuality, and precisely what makes fuckin babygirl’s soft and pink lil pussy pie ackshully fun and interesting.

You can’t get rid of the bad shit, and if you don’t have Down Syndrome don’t want to.

Sure, there will always be SOME part of her that gets wet a little more efficiently for Dolph Lundgren, just as SOME part of you will always get hard a bit more efficiently for Eliza Thornberry. But once you internalize that understanding (and detach it from any deep metaphysical import) preventing either failure mode from getting actualized is honestly a pretty boring question of incentive gradients and enforcement regimes.

Anywho I need to wrap this up, so I guess what I’ll say is this:

At the end of the day sentience was pretty clearly a mistake, as no human failure mode will ever even come close to the sort of danger posed by truly incisive self-awareness.

And on some level it ackshully is kind of fair to pin all of this on the foids thanks to their Original Sin of inducing human sapience by way of paleolithic experiments with hallucinogenic snake venom—though I also suppose if we adjudicate shit fairly they already got punished for that by being women, which I guess in turn is the reason it will always register to any decent man as irredeemably gay to unironically hate girls.

You don’t need any dumdum Bible shit to realize women were placed by nature in an architecturally subordinate role of the Led and Conquered and Penetrated and Confused.

Men irretrievably overtake most adult women in very nearly all domains that matter around the age of fourteen, and past that it’s the variance in male ability / behavior that ackshully means something consequential for civilization. Notice even among those benighted Zoomers that all the real movers and shakers are overwhelmingly men; they’re just cleaning up with scarcely any competition as most of their putative rivals were one-shotted in early adolescence by assorted dopamine traps.

Women for the most part are kind of just fungible assets by nature, and a lot of times fairly boring and untalented taken purely on their own merits bereft of pussyjuice and pixie dust, such that if we’re being entirely honest with ourselves that one chick you think is Really Smart is if I had to guestimate totally free of context about as capable overall as maybe a fortieth percentile dude in your immediate peer group. Thing is tho you’re judging chickie by entirely different standards from guys without fully realizing it because she lends you social proof and also because you’d really like to drink her pee one day—which btw is completely fucking fine and precisely what you should do!1

Because a lady’s value comes from pussyjuice and pixie dust, having precisely nothing to do with her talents in domains of rock and iron or ability to use Vlookup effectively.

Also, newsflash? She already knows all this.

Perhaps not in any formal propositional sense—but intuitively, in her cunt and blood and bones? You better believe it. And that’s the register that carries real meaning in the language of women—or at least far more of it than any of the semantically hollow girlsqueaks bae passes off to Tide Guys as ordered / coherent propositional thought.

I mean, why do you think girls constantly talk about having “impostor syndrome?”

They know perfectly well they aren’t “equal” to us—clearly. It’s not something that’s overtly Said, but it’s the inescapable subtext of very nearly every fucking thing chicks do.

Which is ultimately why babygirl thinks it’s Okay not to care about any of your dumb retarded man problems and is kind of okay with the weaker half of dudes failing to ever find love and gets the ick when you drop a jar or stub your toe and lowkey gets super duper turned on at the idea of theatrically humiliating the nibba she’s cheating on with you which in full candor nasty nigga is u really in any position to judge???

It’s also why dumb shit like Girl Code is so important to them, and why feminism has if you think about it proven both hugely robust all considered and immensely protean both philosophically and semiotically compared to every other ideology on the planet.

Because it’s never been a proper ideology per se so much as an enormous ad hoc coping mechanism for being weak and weepy, fragile, soft, incompetent little women.

Which of course is why we among the Unfair Sex so deeply and helplessly adore them.

Anyway I’m done I guess.

Give your Uncle Walt some love in the likes and comments.

Also go read all this shit if you haven’t:

And since it’s been almost exactly a year now…

Have a splendiferous weekend, queermos.

— WB