What Do Divorce Experts Say Women Want for Valentines Day?

MORE Beta!

If the social expectations of Valentine’s Day are already stinging your newly-opened eyes, with the idea of blowing your dough on flowers, candy, diamonds and other stylized, symbolic representations of your devotion undermining your efforts of an authentic emotionally-meaningful display, then hold on to your fedoras, Gentlemen: apparently this exercise in blanket gender abasement just isn’t GOOD enough for the feminists of America.  At least according to the illustrious left-wing tabloid HuffPo, where the message is loud and clear: this year feminists want their menfolk to be even MORE Beta!

The obsequious posturing, overindulgent gifting and fawning devotion of yesteryear are no longer sufficient for the gals.  Apparently, on the one day of the year in which one is supposed to celebrate one’s romantic and sexual union with your mate is just TOO DARN MUCH PRESSURE for the feminists of America.

The gifts, the flowers, the candy, they’re great and all . . . but they aren’t enough.  You see, that sets up the idea that the women in question might feel OBLIGATED to have sex with the men in their lives ("husbands"), the ones who just shelled out a car payment on an expression of their affection that can be adequately bragged about at work.  And if men are getting anything out of it, then it has to be BAD for women.

In a disgusting orgy of self-gratifying entitlement, the authors of the post (Rabbi Robert B. Barr and Dr. Jill Bley, PhD.) reveal:

As wives everywhere unwrap their gifts, they'll be thinking, "So what's in this for me?" Far from being that romantic holiday as depicted on the cards, Valentine's Day has become another time for men to place more expectations on women.

I’ll just let that lovely tidbit of cognitive dissonance settle on your frontal lobes for a moment.  “As they unwrap their gifts” . . . “what’s in this for me?” . . . irony much?

The authors of the post make a compelling argument: men already suck pretty badly.  Just ask women.  Here are the reasons why women should spitefully reject their husband’s solemn attempts at a socially-appropriate and likely heartfelt display at love and devotion:

[W]omen are working harder than men.

(Men must therefore  suck.  How dare they, the lazy bastards!  Unemployment is NOT an excuse!)

Most are still being paid less for their work outside the home.

(Most avoided lucrative technical career paths that would have led to higher salaries in favor of more “meaningful” work . . . that often means more hours and less pay.)

They are likely to be shouldering more of the burden of household and child rearing responsibilities than men.

(Unlike their unmarried contemporaries, who are doing 100% of the housework without any masculine assistance, the lucky ladies!) 

Women in the workplace continue to face sexism, spoken and unspoken.

(Men in the workplace continue to die and get maimed at a far higher rate than women)

They are often exhausted by the expenditure of energy trying to combat the sexism they face without appearing petty or bitchy.

(Men are usually just exhausted from working . . . there’s too much to do to worry about appearing petty and bitchy)

Their work day is almost never over when they arrive back in their homes.

(Whereas men utterly lack post-work activities and job-related homework)

Poor, beleaguered feminist wives!  How they suffer!  

Seriously, it’s bad enough that they actually deigned to marry a male in the first place, thereby rescuing him from a fate of cheap and easy sex, beer, and action movies.  To actually have to work IN ADDITION to running a marriage?  That’s a little too much for the poor dears, apparently.   

And of course the LAST thing they want to do is be reminded of their distasteful and embarrassing social plight by the possibility of catering to her husband’s beastly lusts. 

Adding insult to injury, Valentine's Day becomes an opportunity for men, in the guise of romance, to obligate their wives to sex when what their wives really want is time to relax, sleep, and have their houses cleaned by someone else.

Because Sex is apparently the insult to the injury of Marriage.  And understanding that men are incapable of carnal congress with even a modicum of emotional content behind it, Barr and Bley quite rightly identify the entire phenomenon with what it so clearly is: one small step away from socially-mandated justified rape.  Because the LAST thing a hard-working wife wants on Valentine’s Day is to get laid.  Sex is a chore, to feminists, and the mere fact that we have a holiday devoted to the idea of romantic love and the special bond between a man and a woman is no reason to bow to the iron will of the Patriarchy.

Thought women enjoyed Valentine’s Day, gentlemen?  You sadistic bastards.  It’s a crushing hell of obligatory sex and feigned affection.  Indeed, according to Mssrs. Barr & Bley, the very sight of a red heart can inspire a violent reaction:

For many women Valentine's Day does not bring out romantic feelings, instead, it ignites anger and frustration.  Valentine's Day seems to benefit men while requiring women to smile as they accommodate the desires of another man one more time.

Yes, all of those nasty Pandora bracelets, diamond earrings, new cars and 4 star dinners are for OUR benefit, Gentlemen.  Just one more way we can guilt our wives onto their backs, making them the unwilling slaves to our salacious for the cost of a mere dozen long-stem red roses and an uncomfortable relationship discussion!  Celebrate love?  In the feminist universe, love and marriage are polar opposites, a distasteful and necessary evil required for the support of progeny, nothing more.  If you needed further proof of the Patriarchy’s evil plan, Barr and Bley can pinpoint the villains:

 

Women, at home and work, continually face the challenges of men who demand much and don't give enough in return. While it is claimed that it is a holiday for women it doesn't take much to see that it's the men who get what they want, while women are wanting.

Hear that, Gents?  You demand too much.  And you don't give enough in return, you ungrateful assholes.  Your woman doesn’t want romance and love, attention and affection, validation of her femininity and of your attraction to her . . . she wants laundry and a nap.  

And anything less than that is proof – PROOF! – that you don’t really love them.

So let’s take a look at the stunning relationship advice these wise folks give in order for you to keep your wife from feeling sexually oppressed, and consider their implications.  Barr and Bley think that what your wivesREALLY want is:

1. Something they want but you don’t know what it is because she’s not going to tell you. (hint: you can’t buy her anything you’d like to see her in, you’d think she’d like, etc.  It has to be something she picks out and you just pay for, because that’s what good feminist Beta husbands do).
2. Forget about sex and ask for a honeydew list.
3. Clean the house . . . like a chick.  Because the way you USUALLY do it (which is just fine for you) sucks, and is proof that you secretly despise her.  It isn’t clean until she says it’s “chick clean”.
4. Do the laundry.  Because a box of Tide is a hell of a lot more meaningful than another stupid, expensive Pandora charm no one knows what the hell it means anyway.
5. Make dinner or “make reservations”.  As if you didn't have enough reservations at this point . . . 
6. Do all of her housework for her. 
7. Don’t have sex with her unless she specifically requests it in writing.
8. If sex is what she wants, don't really bring the penis into it.  Toss her a vibrator and then go to sleep.

It’s telling that both Barr and Bley are in various aspects of the Divorce Industry, as this advice could have been written as a public service announcement for the Divorce Lawyers Association.  Anyone with any Red Pill understanding will see that the above list of what women “really” want from the men they've sworn to spend their lives with isn’t the solid strength and passionate embrace of the love of their lives in a tempest of Alpha-laden erotic meaning, its:

1. Beta
2. Beta
3. Beta
4. Beta
5. Beta
6. Beta
7. Beta
8. and more Beta

Seriously, if that post doesn’t depress the hell out of any married woman who reads it, she has bigger issues in her marriage than Valentine’s Day.  Most of the Manosphere despises V-Day as the commercialized Hallmark holiday it is, an opportunity for women to guilt men into socially-braggable expensive displays of their devotion.  Really, sex was the only reason we guys ever indulged in the exercise anyway.

The problem with American marriages, according to Barr & Bley, is that the dudes are just too darn Alpha for their poor feminist wives.  The answer to a troubled marriage is, according to folks who make their living off of divorce, to add even MORE Beta.  Men are STILL too manly, and women are STILL too oppressed.  Imagine, all of those poor, college-educated wives out there being in miserable and oppressive marriages, instead of the liberating and fun-filled world of Dating 2.0!  The husbands of Americamust be totally evil bastards if the consensus of feminist opinion is that the way to celebrate marriage and love in our society is by doing laundry, not your wife, on Valentines Day.

If the feminists of the world want their fellas to go full-fledged flaccid Beta feminization, as Barr and Bley contend, then it behooves their Blue Pill husbands to indulge them.  I’m sure you know of a couple (or are part of a couple) where the hapless AFCturns in a standard-performance every V-Day, and still gets bitched out for how he got it “wrong” by his feminist-leaning wife even if he gets duty sex.  Because guys suck.  And Valentines’ day isn’t about THEM. Or their nasty penises.  True Love?  That's for suckers.  The hard-working corporate feminist wives are tired of picking up the slack for their lazy hubbies, just to be expected to put out after being showered with gifts and praise.

Of course, if you're a dude, the above-message probably feels like a hot blade being jabbed again and again into your kidney by collective femininity, further proof that women don't understand their own attraction (nor, apparently, do rabbis).  

SO . . . here’s what I propose.  The Beta Revolt.

If you are a Blue Pill dude who is in an unhappy marriage with a feminist wife (or just know one – and let’s face it, we all know at least one) – then this Feb 14 is your chance.  This is your opportunity to suggest that -- perhaps -- her approach to your marriage and relationship has failed to take into account one very important factor: her husband.

While your wife is at work, scrub the house and do laundry.  Take a six-pack and make a day of it – and clean the holy fuck out of the place.  Like you’re getting ready to show it.  Get the laundry folded and put away, everything.  If you have a Red Pill pal, ask him to help. 

Then do it just like the article says.  Order a single cheese pizza, buy a cheap vibrator, some bubble-bath and a single-serving bottle of wine.  Hell, throw in a DVDof some lame romcom.  No flowers, no candy, no jewelry – make sure youstick to the Barr-Bley Plan.

Then print out the HuffPo article, in its entirety.  In color, even.  Leave it folded up on the pizza box with the following note:

Happy Valentine’s Day, Honey! 

I know how much you admire and like to promote feminist principles, and after I saw this article I realized that I had been unintentionally oppressing you all this time, and I had no idea.  I really took it to heart, discussed it with my friends, and came to some realizations about our marriage.  So I took the advice in the article, and I think you’ll find that the house is clean enough for your mother to visit.  The laundry is done, folded, and put away.  I even got some help on the yard. 

To continue the festivities, you’ll notice I got you dinner, so you wouldn’t have to cook or clean tonight.  There’s a bottle of bubble bath, so you can indulge yourself and rest from your hard and stressful day.  I think you’ll like the movie, too, and I you combined it with the bath and the wine, you’ll be nice and relaxed.  Plus, if you’re feeling particularly relaxed and want to indulge yourself, I took the liberty of buying you a new toy.  Enjoy! 

Now, as you look over my humble offering, please note that I didn’t waste money on roses, flowers of any sort, candy, jewelry, or a fancy dinner, all of which might set up the obligation of sex in your mind – and you know that’s the last thing I want to do.  This is about you.  All the feminist articles I’ve read have said something like this, that this is what you REALLY want for Valentine’s Day, and who am I to question the wisdom of the collective femininity?  I want you to truly enjoy yourself without expectation or obligation.

So dig in, have a glass of wine, take a bubble bath, watch a movie, and tear one off, if you’d like.  And while you do, remember what a kind, thoughtful considerate husband you have.  Delight in the knowledge that you have a truly transcendent feminist marriage, one in which the needs and the responsibilities of the household are equally shared between us, without either party dominating the other.  Where issues of sex and affection are secondary to a good working-relationship.  Where erotic attention and thoughtful appreciation of our intimate selves rightfully takes a backseat to our common goal of equal dignity and mutual respect. 

And while you are thinking about this, eating your pizza, drinking your wine, and watching your movie, I’m going to be at a strip club, Hooters, or area sports bar to celebrate the wonderful independence and strength of our marriage.  At exactly 8:30 pm. I’ll be arriving at ___________, staying for half an hour for a drink, and then I’m going to check into a motel, so that you can enjoy your Valentine’s Day evening in peace without me pestering you for sex.

If you decide, however, that you are finding the ideology of feminism somehow lacking when it comes to how we conduct our marriage, and wish to discuss it further, then you know where I’ll be and when and for how long. 

But understand that if you show up, you’ll be essentially asking to get boned so hard your ancestors get sore, without apology, without regret, and without too much foreplay.  You’ll be admitting that you’d rather be a real woman loved by a real, passionate man the way a real husband loves a real wife than a co-equal partner of a semi-permanent domestic arrangement.  And you’ll be admitting that you place more faith, stock, and value in the strength of our marriage than you do in how a couple of “experts” suggest you should feel about it and the important issue of housework that apparently plagues your mind, day and night, instead of having sex with me.

 So consider carefully: Delicious, freshly-delivered pizza, a tasty glass of wine, a luxurious bubblebath, an entertaining movie and an early evening to bed with your new plastic pal, or a night of seedy, nasty lovemaking that will challenge your personal boundaries and possibly cause a UTI.  

 You’re probably wondering why I’m doing this, too.   Heck, you might even be worried that this is some kind of mid-life crisis.  That's not entirely inaccurate.  The fact is, I’m not entirely happy with how things have been going in our marriage, and I figured this would be a novel way to get your attention on the matter.  

 And while, of course, I'm always open to frank and open discussion, the fact is that the attitudes towards husbands expressed in this article are fairly common from what I understand.  I'd sincerely like to know your take on the subject, but of course I completely understand if you do not want to interrupt your rare quality time and would prefer to discuss this at another time.  

Either way, I guess I’ll see you in the morning.

Happy Valentines Day!

Love,

Your Average Beta Chump Husband

Then go to a bar.  Have a few, but don’t get drunk.  Take an hour to drop by a buddy’s house and change into something sharp-looking.  Seriously, do your damnedest to make yourself look HOT.  Do, indeed, rent a hotel room – you’re going to need it, one way or another.  Then go to the designated bar fifteen minutes before the designated time, park yourself on a stool, order a drink, and wait.  And turn off your cell phone.

If she shows up looking sweet, feminine, and ready to be your wife on Valentine’s Day, make it worth her while.  And shag her rotten.

If she shows up with tears in her eyes, wearing sweatpants and no make-up, begging for you to come home and “talk about this”, then hand her your hotel card, tell her that’s where you’ll talk – naked –  give her a kiss on the cheek, and leave.

If she doesn’t show up . . . then you have married a confirmed feminist who is probably on her way to becoming your ex-wife, no matter how thoughtful she told you she thought the pizza was.. 

Now, I understand that the danger rate is pretty high on this – but if your marriage has been suffering anyway, one more lame-ass Valentine’s Day isn’t going to help matters any.  In fact, it’s just going to pit your feeble Betatude against her imagined hyper-Alpha ideal, and your shit is going to look weak in comparison.

But this?  This is Alpha.  It might sting, but its unmistakable backbone.  She might get pissed off, but she won’t be bored.  And you’ve got about a 50-50 shot at hotel sex (more, if you aren’t choosy about who it’s with).  If your relationship has been going through one unsatisfactory “relationship discussion” after another, and you’re struggling with finding a good Red Pill moment to draw a line in the sand, this might be your day. This might be the way.  Because nothing says “your relationship is in trouble” to any woman, feminist or not, than having her co-workers ask “so what did your husband do for you on Valentine’s Day?” with a knowing smile, and having to say “he let me bathe, sleep, and masturbate by myself while he was at a strip bar and then checked into a hotel.”

I mean, “we had surprise hotel sex” sounds a lot better, or at least a lot less dysfunctional.  Even to alleged feminists.

Gentlemen, if you're considering taking the Red Pill, make this Valentines Day your day to revolt from Beta Chumpatude and start cultivating the Alpha that she might not even know she wants.  Buy yourself (and/or her) a copy of Married Man's Sex Life Primer and start standing up straight when you walk.  Study Married Game and then game the hell out of your wife . . . whether she "wants" it or not.  Start taking control of your marriage, your relationship, and your sex life . . . before you get stuck doing laundry in a vain attempt to earn her love, respect, and poon.  Do it right, and then next year you'll have to think up something crazy to do for Valentine's Day . . . because just regular great sex will be so ordinary that it just won't be as special anymore.  That doesn't mean you can get out of doing laundry, though.

Because, as Mrs. Ironwood says, a dude doing laundry is sexiest when the sheets he's washing he messed up honestly.

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Free To Be . . . A Man.

I can pinpoint, almost to the day, when I started chugging Blue Pills in my youth.  It was the day I saw Free To Be You And Me in elementary school, back in the 1970s.  It was the pro-feminist brainchild of Marlo Thomas, a project of the Ms. Foundation for Women, and it was designed to make everyone feel it was okay to be different things: girls could be construction workers, boys could be nurses and carry dolls, black kids and white kids could play together, etc.  The basic concept was to encourage post-60s gender neutrality, promoting values such as individuality, tolerance, and comfort with one's identity (as long as you were a girl or a gay guy). A major thematic message was that anyone—whether a boy or a girl—can achieve anything.  But mostly girls.  It was notable for catchy pop tunes and lyrics, and for having the (young and black) Michael Jackson, Mel Brooks, Alan Alda, Diana Ross, and Rosey Grier, among other stars.  Rosey told us "it's all right to cry".  I was cool with that.

I was also cool with the emphasis on boys looking forward to being fathers, and encouraging them to think of child care and interaction with their future kids as positive male things (okay, "positive things", they essentially downplayed the whole "male" idea).  But the subtext was clear: dudes will enjoy being good fathers to their kids, and it's something that you should look forward to.  And I did.  It made me use fatherhood as one of my prime motivating factors in searching for a bride, and I had and continue to have a very close relationship with all of my kids, just as my Dad did with his sons.  That's not where I take issue with the program.

I take issue with the program because it was loaded with anti-masculine imagery and took the approach that, basically, all things patriarchal were evil and oppressive, and all things feminist were inherently good.  It told me, in other words, that I was Free To Be pretty much anything in the world I wanted . . . except a masculine Man.

I can see trying to move past Agricultural Age stereotypes that no longer fit the socio-economics of the post-War period, much less the coming Post-Industrial period.  I mean, after Rosie the Riveter it was damn hard to make a case that women were incapable of working most of the same jobs as men, and the post-war need for expansion and industrialization almost required a doubling of the existing pre-war workforce, just to keep the paper moving.

But Free To Be You And Me fucked me up.  Bad.  It taught me that it WAS NOT OKAY to be a "boy", that MEN were universally overbearing and insensitive jerks whose only role was to dictate and oppress, and that my ONLY HOPE for moral and social acceptance in this brave new plastic world was to hand my testicles over to Marlo and forget I ever had them.

Because that's what FTBYAM represented to me: a clear choice between whether to become a feared and hated MAN, or a gentle and caring boy who eschewed violence and oppression in favor of fat-free yogurt and kittens.  FTBYAM probably contributed the most to my fucked-up ideas about women and men.  Because while Marlo And Friends were singing about how you could be anything you wanted when you grew up, I was looking around me at the time (mid-70s) and seeing that what most boys and girls apparently wanted to be when they grew up was DIVORCED.

FTBYAM made me ashamed of my gender, ashamed of my culture, ashamed of my history.  It made me ashamed of my father for not deferring to my mother in all things.  It gave all the credence the young feminist teachers in charge of me needed to castigate me for the slightest boyish infraction.  It gave all my young feminist peers all the ammunition they needed to not just reject me, but call me "creep" and other male-bashing tripe, and the sad fact was that if I reported them, it was I who got sent to the Principal's office.

Any attempt at asserting any kind of "traditional" masculinity was stomped on (by the younger teachers -- the older ones still remembered Segregation, they had other issues).  The younger teachers, the ones with feminist fervor in their eyes, seemed to delight in correcting a boy if he said he wanted to be a fireman or a policeman or a soldier or a race car driver, telling him instead that it was perfectly okay to be a nurse or a daycare provider instead.  Funny, she didn't mention the wonderful starting salaries of those perfectly okay positions, or how to raise a family on them.  The subtext was clear: such passively Beta, overly-feminized career choices were the only ones they were going to promote.  To boys.

The fact is, FTBYAM may have promoted "freedom", but in the process to make children who were "unencumbered by stereotypes", FTBYAM ended up merely creating new ones: the timid Beta (and soon to be divorced) dad, the overbearing Alpha (soon-to-be-step) dad, the successful marital "partnership" that was about as useful a guide to actual marriage as a bicycle manual is to a carp, the "empowered" young woman who could do anything, the "understanding" young man who was expected and obligated to let her do anything, and absolutely no room within the feminist pantheon for a dude who wanted to be free to be a dude.  You took the Blue Pill or you got kicked out as a troublemaker.  Period.

I bring this up today because I read over at HuffPo a lovely little post from Marlo about bullying.

You see, bullying is what happens when one kid is mean to another kid, and it really is a bad thing.  My son has been bullied.  My daughter has been bullied.  Both have witnessed severe bullying.  And it's clear that, for some individuals, the emotional strain of bullying is too much.  Pointless suicides or runaways have resulted from bullies and inattentive parents.  I have to agree with Marlo, this is a majorly important topic to discuss with our kids.

But the irony is killing me.

Thanks to FTBYAM and its clones, adherents, and attitudes, I and thousands of boys like me were institutionally bullied by feminists throughout our childhoods.  Our schools and our teachers were working with the intention of removing the dangerous "masculine" characteristics that might interfere in the feminist paradigm -- say, like getting married and wanting your wife to stay at home with the kids, or pursuing a "typical" and "traditional" male career path that might block some enterprising young woman from having that job.  FTBYAM epitomized feminism's subtextual message to men: YOU ARE USELESS AND EVIL AND IN OUR WAY.  

Not "equality", not "level playing field", regardless of their intentions the result was a generation of self-loathing boys who resented girls and women for their perceived privileges  even as we felt powerless and at the mercy of the whims of the adult women in our lives.  Moms who didn't give a damn what you thought about your new step-dad after a hypergamous divorce.  Teachers who -- no lie -- told my six-year-old brother Lester in kindergarten that "it doesn't matter if your mommy and daddy love each other, they're just going to end up divorced".  (That fucked Lester up for decades.) Neighborhood ladies, mostly divorced themselves, who kept trying to give my mother good reasons to leave my dad even though they admired his fathering skills (he was the only intact father in the neighborhood) and discouraged her from getting us boys involved with Scouting because it was "sexist".

And then there was school.  Female, feminist teachers who "lost" my applications for special programs, or failed to recommend me or other male students for honors in favor of girls.  If it hadn't been for my History teacher, bless her heart, I never would have won my first essay contest.  My English teacher was a feminist who told me, to my face, that despite the fact that my essay was chosen blindly (no names or other identifying characteristics) that the school didn't feel comfortable submitting so many boys and not enough girls.  So out of the five boys and two girls who were selected locally, one boy and two girls were recommended by her.  But my History teacher didn't like her, she did like me, and she recognized talent.  She submitted me on her own and I won.

And then there was the feminist guidance counselor in high school who desperately tried to use my boyish teenaged angst as leverage to get me to go to a small private liberal arts college instead of the local, internationally-known public research university nearby I favored because (as I found out later) her gender-based numbers were off: she had too many boys were going to big State and technical universities, while too many girls were going into the small liberal arts colleges and "traditionally female" schools.  She went so far as to call my folks and try to persuade them that I'd be "better off" someplace less challenging.  Of course, if that meant that another woman could take up my spot at the university, that was just gravy, but . . .

The upshot is that between my third grade year, when we had a school-wide assembly featuring FTBYAM, and my first year of college, I and my brothers were subjected to what can only be described as pervasive, gender-based institutional bullying.  And we did tell our parents.  And they did complain.  And no one cared one bit, because we were merely male.

FTBYAM was followed up with Free To Be A Family, which took the anti-masculine bias of FTBYAM and mixed it with some massive rationalizations about how much fun it was to be a kid from a divorced household.  In Marlo's own words, "I also wanted to dispel the idea that there is such a thing as a "broken" family. A family is a place that you come home to where people love you and support you and miss you and can’t wait to find out what you did today."

Well, that's great . . . except it was directly counter to the experiences we were having in the 1980s, when she was promoting the Murphy Brown, UMC Professional divorcee ideal of family and we were seeing kids our age becoming alcoholics because of the stress divorce, hypegamy, infidelity, and all the other wonderful hallmarks of feminism brought us.  Oh, what bounty!  My friend Marty shot himself at 17 because his mother had refused to let him even lay eyes on his father in three years.  My friend Chris had four step-dads in five years and eventually got into heroin.  My friends Mark and Tony were exiled to the shed in the back yard so their new stepsisters could each have their own room (in defense, it was a very nice shed).  Their sisters went to college, their mom and step-dad paying for it all.  Tony went to one semester of community college his grandmother paid for, and then joined the Army, and Mark ended up working retail for decades because their step-dad didn't want to pay for some other man's kids' college . . . and didn't think his wife should either (she felt it was more important to give the girls a head-start, since life was "against them" just because they were women).

Families in the 1980s were a post-apocalyptic disaster, and worrying about whether or not a kid felt "accepted" by his peers for his family life was laughable.  We were all just trying to survive the feminist-inspired wave of "I'm not HAAAApppy!" divorces, or the mid-life crises-inspired cheating that wrecked our families.  Kids in general, to the Baby Boomers who fueled the idealistic and unrealistic FTBYAM and FTBAF, were accessories and status symbols, mere points of contention in a divorce settlement and a useless and ungrateful waste of child-support money -- believe me, we knew that.  We got told that by our culture every day.

Especially if you were a boy, the consensus opinion of the women in your life (and in popular culture) was that you were either effeminate and ineffectual to the point of terminal Betatude (which they despised but accepted) or that you were an angry, violent male chauvinist intent on perpetuating the oppressive nature of the Patriarchy and therefore merited their disgust.  And if you tried to claim to be the former, they did everything but demand you castrate yourself before they'd admit it.

FTBYAM and FTBAF taught two generations of boys to loathe themselves and hate their own gender.  It taught us that that women were smarter than men, women were better than men, that women had better promise and better sense than men, and -- most importantly -- women were just more important than men . . . and particularly young men who weren't even cute boys anymore.  Yech.

By the time my generation hit our teenage years, crawling into a popular culture of disaffected youth and wailing androgyny was all we could do to survive this pervasive, intentional attack on masculinity.  The institutional bullying by "tough, smart, independent women" in our public and private institutions, not to mention the culture at large, taught us to fear women, not trust them in the slightest, and it didn't do a damn thing to make us less resentful.  It just showed us that, for men, feminism was about revenge and suffering, not about equality and fair play.  We could take a look around at the social carnage of divorce and hum a few bars of one of the songs with tragic irony and KNOW that it was bullshit . . . but bullshit that was Industry Standard.  The families we saw were chaotic messes who mostly just argued, drank, fought, and went to counseling until it was time for a divorce.  Few of the kids I knew ever had a place that you come home to where people love you and support you and miss you and can’t wait to find out what you did today."  That was a sick fantasy, compared to what was actually happening to "family" in America in the 1980s.  Mostly their parents yelled at them about homework, asked them pointless questions and didn't wait to hear the answer, and then went off on their own little head-trips about their own failing relationships.

Of course there's been a lot of water under the bridge since then.  We've had two generations of catastrophic hypergamic divorce to look back on, two generations of weekend-or-absent dads, two generations where men didn't feel comfortable trying to talk to their sons at all, lest they be accused of "spreading sexism".  The original children of divorce have overcome the stigma enough to rack up three or four divorces and step-families of their own, now.  The Patriarchy has well and truly fallen, and now only the Puerarcy remains.  Two generation of anti-social Betas too battered by feminist combat dating and no firm social rules has had an effect someplace other than the Glass Ceiling.  I have seen Scout troops filled with boys from single-mom homes, and gosh, they didn't look nearly as happy, secure and fulfilled as those from two-parent households.

Because almost thirty years after Free To Be, we can measure its results, and those results are mixed at best.  While it's true that you have empowered, intelligent, highly-motivated young women willing to devote a decade and a half of their best reproductive years to climbing the corporate ladder, at the end of that climb they discover that their reproductive options (what we use to call "husbands") don't want a thing to do with them.  Feminists may make decent bosses and great co-workers, but they make cruddy wives and mediocre mothers, with a few notable exceptions.

You can chalk up at least a bit of the "marriage gap" (the age at which couples get married for the first time -- it was about 19 in 1960, it's 28 and rising here and now) to women focusing more on career interests . . . but you can explain a lot more of it if you consider that the dudes out there just don't want to get married at all, anymore, and particularly not to women who are more concerned with corporate bonuses than childcare.  Dads (and potential dads) are, indeed, a lot more involved and sensitive to their reproductive issues today (thanks, feminism!), and because of that those men who do put thought and effort into their fatherhood, including good wife selection, wouldn't marry a feminist on a bet.  The likelihood of catastrophic failure is just too high, especially when there are plenty of better options out there.  Foreign brides, "traditional" girls, or women who see themselves as mothers and (gasp!) wives rather than employees or competitors are all better bets than your average feminist, for the men of America.

(Free To Be . . . A Spinster!)

As for me, I'm going to take Marlo's advice: I'm going to be Free.  To be.  Free to be . . . a Man.  A big, hairy, thoughtful, considerate Patriarch far more concerned about my children's emotional welfare than whether or not my daughter can make partner before she's 30.  A Man, unafraid of women and disdainful of feminist shaming rhetoric.  A Man who understands that violence, power, money, and ingenuity are all tools at my disposal, not reasons to loathe who I am.  A Man who feels no shame at looking and lusting at women for fear of offending their "rights" not to feel afraid of me.

I was afraid of women for thirty years.  Female fear is just not a high priority for me.

But, thanks to Marlo, I'm Free.  Free to Be.

I'm free to be a Man who takes a wife (who knows and understands that "wife" doesn't mean "equal and temporary domestic partner", but WIFE) and raises his kids without fearing Marlo's ire.  A Man who feels no pity at the struggle of young women trying to find a job in this economy because there was damn little pity demonstrated to me during the last economic recession    I'm free to be a Man who can stick his tongue out at the gigantic shit test that is feminism and ignore it, because it just isn't working for me anymore (and, I see, it never really was).  I'm free to be a Man who doesn't feel compelled to sacrifice the futures of my sons in order to elevate my daughter's.  Sure, they're free to be whatever the hell they want . . . but they also understand that that freedom is dependent, partially, on their accepting my guidance, or they'll be free to slug it out on their own. I'm free to be a Man who delights in the sight of naked boobs and the hum of precision machinery, who doesn't consider the expression of my sexuality an attack on femininity, who demands respect -- yes, demands it -- or I won't play anymore.

And that's where Marlo And Friends really went wrong for half of the audience they were shooting for.  They managed to inject the idea of gender-free economic and social empowerment, but they did so in such a way that promoted the active and willful disrespect of masculinity and male authority.  And while that would make any real feminist cream her jeans just hearing about, the sad, Red Pill fact is that when you promote disrespect for masculinity in a culture, you do not automatically increase respect for femininity.  You just get a lot of sullen, pissed-off, uninvested men who can't wait until the feminists are out of the room so that they can tell that joke.

And a lot of strong, independent, empowered women who can't get two dates in a row with the same dude, much less a commitment, a ring, or a family.  Women who traded in their reproductive future and betrayed their genetic destiny for the promise of a respect that never was fulfilled.  Those poor women, thanks to feminism, are Free To Be single for the rest of their lives and die alone, childless, and unloved by men.  They get to stamp their feet in rage as the dudes they once dated and tried for years to get to commit end up getting married to much younger women (often in a matter of months) from the Philippines or Korea or Brazil or Siberia and start popping out kids like it's double coupon day.  These strong, independent women who were told there would be PLENTY of dudes waiting for them when they were done Being Free To Be are now realizing, to their horror, that they've been sold a bill of goods.  They're Free To Be a corporate drone with a vagina that's increasingly losing the attention she craves and increasingly getting frustrated at all of the guys who are just not real damn impressed with how well they've done.

But that's okay, Ladies.  Because it's all right to cry.  We should know.  We've been doing it behind your backs since 1974.

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Dude . . . Got A Minute?

Dude.

Can I call you dude?  Do we have a 'dude relationship'?  You know, that kind of dude-at-the-next-urinal relationship where I can tell you something, one dude to another, without the bullshit?   Will you trust me -- just for the next couple of paragraphs -- to give you the straight shit?  I don't know you, you don't know me, we're just a couple of dudes, both doing our thing, and I have no vested interest in your relationship.

I'm just a dude.  Like you.  So, if you have a few minutes, let me lay some cosmic wisdom on you.  But let me distract you with an image of a tastefully sexy girl doing something refreshingly domestic to maintain your attention, first.

Did that help you focus?  I thought it might.  After all, we're both dudes.

If you are reading this, it is because your wife, girlfriend, best friend, brother-in-law, sister, or someone else close to you, who both cares for you and who has a good working knowledge of your relationship (and who may have used a dummy e-mail address), thinks that it would benefit you to read this particular blog post on this particular blog.  Why?  It could be any number of reasons, but let's assume that a good friend who doesn't want to be gauche enough to say it to your face thinks you and your relationship would benefit from the following piece of advice:

You're doing it wrong.

That is, the relationship/marriage you are in, which at casual inspection seems "perfectly fine", is suffering, and someone you know can see that.  That may come as a shock to you, or it may not.  Why is it suffering?  More than likely,the root of the problem is the fact that you aren't being All That You Can Be in the whole manhood department.

Whoa!  Don't freak out -- this is (probably) not a prelude to divorce or a relationship ultimatum.  This is a gentle reminder, a casual hint, a wink-wink-nudge-nudge dude, you need to pay attention to this! sort of thing.  The relationship that you think is so stable and mutually beneficial and strong?  Someone thinks that it could be better.  Someone thinks that you would benefit from learning something important about your relationship that, perhaps, you just weren't aware of.

You're doing it wrong -- but it's really not your fault.  I mean, how could it be?  People have been telling you how you're supposed to be doing it for years -- but they were wrong, and so now you're doing it wrong.

You see, when you got into your relationship with your current woman, she was HOT for you.  I mean, when she thought about you, her stomach flip-flopped, her eyes got all dreamy, her ladyparts got all dewy, and there was nothing -- nothing --that she thought about more than you.

But . . . well, it's been awhile, and while you're still a perfectly good dude -- don't get me wrong, in places you probably border on greatness -- there's this one area where you're just not quite getting the job done.

It's actually not one certain thing -- it's a bunch of related things, but they all come down to you needing to step-up, "man up", grow a pair, and quit acting like such a pussy when it comes to your woman.

Seriously -- it pains me to say it, but that's the fact, Jack.  You wouldn't be reading this otherwise.  When your woman does something, wants something, says something . . . you fold like a cheap card table and do your damnedest to make it happen, no matter how difficult or unreasonable.  You're whipped.  Maybe not even in an obvious way, but it's there.  Everyone knows who's in charge of your household, your relationship.  Even your woman -- and it's killing her.

No, really.  Every time she gives you an unreasonable ultimatum and you don't call her on it, her love for you dies a little.  Every time you kiss her ass so that she'll like you, despite what she says, the opposite is true.  Believe it or not, she likes it when you show some backbone.  In fact, that makes her panties wet -- and when was THAT ever a bad thing?

The truth is, YOU used to make her panties wet, just by being you.  And that was great -- really.  The infatuation, the courtship, the maelstrom of feelings that compelled you to go after this particular girl, she felt it too.  It wasn't fake.  It wasn't your imagination.  You had a real connection, some chemistry.  You were a manly man, and she found great value in that.

Only now . . . not so much.  

Oh, sure, she still likes you.  She even loves you.  But is she breathlessly checking her phone every five minutes to see if you've texted?  Is she still making mistakes at work because she's thinking about you?  Of course not.  You're past that point now, aren't you?  You're in the comfortable part of the relationship, when you can both just "be", without pretense or illusion or obfuscation.  She can "get to know the real you" and appreciate and love you just for being you.  And she is.  Only . . .

. . . well, you know that infatuation stage?  It's amazing, isn't it?  You've probably been coasting along on the strength of that for years -- if you're married, certainly since your wedding day, haven't you?  And that's cool -- you aren't a kid anymore.

But now you have to keep in mind that the woman who made you giddy with desire the moment someone mentioned her name is also remembering those times fondly, and she's wondering where the fuck they went?   I mean, things have been fine, sure . . . but things have been "fine".  Maybe even a little friction, a fight, a "discussion", something . . . but the fact is, "fine" isn't what she signed up for.  She signed up for "amazing", and she's dealing with "fine", but the first time she see's "amazing", you have to wonder . . . is she going to be happy enough with "fine" to not even consider pursuing "amazing"?  How about the second time?  The third?

Dude, not trying to scare you here, just trying to give you a clue.  Your woman, whether she knows it or not, whether she's the one who sent you here or not, your woman wants you to step up and take charge.  She wants you to lead her.  She wants to be in awe of your masculinity.  She wants to gush to her girlfriends -- not about the manly way you take out the trash or pick up her dry-cleaning, but how you dazzle her on a daily basis with your wit and charm.  She wants to feel the chemistry that attracted her to you in the first place.  But she can't say that.  It sucks, but the fact is, if she has to ask you to take charge, then you aren't really "taking charge".

She can't give you permission to take the lead.  You have to just take it, on your own initiative, or it doesn't count.  Forget for a moment whether or not she's going to get pissed off, because if you do it right, she just might be a little pissed off at first -- and that's not a bad thing.  You have to understand that, that's essential: you may have to piss her off a little to keep her engaged in the relationship.  Why?  Because, to paraphrase Feris Bueller, "you just can't respect a man who kisses your ass all the time".

And you're getting dangerously close, Dude, or you wouldn't be reading this.

Let's pause for a moment, look at another sexy, tastefully erotic picture of a pretty girl, and marshal our resources before we move on.

See how well that calms your mind and improves your focus?  Now back to the message.

It's not a lost cause -- there's still some time to turn things around before someone does or says something stupid and things get fucked up.  Nobody wants that.  All you need it step up your game a bit, take command, and start remembering who the fuck you were before you started being blinded by her puss--- ah, her femininity.

That's key: finding the masculine Dude in your soul.  The Dude who once looked across the room, sized her up, and said, "yeah, that's worth hitting", and you went for it.  That's the dude she wants to see.  The dude who struts, who thinks he's hot shit.  The dude you were before you met her.

So show a little backbone in the future.  If you aren't having sex with her at least once every five days or so (that's six times a month, for you liberal arts majors) then she's probably not really intrigued with you the way that's ideal.  If you aren't kissing her at least once or twice a day -- not a bullshit peck on the cheek, but a sudden, come-from-behind, press her against the wall, and plant a good ten-second smooch with tongue and dry humping and hard nipples, then you're doing it wrong.   If you aren't the dude all of her girlfriends want to sleep with in a moment of drunken weakness, then you're doing it wrong.  If you walk across the room naked, fresh from the shower and Mr. Happy bouncing around in front of her and she doesn't at least look up and bite her lip . . . you're doing it wrong.

Look, I know it's not all you.  You got complacent, she got complacent.  You both relaxed into a mutual comfort zone while you enjoyed the emerging fruits of your relationship, and . . . stuff just sort of slipped away.  On your side, you probably aren't getting laid as much as you like, and when you do get laid it's nothing to blog anonymously about.  Hell, you might be whacking off more now than when you met her.  She's just not responding to you the way she used to, but you've just . . . accepted that.

And that sucks.  Because both of you want essentially the same thing, you just don't know how to go about it.  You've been told for your entire life about how you need to respect women, listen to women, treat women as equals.  And that's great, as far as it goes, but when it comes to your relationship, believe it or not, your woman doesn't want you to treat her as an equal when it comes to certain aspects of your relationship.  She wants you to be strong, firm, and decisive.  She wants you to know what you want, and go after it -- even if she doesn't approve.  She wants you to be the dude every chick in the room wants to bang, but the one she's lucky enough to be going home with.

That's a tall order, I know.  I mean, how do you go from "I respect you too much to do that" to "Hell, yeah, I want a blowjob baby!" without sounding like a complete idiot?  The fact is, it isn't easy -- at first.  But either is realizing that your woman's panties don't get wet because of your decent job and neatly-trimmed yard, your willingness to watch chick flicks or buy tampons for her.  All the things you've been doing for her so she'll like you enough to fuck you, those are BETA skills, and while they're important for a long term relationship . . . well, Betas don't get much play.  Nice guys don't get wildly fucked by passionate women.

This looks like another good spot for a Pretty Girl break.  Just bear with me . . . we're almost done.

Now that's how they did it in Grandad's day!

And that's something to consider, as well: your grandfather likely had an entirely different take on how to manage his relationship than you do -- and while the rules of the game have changed dramatically since then, the players -- men and women -- still desire the same basic things.  Your grandad knew how to handle himself around women back then, and it wasn't by kissing their asses.  You don't have to completely dick out -- don't get me wrong.  But here are a few things that your granddad probably would tell you that you need to change, and right now:

Don't apologize unless you are genuinely at fault, or there is a dead animal involved.  Seriously, if she has a bad day at work, don't say "I'm sorry you had a bad day".  Say "that really sucks, baby.  Why don't you tell me the high points, and then we can take steps to help you forget about it?"

When she makes an inherently unreasonable request -- say, calling you from across the house to hand her a pair of scissors that's less than four feet away -- then refuse to do it on general principal.  I mean, if you don't value your time enough to get upset when she pulls some unreasonably flaky shit like that, then what's stopping her from doing that all the time. . . and loving you a little less for how willing you are to kiss her ass?   You have to respect yourself before she can respect you, and if you're kissing her ass all the time in the remote hope for pussy, then that demonstrates a lack of self-respect.

Sure, every woman wants a devoted man in her life, but they don't want to be in a relationship with a pussy.  Being devoted means that you bring her flowers unexpectedly, you check her oil without being asked, and you'd rather take her out on Saturday night than any other girl in town . . . not that you wait on her hand-and-foot and make her every desire manifest.

Seriously, Dude, even if you've invested heavily in the "equality" meme, then recognize that you two can't even be equals if you're deferring to her constantly.  Tell her NO when she makes an unreasonable suggestion.  No elaboration, no "I'm sorry, Honey, but . . . ", just tell her "no, that doesn't work for me."  Put yourself back into the equation of your own relationship.  She's not going to give you permission to disagree with her -- that defeats the purpose.

Here's something you need to try out: be decisive.  You know what kills your chances of nookie probably more than anything else?  The words, "I don't know, Honey, whatever you want to do is fine."  That's it.  Sure, you're trying to be deferent  and considerate, putting her needs, wants and desires before yours, out of your deep and abiding respect for the dignity of her womanhood blah, blah, blah, but the simple fact of the matter is that she wants you to take a fucking stand and tell her where you want to go -- no equivocation, no second-guessing, no picking what you think she wants.  Just.  Pick. A. Fucking. Restaurant.  Seriously.

And don't just hesitantly pick it -- when she asks you "so where do you want to eat tonight?" you tell her "I want Golden Corral tonight.  I'll meet you there at 7:30.  Order me a Coke if you get there first."  Done and done.  Don't worry about picking the "wrong" choice -- be a man and take the risk.  In fact, when it comes to your relationship it's far, far more important to be certain than it is to be right.  Really.  Trust me on this.  Take a stand and stick by it.

What if she doesn't like it?  Tell her, "well, can you make a compelling argument for that decision?" and then shut up and let her talk.  Give her an opportunity to persuade you, instead of direct you.  Put the issue in doubt, and if she feels strongly enough about it, she'll speak up.  She's not your mother, and she hates feeling like your mother.  She really wants you to be the Man, in that rugged, traditional, rugged and determined sort of way, despite what you may have heard her say to the contrary.  She wants you to be a Rock Solid Authority -- but open to her suggestions.  Hell, if you really do have no opinion on the matter, pick something at random and defend it dickishly until she does persuade you.  Make her work for it a little.  Don't over-do it, but nothing says "dry panties" like "I dunno, whatever you want is fine, I guess."

And that brings us to the subject of the sex . . . yes, you like that part!  I bet that got your attention!  Sex was like, one of the best things about your woman, back when you met her, remember?  You LOVED the sex.  So does she, at least theoretically.  But can you honestly say that your sex life now is as hot as it was when you first met?

How about another girly pic while you're considering that question:

I mean, just between us dudes . . . when was the last time you really rang her bell?  Is there a certain complacency, a certain habitual nature of how you two knock boots?  Ten minutes of foreplay, three positions, twelve and a half minutes, she cums twice, you do your thing, God that was great, snore . . .

Sound familiar?  Sound depressing?

Or does it actually sound a lot better than things actually are?

Let me tell you about something my father told me about: the Penny Jar.

When a young man marries a woman, for the first year of their marriage he should quietly put a penny in a jar on his dresser for every time he and his new bride make love.  Then, after their first anniversary, he should start taking a penny out of the jar every time they have sex.

If you  have a typical Blue Pill marriage . . . the jar never gets emptied.

("Blue Pill"?  That's a Manosphere expression that means "the idealistic and mistaken way you think things work; illusion", like in the Matrix (the good one).  "Red Pill" means "the pragmatic way things actually work."  We use this term usually in connection with relationships and over-all male-female gender relations.   And if someone sent you a link to this blog post, then someone thinks you have a typical Blue Pill marriage.  Your Penny Jar, in other words, will never get emptied.)

Why?  It's pretty simple, actually -- all that bold shit you did to attract your woman and persuade her to get humpity with her in the first place?  That went away once you and she started being "serious".  It's not entirely her fault -- the fact is, you wanted to "make her happy" and so you started doing whatever you thought she wanted you do so she would still hump you silly.  Only . . . well, all that nice stuff you did to make her feel comfortable and happy also made her . . . well, kinda bored.

God, she'd never say anything -- maybe send her dude a link via anonymous email account, at the most -- but she'd never want to hurt his feelings by telling him that he's not, y'know, the Man.  That would be awful -- even she knows that!  And maybe she's dropped a few hints you haven't picked up on, but the end result is the same . . . Dude, you really need to step it up.

And that goes for the bedroom, too.  Quit being so . . . gentle.  I mean, she's already decided to screw you -- you don't have to worry about her scampering off (unless you try to surprise her with something . . . y'know, too kinky without prior notice).  So if she's there, she's ready, she's naked, as soon as you think it's right you get on top of her and you go CONAN on her ass.  Do her like it's the night before your four-year prison sentence begins.  Do her like they're revoking your cock for thirty days.  Do her like you fucking mean it . . . because if you don't, then she thinks you don't.  And that's never a good thing.

Another babe, while you think about that:

Sweet, huh?  But not very "respectful".  But then, the idea that women value respect over admiration and desire is a relatively new phenomenon, and despite some claims to the contrary, there are plenty of women who want less respect and more passionate desire in their lives.  Even if that means accepting the fact that you are the Man, and forgetting all about equality for a while.

Consider, Dude: what's the most popular book on Amazon.com?  It's not "How to gently make love to your lady wife", it's 50 Shades of Grey -- and if you haven't been paying attention, this little trilogy of mommy porn books isn't filled with tender moments and hand-holding . . . it's filled with raw, poorly-written, highly unlikely emotionally charged Bondage & Discipline and Sado-masochistic sex between a dark and handsome billionaire (of course) and his sweetly submissive -- I mean, pathologically submissive -- beautiful college student chew toy.  The "tender moments" usually involve neckties and spanking.  There is a lot of really raunchy, poorly-written sex.  Believe me, I write erotica, and the sales of this book are not based on its literary merit.

But this thing is selling like batteries at a convent -- so the idea that your woman wants gentle, mutually-pleasurable, overly-consensual sex all the time is crap.  If current marketing trends are any indication (and when are they not?) then there is a deep, often-hidden vein of submission within the soul of the American woman that is screaming to get out.  There is a part of her that wants to feel owned, possessed, commanded -- and if you aren't the commander, someone else eventually will be.  Pay attention to what she does, not what she says, and you'll start tuning into just how much she wants you to -- occasionally -- just throw her on the bed and rip her clothes off.  Heck, get some neckties from Goodwill and go all-out.  The point is, she's fucking bored with the way you're doing it, and if she doesn't get interested soon, there's no telling

Of course there's a lot more to it than that.  If light bondage and a few extra grunts were enough to fix the problem, then it would be easy.  But it's not.  What you need to do is TAKE CONTROL of your life, and your relationship, before you find it out of control.  You can't do that with a few casual tricks.  It takes dedication, willpower, courage and devotion to the idea that you -- yes, you, Dude! -- are a masculine prize worthy of contention, a champion striding the earth, the Captain of your own destiny . . . and she is with you because of that, not because of how sharp the lawn looks this week.

Time for another picture.  Focus:

So wake up, Dude.  Someone is trying to tell you something.  You're doing it wrong, and now is the time to correct your course, before you steer into the iceberg.  You need to seriously look at your relationship and decide whether or not you are an "equal partner" in all things, or if you are the Man who takes charge, gets things done, and appeals to his woman on the basis of his masculinity, not his income potential.  Don't be the dude who finds himself listening to his wife tell him "You know, this just isn't working out.  I'm just not happy" a few years down the road.

Oh, sure, that would never happen to you and your devoted woman . . . but I could list a hundred guys off the top of my head who thought the same thing, and ended up single because of it.

There are resources out there to help you -- a collection of blogs and discussion groups known as the Manosphere, filled with your fellow dudes trying to work this shit out just like you are.  There are tons of places where you can learn how to manage your woman and your relationship in a way that will benefit you both in the long run.  You can learn how to handle her emotional outbursts, interpret what she's saying, and learn how to appeal to her sexually without resorting to expensive gifts or whining.  You should, of course, take much of what you find in the Manosphere with a grain of salt, because all of these dudes have slightly different issues than you do, so their solutions might work for them but not for you.  But on the other hand, there are lots of dudes who have tons of insight on how the female mind works.  Really works, that is, not how they want us to think it works.  That's one of the points of the Manosphere, to help you learn how to deal with the woman in your life without considering the benefits of the monastic life.  We're here to help.

But even if you don't want to jump into the deep end of the Manosphere yet, you need to realize that someone thought you were doing it wrong, and needed a "word to the wise".  So consider it given.  You might not get another.  Believe it or not, this isn't a slam -- there are plenty of dudes in your boat.  And there's still hope, and room to fix it.  Just don't ignore it.

One last picture, to kind of clean up:

I'm glad we could have this little talk, Dude.  I hope you took it how it was intended. We need to watch each other's backs, after all . . . because it's not like our woman will do that for us.

Don't forget to flush.

signed,

Ian Ironwood,

A FELLOW DUDE

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The End Of Hypergamy? Not So Fast . . .

One of the things that sucks about blogging is that there are often too many subjects about which to expound going on at one time.  You simply can't write about everything.  Thankfully, the Manosphere is a a gloriously churning maelstrom of vigilance, and you can count on one of your Manosphere brethren to watch your back on important issues.  And, in this case, one of the Manosphere sisteren.

Honorary Manosphere pundit Susan Walsh over at Hooking Up Smart had a lovely piece today examining Liza Munday's contentions in her new book, The Richer Sex.  I encourage you to check it out.  Susan dissected the overtly feminist work with admirable Red Pill perspicacity, and in particular recognized something that Ms. Mundy apparently has not: Men aren't terribly thrilled with what they have lost due to the rise of female earning power.

I want you to read the whole post, but of particular note is this astute observation Susan makes:

Apparently, Mundy describes the cheerful male helpmeet greeting his frazzled wife with a glass of wine at the end of the day at least half a dozen times in the book. It sounds more like Mad Men in reverse than a plausible scenario for American married couples. I also find the reference to manly pursuits extremely patronizing and hypocritical – is this the enlightened version of the 1950s sewing circle?

Why no, no it is not.  Thank you, Susan.


The Red Pill truth of the matter is that women who "marry down", whether you use income, class, or education as your metric, take a very real hit to their social status by doing so.   Women in aggregate are highly judgmental, and as they continuously seek to establish their place in the social hierarchy of women, after determination of marital status and childbearing status, the status of the woman's husband is often factored in even before her own professional success is taken into account.


I happen to have grown up in a very science, technology, and medically-oriented burgh, and I spent most of my 20s, as I was hacking my way painfully through college, working in offices because I have more sense that to work construction.  I was a male clerical worker (mostly temp jobs) for nearly ten years.  I got to work in every kind of office a major metro area has to offer, from insurance to medical to computer to pharma to the local public school system.  I was a regular cubicle hound for years.   So I got to witness the female social network in action, up close and personal, over and over again.


I was fortunate enough to work under some crackerjack female managers, as well as some real screachtards.  But as I evaluated the power centers of each new job (a vital step for a young male in the minority) I began to notice some interesting patterns.


For example, I once worked in one of the medical departments for a university hospital, directly under one of the most competent managers I've ever had.  Dr. X had two advanced degrees, loads of professional accolades, and a generous salary, not to mention perks and honors that come with such a position.   But Dr. X was married to a very intelligent man who was pursuing a MFA in creative writing . . . and had been for over a decade.  He had also yet to publish anything.  


Now Mr. X's non-existent teaching salary was about what Dr. X made in her first quarter.   He was a "house husband", even though they employed a housekeeper.  I met the dude at two different functions, and he was the consummate Beta: intelligent, caring, deeply concerned for community affairs and very supportive of his wife's career . . . but behind his back the line of shit that got talked about him was impressive.  "Golddigger", "Gigolo" (the first time I've ever heard that term used to refer to a husband that way) and other epithets were whispered, and sympathy for "Poor Dr. X" about her loser hubby who wouldn't get off his ass and get a real job were gossip-fodder all night long.  


He was just the kind of sensitive house-husband Liza Mundy was speaking of when she was talking about the new "acceptance" by men of their new roles.  Mr. X was viciously emasculated, and Dr. X was professionally damaged by that.  And with no children involved, the level of loathing by these women was intense.  Despite their sympathy for the good Doctor X, the other women who controlled the department severely discounted Dr. X's leadership abilities based almost solely on her (to them) poor skill in selecting a mate.  She "married down", and that put a negative spin on what was an otherwise robust career.  Mr. X was "holding her back", "dragging her down", and she was "carrying him".  There was even open speculation as to whether or not she would be open to the possibility of an affair.


Let's contrast that to Ms. Y, another mid-level manager I worked for in the private sector.  With two masters degrees and a decade and a half of experience in her industry she was at about the same professional level as Dr. X, but Mrs. Y was married to an entrepreneur and developer.  He had even used her money to start his company and get his first few projects going.  He was just shy of a bachelor's degree, but his high-profile projects pushed him into social circles he likely wouldn't have been privy to, otherwise.  Ms. Y repeatedly used Mr. Y's company to look for sales prospects, and vice versa.  When Ms. Y needed sponsors for charity events or promotions, Mr. Y's company was there, and when Mr. Y's company needed corporate sponsorship for something, she made sure her company got behind it.  


Add in one terribly cute adopted baby and you have a real Power Couple.   And that's the only way a woman can survive the stench of "marrying down" on her career.


I put up with this myself, from time to time.  Yes, Ms. Ironwood out-earns me, even at her state job, and has limitless potential to pile up dough in the private sector some day.  Me, I've about maxed out my salary potential as a copywriter, and the only way I can increase my income is through freelance or writing books.  Since that's an option, I'm not intimidated by my wife's success -- I've been telling her for years I'm worth tens of millions in potential intellectual property rights.  But if I hadn't had my very first submission get published and hit the New York Times Best Seller's list, making me a by-gods Author instead of a poor college student with a day-job, it would have been a different story.   That was enough of a status-boost in my community to make us a "power couple", not a career woman with a husband who did something creative or something while he took care of the kids.


Look at the reaction to Demi Moore's highly-popularized union with Ashton Kutcher, compared to the Brad Pitt/Angelina Jolie couple.   Demi's image was hurt (except among cougars who were hungry for some validation of their own middle-aged lusts for young flesh) by her pairing, whereas minstrels wrote epics about Brangelina's relationship.  Being a Power Couple energized both of them, whereas Demi was brought down in status while Ashton went up.  


I know, I know, comparing celebrities to real people is just wrong.  But it illustrates my point: not only have men not accepted their "new role", neither have women.   Because in the judgment of the female social matrix women who cannot attract a superior mate to themselves are themselves downgraded, regardless of their accomplishments.  

Women now account for the majority
of higher-educated workers.

And that doesn't even get into the profound alienation that men feel about the whole idea.  


Understand first that men naturally compete -- with other men.   That's been the gold standard since the Time Before Writing.  What we competed for wasn't important -- it was the competition that mattered.  That spirit has been enshrined in competitive sports and other endeavors in every human culture.  Men compete.  Against each other.


But with industrialization and a flood of women entering the workforce back in the 1960s and 1970s, and then the next wave of professionals and information-class female workers in the 1980s and1990s, men were faced with the uncomfortable prospect of competing with women for jobs, not men.  And they considered the competition unfair.  While three decades of corporate culture in which women were not only involved, but were actively working to promote and advance other women (when they weren't sabotaging them to get ahead) has given us a fairly workable set of social and legal rules regarding the workplace, that doesn't mean that men have embraced the idea.  Hell, some barely accept it, and others refuse to work with women at all, becoming self-employed rather than deal with a female superior.

Women have made significant gains in the workplace,
particularly in middle management.  This has not translated
into higher feminine happiness.  Nor into attractive mating
possibilities.

Indeed, men have not embraced the idea of women in the workplace the way that feminists wanted them to.  Not at all.  Feminist ideology stated that once there was legal and cultural parity between men and women in the workplace, then both could compete for the same jobs based on merit, from a level playing-ground.  Once women started moving into positions of power, men would naturally come to respect them for their leadership abilities and follow them just as well as they would follow a man.  


In the Feminist Utopia, a strong, independent woman was valued by the men who were her subordinates.  And if they didn't have respect for her, then that was due to their sexism and chauvinism, not due to the faults or flaws in the female executive in question.  Laws and cultural diversity classes would be brought to bear, forcing men to acknowledge and support the superiority of their female superiors, while a sisterhood of career women mutual supported and mentored each other to break the glass ceiling, take control of the corporate state, and eventually re-shape the world in their image with the happy obedience and willing cooperation of their re-educated male colleagues.

Women have long complained about men not doing
a fair share of housework.  Now that housework parity has
been achieved, professional women are finding that they are
not as attracted to a domestic house-husband as they would
have thought.

Didn't quite work out that way.


Feminism missed a lot about this.  And one of the big things that they missed was the fact that men don't like competing with women -- and when they are forced to, they rebel.  Since the law and corporate culture prohibit an active rebellion without retribution, men take the road of the Puerarchy, and go subversive.


It's not an organized subversion as some feminist speculate -- there is no vast, right-wing anti-feminist cabal who has a 10 year plan to put every woman in the world back into dependence on a man.  Or if there is, no one has invited me to it yet.  No, resistance to female authority and female competitors happens because when placed in a competition with both men and women, men often discount the women out of the equation.  They can justify this because of the "advantages" that just being female grants their colleagues.  


And this helps explain one of the reasons why young men are so reluctant to marry: they no longer view women as equal partners or even potential subordinates in a relationship.  Faced with highly-competitive females at work who are operating aggressively in competition, these Guys (hard to call them Men until they get made Men) it becomes that much harder to drop the competitive nature of intergender relations long enough to do more than hook up -- and certainly not enough to wed.  


Women are scary to these guys. 


They often have power over them (middle management seems replete with single women in their late-30s and early-40s who have devoted so much to their careers that they're still single -- and will likely die that way), they always have the power to hurt them just by suggesting you said something inappropriate, and they can use unfair advantages of flirtation and even affairs with senior management to advance their careers . . . while being publicly appalled about such things.  After being challenged at work all day, forced to compete against women, the allure of a "dude's apartment" complete with beer signs, videogames, and non-stop internet porn seems like Valhalla.   

Anecdotal evidence tends to suggest that men with female superiors feel
less compelled to achieve, and are over-all less ambitious than their
male-led peers.  Some ambitious men studiously avoid female-led positions
due to the unlikelihood of getting a future raise or promotion
and the higher likelihood of sexual harassment charges.

Consider the raunchy Comedy Central show Workoholics, focused on three stoner loser roommates who work in a cube farm for a ball-busting bitch of a (pointedly single) female executive who regularly dominates, emasculates, and berates them.  It's a paen to the Puerarchy.


Do they respect their successful and aggressive female manager?  They fear her -- but any loyalty due her is purely based on her very low  expectations of their performance, not because she has earned it in their eyes.  The Workoholic Guys endure work, they tolerate their boss, but they have no ambition to achieve because they know such ambition is often singled out and punished.  Besides, why go to all that trouble if you're just going to get your legs cut out from under you again?  Better to go home and grind on Halo 3 for nine hours straight before whacking off to porn, passing out, and then getting up and doing it again the next day.  They rarely even make the effort to meet girls, much less pursue them.   And trying to impress them with false expectations of future potential is just too damn hard to do convincingly.


Relationships?  They get enough of that shit at work.


The Guys are certainly not eager to jump into a marriage with a woman -- they saw what happened to their fathers' generation, and things are looking even less rosy now.  They're content to pursue their personal interests at home, keep their damn mouth shut at work, and most don't have more ambition than to stay employed for the next decade.

Meanwhile, the Girls (the Guys' female contemporaries) are discovering that the same dudes they eagerly compete with at work have zero respect for them "as women".  That is, they don't want to date.  They want to have sex, sure, but the Guys don't want to invest anything into a relationship with a Girl from work.  That's just asking for trouble.  


At first that works out fine for both, as both are fully immersed in hookup culture, complete with friends-with-benefits and booty calls.  But as a few years go by and the early 20s become the mid-20s, the Girls quickly get tired of the hookups and start to pursue "real" relationships.  Only they are being frustrated by the utter disinterest that's being shown in them.


That's highly frustrating to a generation of women who were taught -- incorrectly -- that the road to masculine respect and admiration was through career success.  And it is -- for other men.  But while a dude will certainly look at a woman's career and earning prospects as a plus, in most cases, if they are too much over his own then he's going to loose interest quick -- we know what happens when you go down that road.  No one wants to have to ask his sugar mama for beer money.  Past a certain point, career success actually starts hurting a woman's prospects of finding a marriageable mate.  And without one, her future in the increasingly female-dominate workforce is very limited.  She might break the glass ceiling, but if she doesn't have a husband then despite four decades of feminist propaganda the female social matrix discounts the woman's status dramatically.

So how does the Feminist Utopia deal with marriage, then?


According to standard feminist ideology, marriage, when entered into at all (it being an essentially oppressive custom of the fallen Patriarchy, after all) is to be no less than the perfect union of equals . . . though in practice any marriage where the man actually takes any leadership role is usually condemned in feminist circles as atavistic.  Despite that, feminists are themselves locked into the female social matrix.  If they don't "marry up", then they get accused of bagging a "Nigel" (as in "men are horrid creatures who have oppressed women for centuries, using their superior strength and position to dominate us -- but Nigel doesn't believe in all of that, do you dear?")-- what the Manosphere refers to as a White Knight or a Manigina.   Nigels are the epitome of the sexless submissive Beta male -- just the perfect kind of mate, according to feminist ideology.  


Only feminists despise Nigels.  It comes across in every post about them in feminist discussion groups.  They betray their own ideology with their loins, and often leave poor Nigel by the side of the road after a few years in pursuit of the Alpha cock they've starved themselves for.  Feminists may say they love Betas, but they're voting with their vaginas . . . and eventually some of those dudes, embittered by their rejection, find themselves in the Manosphere.


From a feminist perspective hypergamy isn't a problem -- it's a solution.  Rejecting inadequate males after using them for resources (emotional support, sperm, additional revenue) in favor of a higher-status male is in itself status-building in feminist circles -- basically what that horrid Eat, Pray, Love woman did.  Hypergamy proves their personal superiority to their first husbands, and even to their second husbands.  


So the idea that Hypergamy is going to vanish now that women earn more than men is just bullshit, any more than the idea that men stopped objectifying women in the workplace just because of sexual harassment laws.  No matter how many happy, smiling Manginas Ms. Mundy exhibits as proof that men have "embraced" their new testicle-light role, the rest of us know it's Blue Pill bullshit.   Men, as Men, are rejecting that role and going their own way, marrying down themselves or not marrying at all, or marrying third-world brides with more traditionally Agricultural Age concepts of matrimony.    That's the factor that Ms. Mundy hasn't examined.   The rejection of the American Working Woman by the American Working Man, unless the matter of children is involved.


Some feminists see this as a plus -- the idea that a man and woman should need to be married in order to support each other flies in the face of feminist rhetoric about independence.   Dr. Emily Nagoski, noted Sex Nerd, has proudly trumpeted the fact that she and her romantic interest don't "need" each other (which makes any talk of marriage just seem silly), they stay together because they "want" to.  They love each other, and love alone should be enough to establish and maintain a relationship, independent of economic concerns.  Or, as one sarcastic feminist commented, 

Yeah, God forbid she actually stick around because she LIKES the dude or anything. Can’t have that.

Well, no.  No, we can't.  Why not?  Because men, in aggregate, don't want that kind of marriage.  Its one based on their ability to be entertaining, and once that stops, the relationship is OVER and they know it.  Or, as I responded to the above-sarcastic feminist:

Well, that is kind of the point. 

Most men view marriage as a life-long commitment that may possibly include reproductive rights, certainly involves combining finances and financial security, implies certain legal and ethical obligations, certainly includes a sexual component, not to mention establishing an entirely new family built around the compromises of blending your individual family cultures. His wife will be what socially defines him and will be how other men in his masculine culture will judge him. 

And you think that a man should make a decision and establish a commitment that weighty based on your willingness to “like a dude”? 

What happens if you stop “liking” him? You leave? Take his kids? Half his stuff? Because you “just aren’t happy” or “I love you, but I’m not in love with you”, and “I settled prematurely (!)” or any other EatPrayLove rationalization? Because you met another dude you like a little bit better? I mean, is it any wonder that older women are discovering that men in their brackets are more than a little “commitmentphobic” . . . because actual commitment to a marriage has been pretty thin on the ground for the last forty years. 

Yeah, Goddess forbid she stick around because she actually made a COMMITMENT to a dude or anything. Can’t have that.

To which she replied, basically, 

Why turn down money in the family because it’s got girl cooties on it?

Because it's not about the fucking money.  That's what they don't understand.  They want to think it's about the money, so they're the first to say it's NOT about the money, that the money doesn't matter.  And it doesn't, but not for the reasons they suspect.


Men look at resources and wages and earning and success very differently than women.   Women feel that they should enjoy the same prestige among men that a man would get for that level of success -- but men aren't giving it to them, and they're not getting much more from other women.  Why?  Men see wages and income and professional success as a means to an end: to attract a high-quality mate.  Women see wages and income and professional success the same way . . . only men aren't attracted to security issues the way women are.  


It's like the metrosexual dudes who think if they look pretty enough and smell good enough and lack hair in all the right places, they'll find Ms. Right.  The problem is that as much as women enjoy good-smelling dudes who look pretty, good looks are not the primary motivator of their sexual attraction cues.  Money and security is.  That includes emotional security, of course, so a successful career woman may indeed find a man who fulfills that emotional need (she doesn't have a financial need) . . . but the moment she marries him, the power and sex balance has been broken.  He needs her for financial security and she needs him for emotional security, but emotional security isn't a recognized metric among the female social matrix.  


But the sarcastic feminist won't recognize that.  She maintains "There’s nothing about economic security that makes people have to act like jerks." Of course, the caveat is that she means that "there's nothing about economic security that makes MEN have to act like jerks" -- no doubt if it's a woman who is suddenly demanding economic security from a man in the process of divorce, she's entitled to whatever she can squeeze out of him, as per standard feminist practice.   


If a woman happens to be a SAHM and wants more control over the household income, her husband will be labeled a "jerk" or worse if he doesn't grant it by feminists.  But if a SAHD wanted to control the finances of the household, assuming a much wealthier wife, then he's labeled a "controlling loser jerk" and conventional wisdom says "she can do better".  Hypergamy, alive and well.  

There is one bright bit of sunshine from this gloomy picture, though.  Thanks to the new economic parity between men and women, I think we'll see some punitively unfair divorce laws overturned a more and more high-profile wives get divorced by their less-well-earning husbands.  After we see a few female execs get taken to the cleaners by their boy-toys, we'll see a feminist cry about further divorce reform to "protect the right of a woman to generate and control her own capital" or something like that.  Predatory husbands who Game these old broads and then dump them a few years later for half their fortunes will change a few tunes.  Perhaps enough to even begin to approach fairness in divorce laws.


But as far as Liza Mundy's contention that men are learning to accept and embrace their new roles, despite the implicit emasculation involved?

"Oh, shut up about your 'lost masculinity' . . . it's not like I was going
to let you use it anymore, anyway!"

Don't count on it, Cupcake.

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