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First, let’s get something straight. Most alpha males are benevolent sexists. I have personally never known an alpha male who held feminist views. I have known plenty of alpha males who cracked bawdy sexist jokes and made fun of feminists, male or female.

You may be inclined to believe otherwise by the shrill feminist mewling of highly visible “alpha” male actors and politicians, but outside of the twisted, lunatic fringe hothouses of Challahwood and Temple DC, your run of the mill Chads laugh at feminists when they aren’t pumping and dumping them.

Most male feminists are object lessons in soy overload. They look like this:


A small minority of total male feminists are “prestige alphas” from the entertainment fields. These are the “real men” whom women point to when they say they are attracted to sensitive, male feminists. What they are really attracted to are famous, rich men. These women are the same who will promptly #PleaseMeToo the hordes of “allied” soydweebs who toady at their feet and lick their unisex Vans.

However, the worst male feminist archetype isn’t found among the loser soys. He’s the rarefied backwash of the “prestige alpha” subset. A very specific kind of male takes the feminist lies to heart and adopts it as his religion: the brooding beta reluctantly thrust into the role of prestige alpha by a lifestyle menu of achievement, introverted personality, and fortuitous circumstance.

A prime example is the late Kurt Cobain. I was reminded of this connection when his manager, the very special Danny Goldman, retold a story about Cobain refusing to play “Smells Like Teen Spirit” at a concert in Argentina because Cobain didn’t like how the fans treated the opening act, the all-female band Calamity Jane.

Kurt later shared his memories of the gig:

“When we played Buenos Aires, we brought this all-girl band over from Portland called Calamity Jane,” Kurt recalled. “During their entire set, the whole audience—it was a huge show with like sixty thousand people—was throwing money and everything out of their pockets, mud and rocks, just pelting them. Eventually the girls stormed off crying. It was terrible, one of the worst things I’ve ever seen, such a mass of sexism all at once. Krist, knowing my attitude about things like that, tried to talk me out of at least setting myself on fire or refusing to play. We ended up having fun, laughing at them (the audience). Before every song, I’d play the intro to ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ and then stop. They didn’t realize that we were protesting against what they’d done. We played for about forty minutes, and most of the songs were off Incesticide, so they didn’t recognize anything. We wound up playing the secret noise song (‘Endless, Nameless’) that’s at the end of Nevermind, and because we were so in a rage and were just so pissed off about this whole situation, that song and whole set were one of the greatest experiences I’ve ever had.

Our proto-pussyhatter and proud #Resistor Kurt Cobain, as is the wont of his barely male sex, misremembered the details of that show to validate his emotive ego.

If you watch the show (which is embedded below), you’ll realize that Kurt was misremembering or embellishing a bit here and there. While they did unearth a handful of rarities from their odds-n-ends collection Incesticide (which hadn’t been released yet), as well as “All Apologies” (it later turned up on In Utero), they also played most of Nevermind (but not “Teen Spirit,” which they teased before two songs), and a few of the highlights from Bleach. One thing Kurt failed to mention that they most certainly did do to annoy the crowd, was open with a strange, jam-like number that those in attendance had definitely never heard before.

There were, at the time, already a few all-girl bands in Buenos Aries. Most likely, the Argentine crowd wasn’t throwing stuff at the stage solely because it was an all-girl band, but because Calamity Jane sucked.

Anyhow, this gets me to my point about leaden, double-barreled male feminists like Cobain. Their anti-sexism virtue signaling is off the charts because of their fucked up psychologies that are a consequence of a lifetime of pussy pedestal polishing making sudden impact with pussy splooging fame and fortune. Many such cases end up resenting the hindbrain visit from nascent, boisterous, uncomplicated alpha maleness mocking their years of exquisitely ponderous, complicated beta forebrain-ness.

A beta brooder like Cobain wouldn’t have enough pre-fame experience with women to see the fairer sex in all its dirty, slutty glory, and when he is famous he would only see the best of women, who would treat him like a king while doing their damnedest to hide their personal flaws from him. I can’t think of a worse combination for misbelieving in the idea of emotionally evolved women laboring under the tyranny of sexist men than that found in the man who spent most of his life unacquainted with the seedy side of female nature, and then instantly acquainted with only the most lovingkindness and devoted side of women.

If you want to Believe All Women, have little experience with women and then have only good experiences with women. Skip over that part in the great, non-drug addled middle of your life where you tussle and tangle in the romance trenches with all-too-Darwinian women, getting eye- and thigh-opening experiences on the daily.

Make no mistake, Cobain was a beta at heart:

When the blond guy came over to thank her, she said she didn’t know at first that it was Kurt Cobain. Slight and soft-spoken, he certainly didn’t seem like the lead singer. She was expecting someone huskier, to match the big voice.

“I thought he was the roadie, I honestly did,” Lord said.

The beta brooder fetishizes women; to him, women are vulnerable dainty things — “n*ggers of the world”, as another beta brooder-turned-reluctant alpha male, John Lennon, put it — who can do no wrong and are constantly wronged by men. The pussy pedestal won’t tolerate any tarnishing.

Beta romanticization of transcendent women plus raw, immediate contact with earthly women (and consequently with his own primal instincts) produces an irritatingly earnest and aggressive male feminism that can and will lead innumerable follower beta males, who look up to such a man as a role model, down the path of interminable dry spells and shamefully emasculated behavior.

Another thing to be said for beta males thrust into alphahood is that they now find themselves able to easily afford the feminist posturing of their former beta selves without taking a hit to their sexual prospects, as they did back when they were nobodies futilely ingratiating themselves to women with vaginas as dilated as their ear gauges. This is the handicap principle at work; if a man can mouth inane feminist bromides and don a pussyhat without incurring a hit to his SMV, then he has hsmv to spare. Many soyboys try to ride the coattails of the handicap principle, mimicking the alpha male feminists who do get laid, only to discover that their innate soy-ness and lack of compensating fame, charm, or talent ensure that the handicap is real and the principle is discarded.

The soyboy male feminist supplicates to bluehairs to try and get laid easily. The reluctant alpha male feminist supplicates to womanhood to try and get laid not so easily.

The soyboy male feminist looks to save women to raise his status.

The reluctant alpha male feminist looks to women to save himself from his raised status.

FYI, these types of pedestalizing betas are mincemeat to conniving femme fatales like Courtney Love:

Lord and Cobain’s relationship has not been free of questions. They dated just before Cobain and Courtney Love, who has publicly accused Lord of harassment and trying to make a career off a fling with Cobain. Lord denies those claims, and says Love was the one who threatened her. …

A note faxed to the Boston Phoenix in 1993 and signed Kurt Cobain, in response to a profile of Lord in the newspaper, said Cobain was drunk in Boston when a “creepy girl came on to me.”

“I NEVER had a relationship with her,” the note read. “Please Mary whoever you are, leave me alone and see a therapist.”

Lord is convinced the note was a fake.

Lord’s instincts are right. Courtney Love wrote that note and shoved a pen in Cobain’s half-awake limp hand, guiding it to scrawl out his signature.

Lord’s story was also detailed by Cobain biographer Charles Cross and in the account of music writer and Cobain friend Everett True in his book “Nirvana: The Biography.” True says Lord “has almost been written out of the Kurt Cobain story.”

“Yet I have a strong memory from around this time of meeting a besotted Kurt going on and on about this girl called Mary Lou Lord, how in love with her he was, and how he was going to move to Boston to be with her,” True wrote. “A  fantasy perhaps, but he believed it at the time.”

Smells Like Beta Romantic. Charming, in its way, but also revealing of the inner turmoil which would catalyze Cobain’s self-destructiveness. The idealizing soft-spoken beta stumbled into the loud, shockingly primal world of alpha male snatch surplus where romance goes to die, and couldn’t make peace with the utter repudiation of how he had always seen himself.

Lord went to visit friends in London, confused. That night, she watched as Nirvana came on a British television program. Before the performance, Cobain said, “I just want everyone in this room to know Courtney Love, the lead singer of the pop band Hole, is the best F*** in the world.”

Lord was shocked.

“I had been with him the night before,” Lord said. “I didn’t know who Courtney Love was.”

The reluctant alpha male still needs his thrill of the hunt and the taste of his prey, breaking hearts along the way (and then projecting his existential guilt onto all men).

“I didn’t have to see [loneliness] in Kurt, I knew that in Kurt, I felt that in Kurt,” Lord said. “I could hear it even in his voice when he said ‘Please don’t leave.’”

Unlike a rock star, Lord believes Cobain didn’t crave attention when he performed — rather, he wanted the listener to see themselves reflected back in his songs. Lord believes Cobain saw music as a way to connect with others, to feel less alone. She describes the same kind of loneliness in singer-songwriter Elliott Smith, whom she met five or six months after Cobain’s suicide.

This woman has survived what can only be described as a record-breaking case of Alpha Widowhood.

Like Cobain, Smith took his own life. He was 34 when he died in 2003. Cobain and Smith never met, but Lord is positive Cobain would have adored Smith’s music.

We can’t say as much for the survival prospects of the men in Mary Lou Lord’s life. (had to go there)

RIP Kurt Cobain, rest ex utero.


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