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farmlegend comments on the relative futility of online dating for men,

Broadly concur that OLD [online dating] is shit for 87% of men.
As a short, mature, average looking dude (though fit, successful and charmingasfuck) I’ve dabbled in it a few times over the years. What I put into it was wildly disproportionate compared to what I got out it – entitled women, less attractive than their pics, that STILL shit-tested me over being 5’8″. Never received an unsolicited message excepting warpigs, and few responses to my witty messages.

I do massively, repeat, massively better in real life encounters than I ever did on OLD.

From the woman’s side, OLD is perhaps the greatest validation machine of all time. I have a female friend who’s pushing 60 that takes a very nice picture – she literally cannot read all of the messages she gets. And another, early 50’s, who’d I score as an HB4, and she gets amazing OLD attention.

OLD presents a sort of “choice paradox” that’s overwhelming to any halfway attractive woman, and their minimum standards soar to way above and beyond what would ordinarily prevail on the ground. For all but the apex men, it blows.

If 60-year-old should-be grandmas are receiving dribbly jizztrickles of omega male thirst online, then the American sexual market is corrupted beyond salvation. Jelq it from orbit.

The choice paradox is real. There’s been a trend in the restaurant business toward pared-down menus and prix fixe, because patrons became overwhelmed by the huge number of choices in (usually foreign language) selections. I now breathe a sigh of relief when I see a menu that doesn’t have more than five entrees. I know the quality of each entree will be better than what I’d get from a place that had twenty or more entrees, just because there’s a higher chance that more entrees includes more shitty entrees. Also, I will linger over a multi-page menu for way too long, anxious I might miss a selection that is better than the first good selection which appealed to me.

Likewise with online dating. Women are both overwhelmed and initially thrilled by all the choice in thirsty men, but quickly get trapped in a validation machine of choice overload, unable to commit to any one man who appeals to them because there are a hundred other men making offers she can’t ignore. She is impelled to continue searching, and with each search and ego stroke the Wall approaches nearer.

It’s just as correct to say online dating is an Infertility Machine which robs a woman of the narrow range of choice in men that would motivate her to settle down and have kids earlier in life, while she still had prime nubility to barter. Furthermore, the quality of that limited choice in men will be higher, from a dependable beta male provider perspective, than would the quality of a million thirsty online quasimodos and fly by night cads practicing a “law of large numbers” approach to dating.

Unfortunately, solipsistic women (the narcissistic sex) are extremely susceptible to external validation, more so than men are, so they miss that they are just one node of a massive Thirst Blast Radius that targets hundreds and even thousands of other women. Women fool themselves into believing that beta thirst is for their gine only — that these sad sack betas masturbate constantly to the vision of *this one girl on Tinder* — when the reality is that these betas masturbate to hundreds of Tinder girls who share that sweet sweet 0.7 waist-to-hip ratio and sub-23 BMI.

Women really have no idea how interchangeable they are to horny men when the courtship is young. A woman only earns her exceptionality after she has proven her love and loyalty to a man.

All of this can be analogized to late stage American capitalism. Too much choice, too much dallying and menu sampling, too many hard-up LSMV third worlders, too much throwaway interchangeable ch1nkcrap, too few exquisitely PureWhite buns in ovens.

AKA Globohomo.

But this proves that meatspace pickup is the future. The ways of the past are making a comeback. Face to face, a woman can’t swipe. She has to take you in. No longer is all the world a stage; the only act is the one happening right there, between you and her. Denied her shekel of empty validation, her hamster is hijacked by your lordly presence. Your physical domination — at once alluring and threatening — reroutes her dopamine pathways to gravitationally converge, limbically, on your three-dimensional realness. Her hamster stops spinning, for just long enough, to gaze in wonder at the man gripping her id by the collar and pulling it toward himself.

***

Coming from the Fap Pill fapatorium is Burner Prime with this hackneyed take,

More retreaded recycled advice. Roosh is the real thot leader in this area and concluded years ago that the Game well was quickly running dry and achieving diminishing returns.

Does the youth and beauty well run dry and achieve diminishing returns for women?

No.

Likewise, the Game well will always be a thirst quencher for men.

Problem is the overabundance of males available who meet the minimum criteria for those super-selective whamens, and are willing to do whatever it takes to secure the poon, including throwing their brothers under the bus. It will never end and womanz will adapt to any perfection of game techniques.

Have you adapted to sexy T&A? No, you haven’t.

Game deniers just don’t get it. Game — charm — is a timeless allure to women, as pert tits and a firm ass and clear supple skin and a feminine disposition are to men.

A few of you might succeed and lap up the scraps offered up by well-pounded and tenderized roast-beef-labia-wielding and tatted up, pierced sluts.

The age of virgins is long gone. Yes, there is a quality control problem with our women. They are wayward, lost (fat) lambs. Men can only improve themselves and get the best of what’s on offer, and work slowly toward re-instituting the benevolent but unapologetic patriarchy that is necessary to recapture our women and help them locate their vulnerable femininity again.

The usual answer is that the issue will only resolve itself when hundreds of millions of men perish in the coming world wars.

That’s one solution. There are others, less bloody, but requiring stronger will.

The news is not all bad, as the newest, youngest GenZ twat-nut – you can’t have missed them – everywhere sporting insane wild 3ft manes of hair, thin, smooth skin with zero tats, will likely survive in large numbers, rebelling against the previous Millennial monster’s ball, embracing femininity with gusto, and carry the next generation of champions. Though those champions might have darker skin than you assume…
Izz called: “Battle for the Planet of the Apes”.

Shrillennials are the nadir generation. It can’t get worse than Millennials without imminent collapse.

Generation Zyklon is the transitional generation. We will see the worst of the Insanely Woke and the best of the Shitlord Based within this generation. Intrageneration bifurcation will be followed by…

Generation Conan. The Conans may be swarthy, in which case the West will have been defeated for good. I’m less nihilistic. I see our own Conans taking up the mantle of revolution and renewal, to carve a new epoch for America, if not in name then in spirit.

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