Well yeah, most of us do. My confession comes from a darker place though, in that I have never really felt anger toward women as a whole despite everything I know about their feral nature, my few past failures with the women I desired, and my sober understanding that female hypergamy must to be contained lest we all fall. In love, I’ve been more sinning than sinned-against, which may be a factor in my outlook. A reader asks:
Let me ask an honest question: Am I seriously the only one who grew up hating having hundreds of hot sexy-dressing young girls all decked out in their make-up who I couldn’t touch strutting their asses past me all goddamn day?
Attitude toward women is something that comes from a very personal and subjective place and it affects our worldview profoundly, and it should not be dismissed on the “I’m right, you’re wrong” basis. I’ve learned over time that this difference in attitudes is what causes a lot of disagreements on the Alt-Right, including my own past flamewars on MRA forums.
My own disposition toward women comes from a Beta place on the Vox Day hierarchy in that I feel benevolent toward them but without the Alpha’s or Sigma’s satisfied contempt as catalogued in this list of Donald Trump’s stone-cold truths about women. I understand it, but I don’t viscerally feel that contempt. At most, I respond to their follies with patronizing amusement, and with pity (sometimes pitiless condemnation) when they make irreversible mistakes. My good will towards women also lacks the Delta’s romantic illusions — or anger when those illusions are shattered. And I have never related, whatsoever, or to the Gamma’s deification and the Omega’s rage toward women.
Here is my story about taking the Red Pill on male-female relations, when I finally understood my mistakes as well as my seemingly inexplicable successes:
I went through a spell of despair and anger when the anti-White nature of the modern political system became clear to me more than a decade ago, but nothing of the sort when I came to understand female nature around the same time. In fact, it was more like relief. Even though I was once naïve about women, my own conceptual framework never relied on female altruism or reasonability. I had seen women’s darker side and in fact, finally understanding hypergamy made me more charitable toward them where there earlier was self-directed anger and frustration.
Picture a seventies French movie in which the struggling protagonist has an epiphany and stands there on the rugged hill, the sun drowning in the sea, and he then laughs and laughs as the credits roll. That was me.
Female nature is a wild landscape with its caprices and twisted laws, flashes of sublimity and capacity for self-oblivion, without which it would be uninspiring. The woman’s nature makes passion and man’s very will to live and strive possible. If you strike her hypergamous strings the right way, she really does love you for who you are. The flip side to her infuriatingly childlike whimsy and taste for cruelty is that when you play her right, she will be yours and devoted to you to the end, no matter if you’re a poor man or a prince.