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Thought Experiment: The Alpha Male

Nov 16th, 2014 by

Which man is envied by more men and desired by more women?

a. The childless player who has a history of bedding beautiful, unencumbered women and is currently in a relationship with a pretty girl on the Pill, a relationship which he seasons every so often with side flings.

or

b. The low class oaf who has five children with two different land whales.

Envy is a palimpsest that reveals aspiration. Few men, even those who profess belief in the familial dynasty model of alpha maleness, would envy man B. Children do not make the alpha male. Children, quality children at any rate, are a byproduct of the condition of being an alpha male in a world where reproduction thwarting technologies don’t exist or are expensive and unreliable.

We’re no longer in that world, but we still retain the intuitive discernment from our not-so-distant pre-prophylactic past of which men are winners and which are losers. The winners — the envied — are those men who live varied and fulfilling sex and love lives with beautiful women. Just as CH once elegantly defined the alpha male.

After all, the hard work is persuading a woman to relinquish her sex and fill her heart with love. When she has, it’s a mere formality — in the environment of procreative adaptation from which our post-procreation minds are still molded — to fill her womb.

Posted in Alpha, Psy Ops | 249 Comments »

Beta Or Omega Male?

Nov 15th, 2014 by

Many readers sent CH a link to this story for inclusion in the Beta of the Year contest. But is he really beta, or is he that lowest of life forms, the omega male?

A Chinese man dropped to his knees for 30 days (and 30 nights?) in an act of contrition to win back his girlfriend. (No word on what he did that pissed her off. Journalism!)

The Beta Male of the Year series is meant as a learning tool. Betas are put under the spotlight to help readers understand the kinds of commonly encountered male behaviors that cause vaginas to snap shut. Extreme supplication like that committed by the Chinaman in the story above isn’t very helpful by dint of its rarity and absurdity. Most beta males aren’t committing treason against their sex in quite so spectacular a fashion.

What this is a better example of is a greater omega male at a loss for what to do when the love of his life (and probably the first woman to sneak a peak at his chicken beak) breaks up with him. He reverts to classic omega form: Prostration, appeasement, self-abnegation, and public humiliation. The funny thing is, he doesn’t appear to be an especially ugly man, yet his theatrics are so off-putting to women that everyone reading this intuitively knows his girlfriend is filling with disgust at the prospect of laying with him again.

Omega males aren’t all sexless basement dwellers. The better species of them sometimes manage to get girlfriends (quality control notwithstanding to the contrary). What usually distinguishes greater omega males from beta males is the facility with which omegas will acquiesce to their gelding and the energy they bring to doing all the wrong things to woo women.

Posted in Ridiculousness, Tool Time | 208 Comments »

The Origin Of Women’s Love For Jerks?

Nov 14th, 2014 by

SCIENCE! has given us a glimpse into the possible origins of the renowned human female mate preference for jerkboys of varying jerkitude.

Male sexual aggression: What chimps can reveal about people

Male chimpanzees that wage a campaign of sustained aggression against females sire more offspring than their less violent counterparts, new research finds.

The results suggest that such nasty behavior from males evolved because it gave the meanest males a reproductive advantage, said study co-author Ian Gilby, a primatologist at Arizona State University in Phoenix.

This chimpanzee behavior could also provide some insight into the roots of sexual aggression in men.

“It is possible that in our early ancestors there may have been an adaptive value to male aggression against females,” Gilby said.

Chimps aren’t the only closest living ape relatives of humans (bonobos and gorillas are the others), but their present-day characteristics could help shed light on deeply embedded human sexual behavior that is resistant to shorter term cultural or ecological changes.

But sexual aggression in male chimpanzees isn’t directly parallel to rape, because it typically takes place at times distant from copulation. Female chimps also mate with multiple males anyway, Gilby said..

To understand the roots of this behavior, Gilby and his colleagues recorded instances of male-on-female violence in a troop of chimpanzees living in Gombe Stream National Park in Tanzania. The researchers studied violence that occurred both when the females were sexually receptive, or swollen, and when they were not. The team then compared that information with paternity tests on all the offspring born since 1995.

Chimps have a strict male dominance hierarchy, and more-dominant males generally engage in a greater amount of gendered aggression. But even when taking this into account, the team found that aggression increased a male’s chances of siring offspring — regardless of whether the chimp was more or less dominant.

The sustained intimidation in which chimps engage, which has some parallels to human behaviors such as stalking or domestic violence, is a form of mate guarding. The behavior may make female chimps less likely to sneak off with a partner of her choosing during her most fertile times, Gilby said.

So male aggression isn’t primarily about coercing sex from females. It’s a mate guarding strategy, similar to the violence that lunkhead alpha human males may occasionally visit upon their in-demand hottie girlfriends (cf., Chris Brown). And according to this study, that mate guarding aggression has a genetic payoff, so it would be selected over genes for “niceguy” supplication and everlasting tenderness.

Obviously, this isn’t the whole human story, as niceguys are still with us, and women don’t fall for jerks all the time every time. But there is clearly an observable female preference for jerkboys that has no parallel in a male preference for jerkgirls. Think of a jerkboy bell curve, and place women on it. At the far left, you find good girls who never go for men with even a hint of jerkish characteristics, in the middle are the majority of women who like their men best when they exhibit some jerkboy flair, and at the far right of the bell curve are your women who fall in love with serial killers and prisoners.

There is no such equivalent bell curve for men.

The study explains why men might have evolved a taste for flashing gang signs of intimidating assholery upon lovers, but what about women’s taste for receiving that assholery with open legs? One can surmise that a “jerkboy gene” which improved men’s reproductive fitness (in an environment where reproduction wasn’t thwarted by cheap and easy contraception) would, over generations, ride sidesaddle with a “jerkboy loving gene” in women that improved the reproductive fitness of those women who acquiesced to, or even sought out, the very special lessons in love that jerks are fond of teaching. It’s a variant on the sexy sons hypothesis; call it the sexy sonofabitch hypothesis.

Posted in Science Validates Game, The Id Monster, Ugly Truths | 134 Comments »

Ten Hours Of [X] Walking In NYC

Nov 14th, 2014 by

Inspired by the subversively realist Shoshana Roberts catcall video, a hundred “Ten Hours of [X] Walking in NYC” parody videos have sprung up like facial scruff on Amanda Marcotte. This is a good one:

“Judge me by my size, do you?” 😆

Mockery is the best tonic for feminist idiocy. I can smell the feminist butthurt. *sniff sniff* I detect notes of hairy asscrack.

***

This video would’ve reached epic status if it ended with Chewbacca sidling up and roaring at her, and she gives him her number.

Posted in Feminist Idiocy, Funny/Lolblogs, Videos | 48 Comments »

The Fat Daughter Vs Thin Mother Thought Experiment

Nov 13th, 2014 by

Commenter natphilosopher poses an interesting thought experiment,

What I want to know is, what’s the CH translation factor [for female age versus female fatness]?
I figure, maybe 2-2.5 pounds/year?
A 20 year old who’s 50 pounds overweight against the same woman 20-25 years later, but now she’s lost the extra weight and toned up?

No, better yet, CH, they are both at the end of the bar. It’s the middle of nowhere, so there’s no other action and your stationed here for a while. The newly divorced mother, toned and horny, and the overweight but otherwise hot daughter and two of her overweight friends. The mother is so hot for her age, which is 39, that under the circumstances she appeals to the mighty CH. How many pounds per year does the daughter have to be overweight for the Mom to win CH’s attention?

The variables:

39-year-old mom, slender and toned.

VERSUS

20-year-old daughter, 50 pounds overweight.

Which woman commands not just CH’s turgid attention, but most men’s attention (since the vast majority of men share the same preferences in women)?

In other words, how much fat has to accumulate on a prime nubility young woman before a height-weight proportionate woman twice her age begins to look like a more sexually alluring prospect?

Reminder: Presented with two equally slender women 20 years apart, most men will, given a free choice, choose the younger woman for sex AND love. (yes, both)

The formula is simple: Youth >>>> Cougardom, at a healthy body weight, every time. It gets complicated when we fiddle with the variables and compare a young fatty to an older, age-adjusted hottie.

Thinking hard about this (because neither cougars nor fatties are sexual fantasy material), I conclude that the thin mom would earn the CH rod of approval. Youthful bloom, rare and exquisite as it is, can’t withstand 50 pounds of disfiguring blubber. Wrinkles and sag are no man’s idea of boner-fuel, but the equivalent of Lindy West is like the anti-Viagra: Boners implode into a black hole of flaccidness, from which no seed can escape.

I’d therefore have to agree with natphilosopher’s mathematical elegance: A 20-year-old daughter would have to be 2.5 lbs per year fatter than her 39-year-old mom. But only if her mom is already thin. If the daughter is 50 pounds fatter than her obese mom, that’s a dirigible sideshow no one wants to contemplate puncturing.

50 pounds of superfluous fat is a lot of unsexxxy BBBBBBBBW adipose. What if the daughter is, say, 40 pounds heavier than her twice-as-old slender mom? 30 pounds? 20?

At 40 pounds difference, most men would still opt to bang the thin mom with the extra 20 years.

At 30 pounds difference, the pattern of fat accumulation on the daughter will start to matter. Did her additional 30 pounds settle on her ass and tits, and avoid her face, neck, belly and arms? Then I conclude that even numbers of men would choose the daughter and the mother.

At 20 pounds difference, the same as above applies, but now the daughter’s sheer youthfulness exerts a powerful influence on men’s autonomic desires. Most men will overlook an extra 20 pounds on a 20-year-old if the only alternative is sex with a thin 39-year-old (again, presuming equal facial attractiveness, i.e. bone structure).

At 10 pounds difference, the daughter wins nearly every time.

I hope this answer has cleared up everyone’s questions on the matter of female fatness and female age and their deleterious, and synergistically deflating, effects on men’s libidos.

Posted in Biomechanics is God, Girls, Hitting The Wall, Hungry Hungry Hippos, Rules of Manhood | 174 Comments »

How To Control The Population Of r-Selected Humans

Nov 13th, 2014 by

Step 1: Stop feeding them.

Step 2: Introduce predators.

Step 3: Profit economically, socially, spiritually.

Best,
CH

Posted in The Id Monster, Ugly Truths | 88 Comments »

What To Do When A Girl Signals She’s Back On The Market

Nov 12th, 2014 by

If a girl tells you she’s having boyfriend troubles, what message should you take from that? How would you proceed?

A reader provides blog fodder,

I have a hot personal trainer, obviously I’m interested. She has a boyfriend, but the other day she sent me a text telling me the boyfriend might be cheating on her.

Got any Personal Trainer Game tips?

First of all, you don’t see hot female personal trainers with male clients very often, unless she works as a class instructor. One-on-one? Rare. I wonder if the reader is a minor celebrity. Now male personal trainers giving hands-on guidance to hot chicks in yoga pants? That harassment is everywhere.

This is a relevant game scenario that could involve any girl, regardless of her occupation. Sometimes a girl will drop a hint, subtle or otherwise, that she’s back on the market. These signals of market reintroduction should rarely be taken at face value. Unfortunately, beta males will typically leap on this female availability bait and immediately interview themselves for the replacement job.

There are various reasons why a girl would volunteer information to a third party man about her fraying relationship. If the information is of the “my man is cheating on me” sort, you’ve got to be extra careful handling that ho potato. First you’ll need to untangle penumbras and emanations of meaning.

A girl will announce to a platonic male friend (or, in this case, client) that her BF is cheating for any of the following reasons:

1. He really is cheating, and she wants to find a new man to alleviate the pain of rejection. This is your classic rebound offer.

2. He really is cheating, but she still loves him and wants to stay with him. Her actions then can best be interpreted as trawling for sympathy and flattery from another man so she can feel attractive again.

3. He isn’t cheating, and she’s a slutty sociopath fishing for a handy rationalization to start cheating on him.

4. She’s the one cheating (but not with you), and logic has been hamsterspun to suit her glowing self-conception. By lying to you, the third party man, about the source of infidelity, she transfers some of her incipient guilt to the ether known affectionately as “men are pigs”.

5. No one’s cheating. She’s just an attention whore who may or may not want to sleep with you.

If you were to actively pursue a girl who signaled her market availability by throwing her boyfriend under the bus, one of the following rom-com endings are likely to be your fate:

1. She makes endless promises to leave her BF. This result isn’t so bad, if sex and good times is all you want with her. Essentially, you’ll be entering a three-way relationship as the interloper who cucks her boyfriend. You are her Ovulation Lover. Just don’t make the mistake of committing to her, unless you enjoy the prospect of hearing her come up with new excuses every week why she’s still with him. If you aren’t fucking her, then in this scenario, by default, you’re her beta male orbiter. Don’t be a beta male orbiter.

2. She insists she has left her BF, but hasn’t. You are now a bug in her web of lies. Why does she lie? She doesn’t trust you to be a full replacement, she doesn’t want to leave her boyfriend, or surreptitious love triangles featuring her in the starring role make her horny. Alpha fux, beta bux is definitely in play here. If you discover her lie, she’ll find some way to spin it as an act of human kindness or as a breach of agreed-upon terms (terms which were elucidated only in her head). “I still have feelings for him.” “I didn’t want to hurt him.” “He needs me.” “I figured you’d understand.” “I thought you knew what this was about?” This scenario can be benign, but only if all of the below apply:

– the boyfriend isn’t a crazy mofo who’ll come after you

– you are fucking her, but not dating her with long-term goals in mind

– she isn’t a vector for venereal disease

– she isn’t a vector for surprise pregnancy

– she doesn’t occupy too much of your free time.

When it turns malign:

You aren’t fucking her but are being used as an aural pincushion for her self-pitying stabs of romantic discontent.

3. She really has left her boyfriend, and she’s left him for you. Lotto! Not so fast, young pat-a-twat. If you’re rebound material, the strength of novel passion might not be there to fortify a deep love in her. Don’t expect her to become your girlfriend. Again, not a big dealio if feelio is all you want. If, otoh, she has excommunicated her boyfriend and you and her alight on a voyage of priapic discovery, there will always be that cloud of deception trailing her wake. Did she lie about who really cheated on whom? Why did she even volunteer that information, unless it was to relieve her guilt or encourage your premature sexual intercession? Will she pull the same stunt on you? Bottom line: You can never trust girls who air their dirty laundry.

4. She really has left her boyfriend, but not necessarily for you. Now you’re in the danger zone. You start to fill with fantasies of lust and love for your newly-freed girl-friend. She, knowingly or not, fuels your excitement and neediness with tales of her empowered but simultaneously cloyingly vulnerable decision to leave her BF, and your internal frenzy betrays your efforts at external aloofness. Since you don’t know for sure whether she considers you a worthy substitute, (and she has, as nature intended, played her part in stoking your uncertainty), your game abandons you as the finish line fades in and out of your view. You think, not illogically, that she’s romantically interested in you, because why else would she admit her relationship failings to you unless her intention was to incite you to swoop in for the rescue? Damn logic, trips up so many men. Like so many female shit tests, the “my BF is cheating on me woe is me thanks for being there” ruse is a plate of prime id that betaboys can’t resist chomping. This scenario is a recipe for drawn-out heartache.

****

So what should the reader do? His personal trainer sent him a text announcing her boyfriend was cheating on her. That the news was delivered via text and not face-to-face is interesting in itself, especially considering that personal trainers and their clients share a lot of quasi-intimate time together when bedroom secrets could find multiple routes of escape.

I suspect she sent the text because she’s feeling some guilt for her role in whatever her relationship drama is supposed to signify. There’s nothing quite like an electronic middleman layer to hide revealing facial expressions. There is more danger in sending a text, too, as the risk of discovery is higher than if she confessed her desire to sin in evaporative vocal mists.

Reader: Given these premises, my diagnosis is that she is clumsily hinting she wants you to personally train her vagina. (Premises subject to change if additional info is released. For instance, the length of the reader’s platonic textual relationship with his tart trainer.)

You proceed like you would with any girl texting her market availability: You embrace the zen of amused indifference, proffer your heartfelt condolences (“dat sux”), and suggest a place where she could meet you, privately, if she “needs your company to take her mind off things”. Then you give her an evening when you might be available, reminding her to check with you first. DO NOT, under whatever scrotal or psychological duress, entertain her tacit aspiration for an asexual therapist. You have balls to drain, and women should always be aware of that on some level.

That final warning means, “don’t chomp on her beta bait”. The next time you have a session with her (following on the heels of her plaintive text wail), you’ll be tempted to bring up the subject of her text and suggest an immediate post-training drink. I say you should lay off for a bit. Pretend like you didn’t even read her text, or forgot about it. Let her bring it up at your next IRL meeting. (Refusing beta bait is a huge DHV. Alphas rarely have time to commiserate with distressed women lamenting cheating boyfriends.)

If she brings it up first, then you’ll have your platform to a) swiftly dismiss any possibility that you’ll listen to an endless stream of her dramatic renderings (a teasing neg helps here) and b) offer an opportunity for a post-session private session at a logistically favorable public venue. “Well, I’m free for a bit after our next workout if you want to grab a drink and talk about happier things.” Cat string theory. Pull away a little bit, make her chase. Don’t go rushing to her with arms open in affection and sympathy; like a cat, she’ll hiss and run for cover.

***

Reader Tilikum adds an important caveat,

that said, I’d never even get close to any type of trainer/meathead/gymrat either female as the object of my desire, or her male meathead BF. loads of insecurity and “lets you and him fight” drama IMO. almost worse than cops and soldiers. and i’v banged a ton of attached chicks from all three.

“Let’s you and him fight” is an urge in most women, as most women crave, to a lesser or greater degree, manufactured romance drama. The best kind of drama, from women’s POV, is that which pits men in acts of valor (or stupidity) for a faire maiden’s hand. Gym rats and exercise fiends are, I agree, especially susceptible to this kind of female drama whoring. Maybe because they’re surrounded by so much testosterone all day that their estrogenic alter egos get pushed into overdrive and the thought of gladiators duking it out sends tremors ripping through their dilated wombs.

***

Heywood Jablome goes for the kill,

Reply text:

“8:00 at joes bar on 5th st”

The bold reply right after she texts you about her “cheating boyfriend” is the right strategy IF

1. She has a history of dropping indicators of interest your way. Then her “bad boyfriend” text could be considered an escalation of her sexual intent toward you.

2. Your behavior in her company to date has left no impression that you’d be the sort of man who’d volunteer a shoulder for her to cry on.

If these apply, then go right ahead and push for an insta-date (although in this case, it’d more precisely be called “foreplay”).

Posted in Game, Girls | 170 Comments »

What’s It Like To Fuck A Fatty?

Nov 11th, 2014 by

It may astound some readers, but yer ‘umble instigator has no experience fucking fat chicks, rare one-night hummers from borderline chubsters notwithstanding to the contrary. Of course, no man needs to know what it’s like to fuck a fatty; our vision is keen and our imaginations sufficient to piece together a porky pastiche.

However, it does serve as a helpful reminder, especially to the older gentlemen in the audience who may’ve mistakenly jettisoned BMI standards for the reward of perky youth, to paint in technicolor detail the morbid flesh tsunamis that roll during sex with a fatty. So we here at CH turn to the experience of readers who have submerged themselves in the corpulent deep.

Reader Shortest Straw dishes the dirt,

The only problem with fat asses is their only sex position is missionary. If they’re on top of you it’s just nasty, and if it’s doggy style, well, there’s nothing quite like watching the waves propagate across their behinds. Funny as fuck when you first see it but then it gets distracting and pretty soon the boner is gone.

***

If I’m drunk enough, I can [fuck a fatty]. I get into thinking about how happy they are to be getting fucked.

There’s a certain line even I won’t cross, though. You see, it’s self limiting: The drunker I have to get, the more likely I won’t be able to get it up anyway, and the more likely I’ll be to just pass out.

However, a combination of viagra and ritalin both offsets those two effects, and pushes me into an alternate reality. If I remembered it better, I could describe it. Let’s just say I’ve had laundry to do in the morning.

Apparently, to fuck a fatty you need to have a sense of humor and a tolerance for ODing on mind-altering pharmaceuticals.

Posted in Funny/Lolblogs, Hungry Hungry Hippos | 372 Comments »

Feminism For Bros (DEFCON: Vomit Bag)

Nov 10th, 2014 by

I dare you to watch this all the way through without feeling at least a small gurgle of nausea.

Feminism For Bros (level 105) is a PSA by a group called “Centre for Gender Advocacy”, based in Montreal, associated with something called The Consensual Collective. I imagine corporate headquarters is a coffeehouse office where two manlets and a chubby cunt get together to project their confused sexuality and self-loathing onto normal people. The video shows a couple, (mostly the vaguely male hipster), asking for verbal consent at each step of foreplay. Unedited footage taken five years into the future shows him asking her if he may briefly appear naked in front of his now-wife while he dresses in the morning. She asks if she may shove her prized buttplug up his rectum. He assents.

“Can I kiss you?” “Can I put my hand here?” “Can I take your shirt off?”

Bzzt! Rebuffed! Her shirt stays on. They go back to loud kissing that sounds like an octopus pulling its tentacles off wet glass.

“Can I kiss your neck?” “Can I take off your shirt?”

This time he gets the green light. Not really sure what difference waiting ten seconds to approve his shirt-removal request made for the girl.

“Can I kiss you… there?”

He points to her sternum, that well-known erogenous zone on women.

“Can I go down on you?”

Of course, this faggot opts to mash his face in her pussy before banging her. OF COURSE. Pre-sex cunnilingus is 99% of times a huge beta male tell.

“CONSENT IS FUN”

No it’s not when it has to be verbalized every five seconds in a cloud of gnawing fear that a presumptuous ear nibble could lead to a rape accusation.

“CONSENT IS SEXY”

No it’s not, and telling yourself that won’t make it so.

“CONSENT IS SAFE”

Pretty sure gonorrhea is transmissible with or without consent. And there’s no way this manlet is overpowering the girl.

“CUTV”

So close.

I hope this video was a parody, because if not, then the people involved with this shit, or people who would seriously entertain its message, are down with the sickness that has no cure.

Coitus interruptus, meet passion interruptus. I can’t think of much that would kill the mood faster than asking for permission to escalate foreplay and slip the tip in. A barrage of mewling inquiries, however smokily whispered, makes whiskey dick seem like the pinnacle of bedroom prowess. Fatrelle whipping out his micropeen and flicking it to life with his porky pinky would be less likely to spoil the moment than a guy following BRO FEMINISM verbal consent guidelines.

Anyone who’s been with non-psychotic non-feminist girls (or, if you’re a woman, with men who aren’t afraid of their penes) knows how this works: The heat of the moment carries both of you forward through sexual escalation, wordlessly (unless you’re into actual dirty talk), clothes flying everywhere, hands exploring, mouths traveling great expanses of flesh, until panties are tugged off and sex ushers a symphony of moans. Consent is implied, usually, by the girl not saying “no” or pushing herself off the man.

This is what normal human beings whose brains weren’t hijacked by parasites do. As a female commenter at Total Frat Move put it:

As a girl, if a guy can’t take at least some control, it’s a turn off. If a girl doesn’t want sex then she will say so. If I want you, you’ll be able to tell. This was ridiculous.

Most feminist agitprop amounts to unattractive or psychologically defective women running from that scary and confusing female desire to submit to a dominating man, and grappling with those feelings that remind them of their vulnerable femaleness by neutering any man foolish enough to pursue them. A man who obeys feminist pique is a man who is never getting laid, and that’s the point. This stuff helps filter out weak betas who are too insecure to give women what they really want: A sexually entitled man who doesn’t second-guess his allure.

Males who are into this game are poseurs angling for broken snatch, genuine androgynous misfits play-acting revenge fantasies against the jocks who flipped their lunch trays, or sexually parched spergs who can’t read nonverbal arousal cues.

ps The reader who sent this clip wrote, “I love America, but I’m moving.” This sentiment must be shared by more men every day who watch this freak parade of putrescence shamble over the remnants of a once vital culture.

Posted in Beta, Feminist Idiocy, Tool Time, Videos | 293 Comments »

The Great Men On Girls

Nov 9th, 2014 by

Libertardian introduces CH readers to Herman Wouk, adding to our “Great Men On [X]” series,

‘“Pretty girls are just girls, Margie, you see. That’s what finally emerges. The most immoral slut among them, even a dumb roundheels like Imogene, at heart just wants a fellow and a nest and clothes and furniture. What’s more, they tend to be stupider than other girls, because being pretty makes life too easy for them. The day they sprout those charming breasts, they usually turn off their brains, and just bob along on the tide of attention and fun that starts up. Then after a while they’re twenty-five and have to start thinking again. Because by that time the breasts are beginning to droop and the fuss is dying down. Of course by then it’s too late, like as not. They’re empty-headed fools, they can’t read, they can’t talk, they can’t think, their emotions have been gutted by random sleeping around, and their lives are a shambles—”

Marjorie said, “You’re a cruel hound, do you know? A cruel hound.”’

Cruel to be kind.

Bonus Wouk:

Sadly every iteration of technological progress unlocks a new level of potential mental illness. Here’s Herman Wouk again with a rant from sixty (!) years ago:

“Being an actress (or a model, same damn nonsense) has become to the average American girl what being a knight in armor was to Don Quixote. It’s a process that’s going on all over the country, this addling of girls’ brains. … Nothing can stop it, until our civilization changes. Year after year troops of Marjorie Morningstars will converge on Hollywood and Broadway to be seduced, raped, perverted, prostituted, or—if they’re lucky like you—to merely tangle up in fornication for a couple of years and then go home to marry the druggist’s son or the doctor or the real estate man. I say you’re lucky because I’ve been a little more interesting and amusing, I’m sure, than the usual show-business deflowerer. It’s generally some asinine chorus boy or actor, or lecherous third assistant stage manager, who does the job. Or a producer, if a girl’s really worth bothering with. Or maybe a musician, or a phony Village writer needing a bath and a haircut. Some idle joker, anyway, who stays up late and has a lot of time on his hands for fooling around with the Morningstars.”

The attention whoring technologies of social media have opened possibilities for mental and emotional disorders like HPD to far more women than filmmaking ever did. It’s mass scale “addling” with even less payoff than casting couch opportunism.

Posted in Girls, Ugly Truths | 101 Comments »

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