Captain Capitalism's recent post on not having to game really hot women who happen to be friends jived very well with an interesting experience I had one night this week, out drinking with a few co-workers to see off a fellow co-worker who had left the firm under, shall we just say, inauspicious circumstances. It wasn't so much what the Captain was saying about his annoyances with his female companions, it had more to do with the way he simply didn't "connect" with these women physically. And that got me thinking about what happened this week in a very different perspective.
There's a bit of background to this story that is worth knowing. There's a woman at my office who works there as a temp; she used to work there full-time and left well before I ever got there, then came back because she needed a job and apparently had the right people's attention. Now, let me make this very clear: this girl is a hard 9.5. Easily. She has an amazing rack, a great face, great hair, knows how to dress well, stays in great shape, and her ass is mesmerising. Her genetics are virtually perfect, given her mix of Latin American and Western heritage- apparently she's at least half Cuban, or something like that. She is, in short, just about every straight man's wet dream, the kind of woman that reduces most men to drooling imbeciles within moments of their catching sight of her. I've seen this personally with guys I work with; every time she walks by, their attention is instantly diverted as they all covertly check out her impressive assets. My direct manager thinks she's amazing and constantly makes cringe-worthy Beta jokes about how hot she is.
There's just one problem: I can't stand this woman.
Certainly, she is physically very attractive. But somehow she just doesn't do anything for me. I don't find myself fantasising about her the way I have other women of my immediate acquaintance. The moment she opens her mouth, she annoys me- and I've actually gotten into arguments with a fellow red-pill-aware co-worker with whom she works, who dislikes it intensely when I bluntly state things like that. She is, in a word, vapid. And that is the sort of woman that I simply cannot stand being around. (This woman does have a reputation for, shall we say, engaging in extracurricular activities within the organisation. I can neither confirm nor deny the truth of these rumours, so all I can say is that this has no effect on my opinion of her either way.) For whatever reason, I am simply not attracted to very hot but very vapid women; I find them irritating in the same way that most men find uppity pseudo-intellectual hipster chicks annoying. It also doesn't help that she has a bit of a reputation (and this CAN be verified as fact) for messing things up, and that I simply cannot tolerate- incompetence and vapidity combined are faults that I cannot forgive.
When I went out for drinks with several of my colleagues that evening, she showed up eventually and naturally was the centre of attention- for everyone except me. And I proceeded to completely ignore her until she actually started talking to me. Even when she did, I was still involved in conversations with the others and didn't address her directly. Interestingly, this didn't stop her from trying to talk to me. When I finally did end up talking to her, the subject matter was something along the lines of women's proper place in society. This, I will readily admit, is a highly controversial subject, and I didn't help matters by taking a staunchly old-school line of masculine authority, making it perfectly clear that I thought (and think) that feminism is a huge mistake and that the best women are those that are pleasant to be around because they are feminine. Interestingly, she took exception to this.
That led up to the single most amusing moment of the evening. (Other than when someone even bigger and far stronger than me lost to a girl at a beer-chugging contest. Twice. Another story for another time.) She looked me in the eye and said, "you know, you're kind of a d***." My response: "True. So?"
That is page 1, Chapter 1, Verse 1 of the Asshole's Game Bible. And it wasn't even consciously done.
Gamma and Omega males would find this sort of response to be appalling, and would immediately think, "what an asshole, she's never going to talk to him now". Strangely, that is the exact opposite of what happened. What followed can only be described as living proof that Roosh, Roissy, and Rollo are indeed the Dark Gods that we think they are. Rather than retreating and staying the hell away from me, this woman was in my personal space the entire evening- pushing up against me, touching me, trying to talk to me, etc. I studiously ignored all of it (and this is where the Alphas and Sigmas are going to say that I was being a total idiot, and they will have a point), because I have one iron rule that I NEVER break: never flirt or sleep with a co-worker, it's just not worth the hassle. Instead I simply carried on talking to my male colleagues and friends, kept my drinking to a minimum, and generally did my own thing. I simply found her attentions irritating and closed up until she got the hint and moved on. Watching a woman as hot as that gyrate to (loud and bad) trip-hop is fun; having to deal with her grating voice and annoying laugh, not so much.
There was a time when I would never even have dreamed of doing things like this. I was raised by solidly old-school parents who always taught me to be respectful towards women. Unfortunately, they were trying to prepare me for a world that simply no longer exists- the world in which men were men and women were women, and the old rules still applied. That is not our world today.
When a man takes the red pill and starts to learn game, there is a very real danger that he will sour on the entire female gender. This is inevitable, but there's no getting around the fact that once the pedestal shatters, it can never be put back together. Once you begin to understand how female hypergamy works, once you understand how empty and shallow most American women are, and once you peel back the layers of feminine mystique and discover just how little there really is underneath it all, you begin to realise that Bill Powell, YouSoWould, and Tempest truly have got it right: AWALT, but SWABTO.
You can't prevent the consequences of the red pill. You can try to wish it away, as one of my colleagues did the last time I went out for drinks with him. What you're going to discover is that there is no going back. And once you realise that the road before you is the one that you must follow, for better or worse, the only thing you can do is to carry on walking.