The Girl Who Cried Incel

Who's afraid of the Big Bad Karen?

In the piece that follows I’ll attempt to pull several different rabbits out of my hat.

Consider this your warning that precisely none of them will be cute and cuddly— we’re starting with Bugs and if we’re lucky might end on General Woundwort instead of the bad guy from Donnie Darko.

Sorcery is essential here because the matter at hand requires us to venture forth beyond The Veil into an entirely different slice of reality—a shrouded Other Realm ruled by gods far older and more terrifying than Facts and Logic, where even the most brazen arguments of Benjamin fall like whispers against the subtle arias of Abigail.

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But before I open that portal I’m going to make a very direct appeal to three of my past collaborators: Kryptogal (Kate, if you like), Alex Kaschuta, and Theresa Tallien.

I know you all to be thoroughly civicminded salonnières very earnestly interested in assessing the world as it is and facilitating provocative discussion to prosocial ends. You’re also always willing to give men a fair shake—though I know you’re exhausted of dealing with the incel chudkorps, and probably aren’t interested in yet another tract bitching about women in general or high status white women in particular.

Understand that’s not what I intend to do here.

What I WILL do is make the case that high status white women have developed a very particular set of dysgenic behavioral tendencies that seriously undermine both their own individual life outcomes and broader civilizational goals.

I’ll also argue that a combination of extreme wealth and apex-level social desirability has thrust these women into a world that’s effectively post-scarcity, and that their wholly understandable ennui serves as an instructive canary in the coal mine for how the rest of us will act as AI superabundance gradually frees humanity from all forms of meaningful want—first material, then sexual, romantic, social, animate.

But don’t get it twisted: my solution isn’t to force women into the kitchen or sexually enslave them or some shit. While that’s undeniably super hot to fantasize about, I’m ultimately a pragmatist by temperament and fully acknowledge that you dames have made it socially disastrous to express any opinion that carries even the faintest whiff of undermining your collective interests. At this point even tariffs are incel-coded!

But that itself is actually a great place to start.

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There are certain topics in this world that you can’t really approach directly.

You know the ones I'm talking about.

Attempting to litigate them in mixed company is like trying to defuse a bomb—nearly everything you say risks triggering an unconscious defense mechanism in one of your interlocutors and pushing you into the bad side of Schmitt's famous paradigm.

Such conflicts carry a certain gravitas you just don't see in conversations about, say, marginal tax rates, because unlike more abstract issues they can't be credibly framed as earnest ideological disagreement. They're simply too visceral, and in most cases obviously reside downstream of some deep-seated conflict of interest—occasionally over relatively pedestrian material factors a la overt factional handouts, but more frequently over things like relative social status and honor and personal dignity.

The hierarchies that emerge from this sort of jockeying are invariably framed in terms of "morality" or "taste" to frustrate spergs and insecure leveling types, but that's not really fooling anyone at the end of the day. That psychotic poltergeist in our amygdala knows perfectly well that some people are born better than others and deserve to rule from the heavens while the Bad People should die stinking and unloved in a ditch.

Yet these apparitions are also a bit like Jews—get two in a room and you'll always get three different opinions—and that means culture formation can only happen through an extended process of social triangulation between scheming Amygdala Poltergeists. Occasionally this will escalate into large-scale political agitation as structural issues with incentives and such cause negotiations to break down at the personal level and miscommunication or intransigence create a need for more top-down intervention, and whenever this happens it's going to be quite unpleasant. But if it doesn't get solved at that stage you're just begging the poltergeists to drag us all into open war.

Sadly most people are cowards who'll always kick the can down the road if possible, so when topics like these DO emerge in conversation the general tendency is either to mince your words like some prevaricating Byzantine eunuch or to pigheadedly talk past the other guy and repeatedly state your own views to basically no functional end, with perhaps the top quintile in self-awareness opting instead to just agree to disagree.

And what's the consequence of this?

Ostensibly a bunch of infected bandaid Missouri Compromise solutions that only serve to make everyone angrier and even more tribal and cynical overall—not to mention significantly less positive-sum in their general outlook toward the world.

Beneath the surface things are far worse. Once the prospect of good faith negotiation with parties outside your immediate ingroup or subculture seems a sucker's game you’re on a horrifically short road to the brutalist worship of power and desire and charisma over all else—a world where ideas and principles and any sort of consistent epistemic anchoring are casually tossed aside in deference to the vicissitudes of fashion and animal whim and social realpolitik and whatever makes you cum.

Now in fairness that's actually a world that appeals quite strongly to certain groups—think the more overtly paleolithic half of black ghetto-dwellers; the sort of urban gay man who doesn't see anything wrong with acting like Varys from Game of Thrones; teenage girls and their cheugy elder sisters who perceive Zoomettes as tastemakers because they haven't quite outgrown their own girlish affinity for subtly evil whimsy; men in their Anger Phase who aren’t particularly interested in anything sans fucking…

Understand none of these groups are particularly evil—they’re simply pursuing their perceived self-interest under a significantly shorter time horizon than you or even me, which is why they’re mostly fine throwing civilization into the furnace to feed the flames of their brutalist right hemispheric oral culture.

But it’s hardly written in stone that we need to throw up our hands and let them win; even in dopamine-drenched post-reality there are ways civilized people can negotiate in good faith once they realize that All’s Fair starts to look like a shitty bet as your time horizon lengthens and you grow increasingly interested in building things. Abiding by certain honor norms benefits everyone, even if our Amygdala Poltergeists continue wanting to torture each other to death.

And here’s where the Other Realm begins to intrude rather unhelpfully on public life. Because the deepest and most important honor norm I can think of—really the closest thing to “natural law” to my mind—is that everyone in society has the right to advocate for their own interests in an honest and straightforward way.

Without that as a basic starting point you can’t have anything resembling good faith negotiation—it’s all just manipulative posturing and game theoretic triangulation.

But once you understand the Other Realm you realize that’s sort of the whole point.

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Let’s clarify a few things.

The Other Realm is NOT the same thing as Womanworld—to frame it as such would be a gross oversimplification, because in truth it only maps about 60-70%.

Women and gays certainly spend a lot more time here than straight dudes, and will absolutely navigate its mists more adroitly, but a lot of them hardly identify with it. The spergy ones, for instance, usually aren’t any more comfortable in this plane than your average moderately extraverted straight guy.

Meanwhile a lot of normie girls just passively observe its goings-on from the shadows because they themselves are neither willing nor able to harness its energy in a deep and agentic way. Instead they’ll engage with it very selectively—through Lana, through trashy romance novels, through plausibly deniable flirting with a coworker, through white lies about that bachelorette party in Nash… you know the drill.

Hell, if anything the people MOST comfortable in the Other Realm are straight men—Rasputin, Bill Clinton, Ted Bundy, John Mulaney, some other niggas I won’t mention. Really any male artist needs to commune with this world at least occasionally or else his shit will start to feel really pedestrian and kitsch.

But these are ultimately all Really Smart Black Guy situations—on the whole of it this world belongs to women specifically and the yin-dominant generally.

The thing is yin divorced from yang is every bit as incomplete as the reverse—even if the extant social incentive structure does a pretty terrible job driving this home to people. And the sort of femininity that starts to ferment in the Other Realm absent masculine pasteurization is virtually always deeply juvenile and immature, which is why the people who spend the most time here are invariably teenage girls and BPD chicks (note I’m using BPD here as shorthand for a constellation of traits that probs have nothing to do with clinical BPD so much as a slurry of stepdad shit / dopamine addiction / maladaptive habituation… but hopefully that was already obvious).

That’s why choosing to walk away from this world—or learning how to channel its eldritch lunar power properly while gradually mooring oneself to masculine reality—is perhaps the single most important arc of feminine maturation. It’s why Peter Pan still holds up as archetypally potent myth; nearly every beautiful and creative young girl needs to decide at a brutally tender age whether she’ll be Wendy or Tinkerbell.

The story needed a female protagonist because for men the question is just a lot less interesting. If you have enough crazy narc energy to consistently lock down pixie dust then of course you’re gonna be Peter Pan—duh! Even being Captain Hook is a lot more enjoyable than being Wendy’s boring fat dad. Most niggas would rather be Smee.

Because if anything a huge chunk of them are analogous to Nana—they never even get to visit Neverland because they’re stuck on a leash being yelled at by some rich dude.

Other men are more like John—hell, I myself used to be a John! (nyuck nyuck nyuck) This guy will approach the Other Realm with a completely wrongheaded attitude, trying to impose order on things that are disordered by their most essential nature. He’ll also desexualize himself for head pats from Tiger Lily and will take Peter Pan incredibly seriously when he says: “John—you be the leader!”

But perhaps the single biggest slice of men—I’d hazard a third of them in total—are most comparable to Michael, because while navigating the Other Realm they’re sort of just a retarded little toddler without the right cognitive architecture to process half of what’s going on around them. Because the rules of this plane are NOT easily parsed by male minds, and if you think that’s an accident I have a condo in Boca to sell you.

See, none of your assets from phallic reality—status, wealth, logic, aggro swagger—serve your interests at all in The Other Realm. If anything they just weigh you down, make you too corporeal and predictable. At best they’re a blanket to hide under.

And building a Big Beautiful Blanket very obviously isn’t the worst strategy for a man—it’s hugely effective if you never venture out of masculine status hierarchies and aren’t the type to compulsively peel at every crack in the wallpaper.

Hell, even weirdo artists and intellectuals will find there are legions of gals out there who are infinitely more traumatized by nightmarish experiences in the Other Realm than you as a man could ever understand, and are entirely happy to operate as a sort of psychic pool filter for your relationship with femininity. She’ll let you pretend girls are adorable and fluffy and it’s hardly ever daunting to get in the sheets with Gardevoir.

…at least not until your daughter hits puberty and the pool filter starts getting clogged with leaves and dead cockroaches and you as a man better fucking know how to fix it—something not easily achieved if you spent your life under the covers. 

Yet deprived of their covers most men aren’t prepared to navigate the Other Realm. Most of us are too straightforward in our cognition to parse half of what goes on here, and when we do understand it the impulse is to stigmatize, sexualize, or trivialize.

And can you gals really blame us for that? Those are the only options your average dude has for grappling with the Other Realm on terms that dignify his own position: either pretend it doesn’t exist or treat it all as Silly Girl Shit.

Musicians and comedians and serial killers have more avenues to choose from because they can work angles and tickle the g-spot, but for your average joe it’s all about maintaining a solid interesting rhythm to your push-and-pull—if you want to be straightforward with women you really do need to be sort of grug about it. Bitches love having they pussy ate artfully, but nothing makes them despise a man more than when he peels open her vulva and starts to document everything like Hannibal Lecter (this is what John will want to do when he figures out he’s not, in fact, The Leader).

And that more than anything else is why the Other Realm feels sort of inexorably hostile to straight guys: it’s supposed to confuse and disorient you.

That’s why everything here feels photonegative—why vulnerabilities are wellsprings of power and one’s status flows predominantly from making others “feel comfortable.”

It’s also why nothing here is what it appears at first glance—why every being you encounter is a weepy little Matryoshka Doll of love and hate, desire and disgust, genuinely tragic victimhood and plausibly deniable predation. Yet once you start trying to discern where the layers begin and end you’ve already lost the plot..

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Now obviously not sticking your dick inside the vagina dentata is always an option—and indeed, why should the onus fall entirely on Wendy to walk away from Neverland in a world full of boys eager to play Peter Pan and more than a few Captain Hooks?
Do the fellas not Have Agency?
 
The thing is it’s neither Hook nor Pan who rules Neverland. 
The actual ruler is very obviously Tinkerbell—the real villain of the story.
That gorgeous BPD bitch so fucking masterful at her craft that she can spend half the movie playing two high status narcs against each other only to rewrite history at the end with a dramatic flourish and make herself the mascot of the whole damn company. 

You want to know the real reason Wendy walked away?
She knew Tink would ruin her life and somehow still make her the bad guy.
Because permanently usurping Tinkerbell's position was obviously untenable.

There's no competing with Pixie Dust Pussy. 

You can certainly give Pete a bit of novelty—some sane and classy female company as an aperitif following one of Tink's particularly batshit episodes—and you'll probably even assume he likes you more because he treats you like a lady while bullying her (you're not yet experienced enough to realize that's a terrible sign).

And so you'll nurse Peter's wounds while Tink is off entertaining Captain Hook, and for a decent while he'll make you feel like the only girl in the world. 

What you fail to realize is Captain Hook is the exact same thing to Tinkerbell as you are to Peter—novelty, relational leverage, a bit more mainstream respectability by dint of displaying Cluster B traits at merely subclinical levels—but he'll never scratch the same itch as The Real Deal. Especially when Hook lets Tink past his facade and she can't help but wonder why he's so fucking scared of some random crocodile and also why would a successful pirate captain ostensibly respected by his crew waste years of his life beefing with some fairy instead of roving the seas like he's supposed to...? 

And so Tinkerbell always comes back, at which point your novelty will be long-gone while her own pixie dust remains limitless. You'll see it coming from miles away.

But by that point you were probably already halfway out the door—perhaps because you're starting to want a family, or perhaps because you don't savor the prospect of living in a tree with a bunch of retarded incels who cosplay as racoons and shit.

Either way you decide to walk away from Neverland and try remarkably hard to make some effort at acting like a grown woman. You'll likely find yourself becoming some normie bitch's Tinkerbell one or two times, but you never let it get as bad as yours did, if only because the guy you're feuding over doesn't make you feel anything like Peter.

Speaking of Peter, he'll definitely fly in through your window and fuck you a few times, and you won't really be able to tell him No at first. 

It gets a lot easier once you start to notice the Lost Boys wearing eyepatches.

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The real problem with high status white women is their inveterate obscurantism; more than any other group, they simply won’t let you talk about the world as it is.

This usually occurs in ways that seem bafflingly unintuitive until you start to grasp the photonegative logic of the Other Realm. For instance, these women will often get profoundly uncomfortable (particularly the tall blondes for some reason…) when you point out the simple brute reality that they occupy the tippity-top of the sociosexual hierarchy. They’ll virtually NEVER concede something like that and will always say erm actually men have lots of different types and I used to have this really curvy dark friend who ackshually got hit on way more than I did blah blah blah.

Do they really believe any of that? Who knows. But when it comes to Rashomon situations like this I’m inclined to start by asking cui bono, and to me it seems like high status white women in general and tall blondes in particular are going to be the ones most invested in propping up obfuscatory leveling platitudes that e.g. stop fat chicks from being mean to them but won’t do shit for that delta in male attention.

Meanwhile when I talk to very high SMV nonwhite women they’re never in the least bit bothered by the obvious fact that white women are broadly seen as more desirable. It doesn’t threaten their position because they have an abundance mindset, and also because for women it sort of gives you power to be in an “unfair” position in life so long as you never display any stanky overt jealousy towards another woman.

And look—I actually get it. You simply need to do the whole performative head pat thing with minorities and fat chicks or everyone will hate you and call you a Karen. From a game theoretic perspective it clearly makes a lot of sense for you to do this, and it’s also never been my stance that we need to be super gauche about waving life’s asymmetries in peoples’ faces at every last opportunity.

The problem is that this makes it impossible to negotiate with you in good faith, because women are basically never entirely honest about the extent of their power. And yet it wouldn’t be remotely fair to expect women to be honest about it, because if they were we’d just fucking crush them every single time and it wouldn’t be close.

But ultimately women don’t even want to be transacted with—they want to be seduced. Approaching them with the spirit of a grasping fishwife is one of the very best ways to call down the vengeful spirits of the Other Realm. The moment you start talking about “fairness” you’re automatically on a train to the incel concentration camp.

But these days it feels like just about fucking everything sends you there. The instant a man fails to perform that disinterested abundance mindset and comes off as actually wanting something or being genuinely dissatisfied with his position in life he’ll watch her face turn to stone, her attraction turn to ash, her respect crumple like tissue paper. Meanwhile you can’t let her know you’re performing or overtly talk about the rules, because that’s even worse than breaking them. If you don’t act like Pete Buttigieg all the time you’re a disgusting contemptible incel who deserves to be tortured to death.

It’s like always having a nuke pointed at your face decades after you decided to unilaterally disarm in an incoherent stupor of drunkenness and naive limerence

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For the sort of men who don’t understand things like subtextual status coding and plausible deniability games, navigating the Other Realm is genuinely terrifying.

You’ll stumble through the dolorous haze unable to discern literally anything concrete through all the faded black, barely picking up on certain sounds—those evil giggles—the fairer sex hears effortlessly

Before long you’ll begin to doubt your own sanity as you come to terms with the fact that you can’t distinguish between threat signals and earnest expressions of goodwill… between oblique forms of status jockeying and genuine expressions of self-doubt… between plausibly deniable flirtation and good faith rivalry and sneering contempt…

They’re all the same thing.

That’s what makes women so captivating and infuriating in equal measure, and also what makes that eternal question of Female Agency both eternally pressing to all straight men and hugely fraught on both a personal and philosophical level.

Because it’s not really an option to stay in the dark forever—eventually those muffled giggles will drive you insane, and past a certain point you won’t even hear anything else. That’s what Jung was getting at when he proposed the idea of anima possession, and is clearly why incels act the way they do. These guys are lashing out in psychic rage against their own demonic feminine because they’ve been locked with Lilith in a dark and scary basement and can’t identify anything resembling a way out.

And those are just the moderately dorky ones—for the Actually Autistic among them that basement quickly starts to look a lot more like a sensory deprivation tank.

See, most of these guys weren’t ready to learn of the *existence* of the Other Realm, let alone get thrown in the thick of it with zero training like Pat Wilson in Insidious. Dark and esoteric knowledge is dark and esoteric for a reason! And even the freshest and bloodiest of redpills inevitably coagulates into fetid black dust when a man lacks the basic genetic fitness to meaningfully change his life circumstances. For every 5’11 aspie software engineer who got laid a few years earlier than he would have otherwise because of “redpill wisdom” there are probably like two or three 5’6 guys with bipolar disorder who’ll never find love now because blackpills turned them into awful people.

And I bet you’d also be a pretty fucking terrible person if you were the one stumbling around like Helen Keller without anyone to teach you Wawa.

But at the end of the day I’m not hugely concerned with the very bottom cohort of men, most of whom would probably be fucked either way. To my mind the infinitely more interesting question pertains to how guys who obviously aren’t hapless incels should navigate their relationship with the Other Realm.

Because make no mistake—even spergy midstatus dudes are anything but defenseless. A feller’s gal pals and Gay Allies will usually be glad to accompany him past The Veil like it’s an escort mission in Silent Hill and he’s the retarded AI who can’t keep away from demons trying to kill him, and when your girls and gays are capable they’ll often clock the worst of these demons from miles away.

Now whether you’ll actually heed those warnings is another matter entirely, but the point is you can start to navigate inexorably ambiguous situations with a bit of grace now that your yin-dominant buddy is illuminating at least your immediate vicinity in gentle torchlight, which will generally allow you to discern friend from foe over the short term while also letting anxious spirits rest.

That last part is absolutely essential, and the main reason straight guys usually can’t pull this off by ourselves even when clever and socially astute—very few of us are even remotely capable of producing torchlight. Even the faggier sort of straight guy tends to flood every room he’s in with harsh unflattering fluorescent lighting straight out of a PWC bathroom, and if you know anything about girls and gays you’ll understand why these vain bitches will utterly despise you for doing that to their skin.

Of course YOU won’t notice the difference. It doesn’t matter. 
It feels way too much like Hannibal Lecter peeling open their labia.

And once you’ve installed enough fluorescent light fixtures in the Other Realm—or if you’re crazy Cap’n Walt, erected a whole damn lighthouse to point at its Empress—you’ll start to intuit something deeply unsettling:

Overt womanly vindictiveness is often the result of being denied gentle lighting.

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It feels sort of impossible to discuss the Female Agency Question with women in good faith, because A) obviously they have a hugely personal stake—a complex and bidirectional one, but very real all the same—in whether men think they Have Agency; and B) if women actually Don’t Have Agency (i.e. due to their cognition being a lot more embodied / unconscious), this obviously isn’t something they’re going to realize, which means the conversation is automatically going to feel like mutual gaslighting.

So at the end of the day it’s kind of silly to even waste our time litigating this.

Instead I think it’s important to note that however much agency women have the worst excesses of the Other Realm are hardly some elaborate scheme where women are Jewishly rubbing their hands together and plotting the downfall of the retarded Boyim—they’re an inescapable aspect of feminine cognition that lets women navigate the world under a smokescreen of plausible deniability, always keeping their options open so it’s not quite literally the end of the world if the other feller wins the battle.

Now obviously this tendency is incredibly annoying when it works out against you. But most men also understand that if this keeps happening to you the only real solution is to start winning some battles—don’t hate the player, nigga!

Because it feels genuinely splendid when a girl rewrites history in your favor, and also it’s not like we can really *blame* women for acting this way when the ones who didn’t obviously just got abandoned by paleolithic fuckboys or slaughtered by the tribe who abducted them when they wouldn’t forgive their new hubby for murking the old one. Literally everything about the Other Realm that feels really onerous and gay exists primarily to stop that kind of shit from happening to them.

And I actually suspect this is why women get so mad when you peel open their labia—attempting to Ben Shapiro their most instinctive feminine survival tactics reads as an existentially devastating moral violation.

It’s like you’re trying to obliterate femininity itself and systematize away everything that stopped them from becoming livestock through the years. Like you’re walking up to her with a bucket full of reductive hyperverbal acid and throwing it in her face. 
And for what? Why do you even care so much? It was just mischief! People say things all the time I was just having some fun WHY WOULD YOU RUIN MY BEAUTY?!

And that’s why there’s the smokescreen. 
It’s also why they aren’t really aware of the smokescreen. 
The ones who are aware of it? Hookers and dykes. 
And there's a huge pipeline between the two.

See, this is what male brains—particularly those of Faustian Autismos—tend to have the damndest time understanding: some knowledge actually is legitimately bad.

Not le spoopy dark esoteric necronomicon bad and not bad in the sense that black people will use bad to mean "cool" because of their juvenile oppositional culture.
I'm talking Bad Bad—rots your soul and makes you incapable of love Bad.

The whole fucking point of the Other Realm is to drench us in adaptative delusion—leveling platitudes, sanitizing rewrites of history, even retarded little distractions—that eventually turn into useful foundational myth. People instinctively despise the "she led me on" guy for the same reason they hate it when blackpeepo start talking about George Washington's slave teeth. Unless you have a pretty decent plan to kill William it's kind of a nigger move to just set fire to the Bayeux Tapestry. 

Our cognition knows this. It’s built in. Redpill ideology is very low status for a reason. That confuses men because operationalizing redpill wisdom is great for climbing masculine status hierarchies. But it’s only useful for climbing feminine hierarchies (i.e. asserting meaningful control over women) if you keep it to yourself and literally just lie all the time. And obviously some types of dude are very talented at that, but if you’re unfortunate enough to have merely subclinical levels of NPD that’s not really an option for you. Eventually you’ll crack.

So normal guys who want to avoid the incel concentration camp will all deal with the Other Realm in their own ways: ignore it, make fun of it, let their mom or girlfriend or gay bros or gal pals serve as medium, try to snake charm it with art / comedy / NLP…

And some will keep on tilting with windmills, and trying their damndest to replace that grotesque fluorescent bulb in their lighthouse with a big beautiful fire…

Because Faustian Autismos sure as hell can’t do torchlight, but every now and then we manage to pull off some pretty damn impressive chemiluminescence.

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I think a lot of men on the Right have an impulse to treat the Other Realm as inherently nefarious, or even quasi-demonic.

And this impulse is honestly pretty understandable for some guys, because most of their direct experiences with this world have been genuinely horrifying.

But it’s also just cataclysmically short-sighted, because literally every single positive experience you’ve ever had with a woman has come from precisely the same place. You just don’t complain when the demons come for YOUR enemies.

You need to give her grace for annoying Conquered Cavewoman shit in the same way she probably gives you grace for that Sex Demon that pops out behind closed doors.

You also need to realize that whenever you interface with a girl both Lilith and Eve exist in there, but they’re not two sides of the same coin—they’re just the same woman, with an entirely contiguous interiority and sense of self. The girl who made you feel all those lovely things was precisely the same person who operatically betrayed you. Every bit of it went hand in hand, and that’s the ultimate redpill.

For centuries the Abrahamic faiths buried this understanding out of a Manichean urge to obliterate the Dark Feminine. Judaism cognitively transformed women into men while Christianity made them children and Islam reduced them to livestock.

And for a while this actually sort of worked. 
But in the end Mephistopheles always comes back to claim his pound of flesh.

Hence the issue with high status white women.

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Recently and in separate conversations I discussed with my upper class black frens Sabina 🧘🏿‍♀️💕 and Marcus Benedicta something incredibly peculiar about high status white women, which is that they don’t really like it when you spend money on them.

Most of the time it actively gives them The Ick.

If you ask them about it directly a lot of them will do some silly moral grandstanding about not being transactional or some shit, but I’ve never taken that seriously because these gals know perfectly well that all relationships are somewhat transactional.

Meanwhile some of them will just directly reduce it to social class, but that’s even more retarded because lots of upper class nonwhite girls will still get turned on when you buy them shit even when their dad has a million times more money than you do—hell, even Castizas and JAPs like it when they’re not super aspirationally anglo. Meanwhile lots of well-heeled autistic white girls who’d be perfectly high status if they were just a bit more normie will also very earnestly enjoy being spoiled.

It’s basically only elite white women who get disgusted by this sort of thing, and literally everyone else thinks they’re being weird.

Of course, that very obviously isn’t to say that elite white women don’t benefit from men financially. They just don’t give men any credit when it happens, and usually it’s never spoken about—let alone sexualized. You’ll subsidize her fake business making artisinal cupcakes or take care of her student loans, or perhaps when she’s younger she’ll get paid to go to high end clubs and feel a vague disgust for everyone involved.

Implicitly she’ll look down on her nonwhite or working class friends who talk about a potential boyfriend’s income or get a sugar daddy, because the only sugar daddy she needs is McKinsey—a thin, pretty, educated white woman can fall backwards into a six figure bullshit job anywhere on the planet, or can exclusively date rich men who won’t make a big deal about their money because they know she still holds infinitely more power in the relationship.

This completely changes her dating calculus, and makes her exclusively care about a man’s ability to “make her feel comfortable” by adroitly navigating the Other Realm. That’s literally all that matters. So basically every girl like this will really want to fuck e.g. Pete Davidson and John Mulaney and start to overtly despise men who optimize around an ability to climb masculine status hierarchies.

Now this wouldn’t be a problem if they just did that in a vacuum—you do you, boo. The issue is more that high status white women socially punish men for arbitrage strategies. If you bring a working class girl to the Christmas party your pantsuit coworkers will gossip with the boss’s wife about whether she’s actually a hooker or something, and women will savage e.g. passport bros or guys who get mail order brides. They used to do the exact same thing to guys who married Asian women but that’s not seen as okay anymore, though it still happens implicitly in various ways (“is he a fetishist?”).

As a rich white dude it’s sort of just assumed there’s something… maybe not “wrong” per se, but definitely “off” about you if you don’t marry an elite white woman, and you can bet your ass that had something to do with the “weird” animus towards J.D. Vance.

The thing is high status white women never admit to being upset or feeling threatened because in the Other Realm power flows almost exclusively from passivity, disinterest, being courted… a woman expressing overt jealousy for another woman is the absolute worst thing she can do to undermine her feminine power.

And so they’ll attack you indirectly, obliquely, with plausible deniability, saying things that undercut your status through second-order suggestions but make you seem paranoid or like the Bad Guy should you directly call them out.

There’s something that really feels operatically evil about this—either we both get to fuck poor people who make us feel good or we exclusively date each other and there can be symmetrical shaming for breaking ranks.

But if you’re going to pull this shit we’re just going to Huberman it up on the DL.

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It’s not just being spoiled that high status white women hate.

It’s being complimented. Being texted a lot. Having you show initiative generally.

This is NOT a universal woman thing—guys who assume it is are living in a bubble. It’s literally just affluent white girls and the Asian/Indian broads who imitate them.

So long as you’re not a weak faggot you can be emotionally expressive and vulnerable with working class white women and it makes them like you MORE. They respond sexually to swaggering displays of bravado and like to feel “claimed” in various ways, and rich black / Mestiza women are basically the same. Rich Castizas / Jewesses are halfway between these worlds—they tend to love it on a primal level but are usually trying to internalize Angloid sensibilities to socially matriculate into a higher level of Whiteness (Jew girls in particular do a lot of code switching around libtard friends).

Now a lot of high status white women reading this are probably sneering right now and thinking in a less autistic way that the behavior of these other groups comes from a low status scarcity mindset and yeah, you’re not wrong hon.

The thing is that for high status white women positive attention doesn’t mean anything.

They get so damn much of it—even from men high on masculine status hierarchies—that for them the only thing with genuine scarcity is privation. For these women the only thing that remains hot is an overtly disinterested guy willing to withhold affection (it used to be hyper-aggressive dudes who’d “call me out on my bullshit” but these days even that is overabundant for them and has transformed into the domain of rich black girls / latinas and the prettier half of working class whites).

But here’s the thing: 
LITERALLY NONE OF THESE GIRLS ARE HAPPY

I know because I’ve spoken to A LOT of these girls over the past year, many of whom are going to read these words and agree with literally everything I say before proceeding with their lives exactly as before.

The problem with the photonegative status hierarchy of the Other Realm is that sometimes you bury quality under so many levels of obfuscation that you deprive it of oxygen and before you know it the Matryoshka Doll starts rotting from the inside out.

These girls WANT to do something with their lives but feel like a giant loser trying hard at anything because who wants to be a try-hard?

These girls WANT romance and love and a family but any guy who offers them that in an earnest way seems nothing short of repulsive because these days any guy who isn’t an incel is a fuckboy who just shoves garbage down their throat.

These girls KNOW the insipid Dasha Culture around them is repulsive and sclerotic and life-denying and if anything are very overt about their contempt for it… but in practice even their self-hatred becomes just another ironic little language game, another layer of the onion, another cycle of metamodern ouroboros face-fucking.

These girls earnestly don’t want to be saved. 
They don't want anything to matter.
They want to suffer beautifully.
They deeply long to rot.

And on the face of it that attitude seems pathetic. 

But looking down on these girls is much more so, because in a decade or two every single one of us will be acting like a beautiful spoilt art hoe. 

---

One of my favorite quotes is this one from Dick Nixon:

“To me, the unhappiest people in the world are those in the international watering places like the south coast of France and Newport and Palm Springs and Palm Beach; going to parties every night, playing golf every afternoon, then bridge. Drinking too much, talking too much, thinking too little. Retired. No purpose.”

This resonates with me a lot because my 2020 was exactly like that.

I was doing such little work that I had effectively unlimited free time, plus enough cash to play with that I could do basically whatever I wanted on the weekend, and also a steroid bod that let me access most of the region’s finest SeekingArrangement prospects at discount rates. I was fucking miserable.

And my existence in 2020 pales in comparison to what a pretty high status white girl has at her disposal these days. Such women have always had material post-scarcity, and as the decades have progressed the sexual and emotional compromises they’ve had to endure for it have gradually faded away to the point where their only remaining challenge is finding a dude who DOESN’T drown them in low quality attention.

Now most of us will never be half as fuckable as these girls, but I’m increasingly inclined to think that isn’t much of an issue. Zoomer incels don’t seem half as upset about their plight as Millennial incels were, and I sort of suspect that as the quality and ubiquity of pornography increases with AI, VR, etc. the actual desire of future generations to physically have sex will plummet.

tbh I’m already sort of seeing that in myself—if it’s not either A) a girl I’m very much in love with; or B) a super hot novel partner who I know will be perfectly submissive on literally the first date, then porn is unironically just a better experience these days. Having to take some Brand Management Director with a smelly rich white girl pussy who voted for Elizabeth Warren out to a Thai joint just to find out she won’t let me record anything or will object to anal feels like way more trouble than it’s worth.

This is obviously a very low status thing to say, but I’m entirely certain most guys are increasingly feeling this way.

It’s not really a question of fucking the Brand Management Director being too hard—it’s that the overall experience very genuinely isn’t enjoyable. Poor women are more enjoyable to have sex with overall when they’re good looking, but it’s generally too hard to idealize them enough to actually want to marry them.

“but why do u need to idealize a woman why can’t u just look at who she is blah blah blah”

Oh shut the FUCK up, you insufferable virago!
Everyone who actually likes someone idealizes them.
Literally everyone in society but you bitches enjoys being idealized. 

My life would be soooo fucking perfect if I were attracted to Indian or Black women. So fucking perfect. I’m always clicking with like the 140+ IQ royalty of those races.

It would also be perfect if I could maintain a relationship with a more modest IQ white working class girl without taking her for granted or cheating on her or getting bored or losing my temper when she doesn’t know what “ceteris paribus” means... genuinely I don’t know why I can’t, I know Theon Ultima seems to do so effortlessly.

I guess on some level I do sort of really like your cunty qualities. I admire the deeply layered evil, the perpetual recursive mind games and plausibly deniable status signaling you’ll never fucking admit to, your Wagnerian Gone Girl betrayals, the indefatigable insistence on sitting around eating garbage all day because you alone can get away with that and you love rubbing it in everyone’s face…

All that’s power.

And yes, guys like me happen to be the primary targets of it like 99% of the time, but it feels so very pedestrian to overindex on that!

I could only ever marry one of you—and I’ll count Jewesses and Castizas under that umbrella even though it’s kind of cheating bc they act like you in public at least—because not doing so is like running away from the fucking dragon. And I’d much rather get roasted over and over and over again by you bitches than let that happen.

But I think we need to figure out a way to save you from yourselves, because you bitches are spoiled and decadent and it’s just fucking drowning you in ennui.

Also lots of people secretly hate you. Or not-so-secretly, hence the popularity of the Karen meme. But tons of higher status groups LOVE to bitch about your behavior behind closed doors the moment they get a chance, even though they’d never do so to your face because you basically control elite society at the moment.

The problem is higher status nonwhite women will never be dumb enough to voice their problems publicly because that would massively diminish their own position (and you are smart enough to pretend to worship them to offset that possibility—an interesting Nash Equilibrium) and higher status white guys are terrified of criticizing you or saying anything that challenges your interests even as a third order consequence, because they don’t want to get that Incel Stink.

It sort of reminds me of this episode of the Twilight Zone:

The only people dumb enough to criticize high status white women are incels who’d never fuck them anyway and ugly fat shaniqua types, and so critiquing high status white women becomes coded as low status in this infinitely recursive feedback loop devilishly obfuscated by the photonegative power dynamics of the Other Realm.

This gives you nearly limitless social capital and power.
And yet you probably don’t even FEEL your power.
You probably FEEL like men are scawy still.
and all these meanies call you Karen...

Because if you didn't feel this way none of it would work.

---

Look, I’m not saying this—any of this—because I hate you.

I mean I obviously kind of do, in the same way you obviously kind of hate me—our poor Amygdala Poltergeists know WAY too much about the other’s dark side at this point.

But something’s gotta give. You ladies have let the Other Realm invade the real world in too many ways and it’s producing shitty consequences for young people especially.

There are too many plausibly deniable status games and power plays, too much social triangulation and narrative reframing, too much game theoretic analysis around not looking like an incel or jealous or whatever. It’s all so tiresome. It’s all so tedious.

But I’m not even asking you to act differently, both because A) as we’ve already established I don’t even think you know what’s going on, and I’m not certain making you aware of it is necessarily a great idea; and B) most of this works to your benefit—or at least it does superficially—and I would never expect you gals to just disarm unilaterally and give up all your special power naively like men did.

I’m just telling you that making it inexorably low status to criticize you or challenge your collective interests might seem like a galaxy-brained move that can last forever, but just look at how that turned out for The Jews.

Women know better than anyone that there’s tremendous power in vulnerability, and also tremendous vulnerability in power. But that truth cuts both ways, and keeping that recursion working in your favor becomes increasingly difficult as more and more pieces join the board and the ruleset grows in complexity.

Because that’s the thing about Faustian Bargains.
Mephistopheles always comes back for his pound of flesh.
But what Mephistopheles fails to realize is that he himself is locked in a much crueler arrangement with far subtler forces who never even bother to ask permission. 

And that’s the story that’s always interested me.

Because Faust himself is a big boy—stop sticking your dick in the toaster, nigga!