The Chaser: From A Fashion Catalog

This entry is a chaser to the previous post.

Markets rely on Whites to do the lion’s share of spending. When it comes to advertising graphics, they can’t entirely purge us from public display — images without our faces will not move the product.

But if you want to delegitimize us while running an effective sales campaign, you need to keep us — and comply with KultMarx imperatives by adulterating the harmony of the image with one or more non-Whites. For optimal equilibrium of advertising and demoralizing, you pair a White female with you-can-guess-who.

And, that’s not what’s going on in the pages of the catalog below. Here is the front cover (cropped):


A White-White couple?

The aesthetic is neither heroin-chic nor homo-creepoid because the models look healthy. I don’t mind their androgynous look. It is a legitimate style: Nordic gracile, prelapsarian in its affected adult innocence. Let’s call it High-Elven.

. . .

Well lookee here, a dark elf:


I didn’t say that KultMarx gave this company an opt-out.

Yet I had to laugh. Clearly, somebody is looking for drama.

This post shows all of the images in the catalog that feature more than one person on a set, except for these three photos, which I am omitting:

  • An early-teen White girl and Black boy (parents of minors ought to know better than to sign off on that).
  • WM, BW, WW
  • BW, WW

There wasn’t anything remarkable about those last two. But what’s remarkable, is that every male-female adult couple in this catalog is White. Examples:

K345And finally, the next image is from the cover page of another company’s catalog. In today’s political climate, its natural wholesomeness is counterrevolutionary.

It is also good and beautiful.



A Mixed Message

The poster below has different messages for different audiences.

  • For White men and boys: “Die.”
  • For Black males: “You can have an unrealistic blonde, a genetic upgrade, and gibs from White folk. No downside.”
  • For White women and girls: “Get a sexy cabana boy (he will stick around, promise!), have a genetic catastrophe, fall into the underclass.”

Nothing in staged commercial photography is by accident. The wedding band is on his middle finger.Rnmd2


A “formative” experience. In quotes because I was 23 and experienced. I didn’t get a girl I wanted after she and I messed around. I was an idiot because she was bad news. But young passion blinds, which is why boys off themselves over a piece of tail.

In my oneitis, I chatted up an older man I looked up to, my boss at work. Didn’t know what exactly to ask him, but it was the same question that nearly two decades later will have led ten million young men to google their way to Heartiste’s archives.

I didn’t expect the older man to solve my problem or to play Robin Williams to my Matt Damon, but… it would have lightened my load if he had at least said “That’s a damn good question.” A sympathetic pat on the back would have, maybe, made me forget the chick and pumped me up to charm the panties off another one.

Instead, his face took on a satisfied look as he said “Yeah, I married a good one.” That’s when I understood that there are no mentors. Nobody gives a shit about me, is what sunk in. It was a liberating epiphany because it forced me to accept two things: that I have to figure everything out for myself, and that I have to take what I want with nobody’s help.

I learned to walk on my own.

Boomers had severed every inter-generational link of accumulated wisdom and let GenXers and Millennials out into the world ignorant and deracinated. We’re fixing what’s broken.

Back to love: it’s incomprehensible to me, today, that someone can put a loaded gun to his temple and squeeze the trigger over a gash. It’s a matter of age. At 45’ish now, I can imagine having an affair with a lithe little college girl. It would be fun, laughs, rape-lust at first fuck. But having the kinds of feelings that would drive a man to reckon with his life? No way. There is someone I would die (and kill) for, and it’s not hypothetical-her.

I do feel love. It’s for a woman who is a beautiful mother. She believes that a boy needs his daddy and her every act, touch, and gesture follows that axiom.

A 23-year-old or a fifteen-year-old man today is somewhere else. Unlike me now, he’d kill himself over a fling. His prospects are also tougher than mine were. I didn’t have to work around obesity, Tinder, or zoophilia.

But he has the one thing that I didn’t: tradition.



Photos of Couples In Love

Did you notice a pattern in professional photos that show a man and woman in love? See if you know what I’m talking about in this example:


That’s a fine couple, may they make many huWhyte Babiez together. I believe the woman in that photo is Vivii Suominen, European pageant runner-up from Finland.

Question: What could have made that photo more true to romantic love?

Answer: Natural sexual polarity.

Explanation: She could have been directed by the photographer to look up adoringly at her man while he — calm and cocksure — looks at us through the camera’s eye.

Reverse-polarity is the norm in contemporary depictions of sexual intimacy. It’s an observation I made a while ago and to test it, I web-searched variations on relevant key words “couples photo,” “man woman love,” “woman adores man,” and similar. What did I find?

  • The woman triumphantly eye-fucking the camera (isn’t she supposed to be doing that to him?), the man lost in her labyrinths such as in this blood-curdling shot:


Squaaaaawk! cries the bird of prey. Or like in this distressing pic:


Other combinations included:

  • Both looking into the distance
  • Both looking at each other

But I did not find one single professional photo that showed a man looking at the camera, with her adoringly gazing up at him.

Do we live in a loveless time, or is it just the art directors?

As goes the eternal truth, the next generation can set things right.


Tinder Strategy For Women

I will tell you a secret in a little bit.

But first, look at the woman in this picture. She has pretty eyes. She gets the high-value man:


She will find:

  • An attractive man in her life
  • A family and children of her own
  • Happiness

She is smart. Do you want to pop pills like the older girls do?

She offers something that attractive men desire.

Here is the secret.

You always find what you look for.

To All The Girls I’ve Loved Before

I’m a face-man. Then, its on to appraising her everything else. #whitegirlsaremagic — celebrate their rich diversity right here:

Gilded Siren. Designer stilettos. Elbow bumped; red wine trickles down her naked forearm.

Goofy Girl. Trips over her own feet running up to me. Wants to titter but snorts instead.

The Feline. Always so serious! but make her laugh and she can’t keep her hands to herself.

The Keeper. Her touch is light even when nobody is looking. Don’t spoil her.

Wounded Hollow. What’s so great about darkness anyway? A ballad is all that’s left.

Artsy Chick. Dainty shoulders under an unfashionable t-shirt. Lost and looking.

Earnest Naïf. Watery eyes, pale cheeks. “Men listen because they want to fuck you, dear.”

Dark Lady. Smart and brittle. In passing, our gazes hold longer than is allowed.

Ebullient Flirt. Giggles like an explosion at a chimes factory. A rump made for spanking.


John Berryman (born John Allyn Smith, Jr.) is on the outside, looking in:

Filling her compact & delicious body
with chicken páprika, she glanced at me
Fainting with interest, I hungered back
and only the fact of her husband & four other people
kept me from springing on her

or falling at her little feet and crying
‘You are the hottest one for years of night
Henry’s dazed eyes
have enjoyed, Brilliance.’ I advanced upon
(despairing) my spumoni.—Sir Bones: is stuffed,
de world, wif feeding girls.

—Black hair, complexion Latin, jewelled eyes
downcast . . . The slob beside her feasts . . . What wonders is
she sitting on, over there?
The restaurant buzzes. She might as well be on Mars.
Where did it all go wrong? There ought to be a law against Henry.
—Mr. Bones: there is.

“Dream Song 4” (1959)


Czesław Miłosz also learns that some things cannot be possessed:

I looked at that face, dumbfounded. The lights of métro stations flew by; I didn’t notice them. What can be done, if our sight lacks absolute power to devour objects ecstatically, in an instant, leaving nothing more than the void of an ideal form, a sign like a hieroglyph simplified from the drawing of an animal or bird? A slightly snub nose, a high brow with sleekly brushed-back hair, the line of the chin – but why isn’t the power of sight absolute? – and in a whiteness tinged with pink two sculpted holes, containing a dark, lustrous lava. To absorb that face but to have it simultaneously against the background of all spring boughs, walls, waves, in its weeping, its laughter, moving it back fifteen years, or ahead thirty. To have. It is not even a desire. Like a butterfly, a fish, the stem of a plant, only more mysterious. And so it befell me that after so many attempts at naming the world, I am able only to repeat, harping on one string, the highest, the unique avowal beyond which no power can attain: I am, she is. Shout, blow the trumpets, make thousands-strong marches, leap, rend your clothing, repeating only: is!

She got out at Raspail. I was left behind with the immensity of existing things. A sponge, suffering because it cannot saturate itself; a river, suffering because reflections of clouds and trees are not clouds and trees.

“Esse” (1954), transl. Czesław Miłosz and Robert Pinsky


But other things can be:

You lead me on with those innocent eyes
You know I love the element of surprise
In the garden I was playing the tart
I kissed your lips and broke your heart
You were acting like it was the end of the world

U2, “Until The End of the World” (1992)


The Prisoner’s Dilemma and Game

The most fragile of ecosystems is the courtship matrix of a given society. In a closed system, a culture will have reached its equilibrium among its competing sexual interests, based on which the expectations of behavior among men, as well as between the sexes, are understood. There are no hard feelings when you know the rules of the game, even if those rules rest on the Prisoner’s Dilemma tension between trust and opportunism.

What follows are my evolving thoughts on various things that come up in the study of Game.

There are two stable Prisoner’s Dilemma sexual scenarios — one in which the Alphas (top 10% of men by whatever metric their society sorts those things) and Betas (middle 80% of men) keep a cease-fire agreement with each other — and one in which they don’t. First, the latter:

R-Selection / Matriarchy — the men are in a war of all against all. In its extreme form, this scenario is a sexual market free-for-all in which the comparatively few Alphas elbow out the majority of the men, or Betas, and monopolize the women. Beta males, in turn, either drop out or they resort to raping women. Rape can be literal, or it can be symbolic: leering, catcalling, assault. In doing so, the disenfranchised Betas seek to knock the higher SMV girls off their pedestals because… what have they got to lose?

All matriarchies have one thing in common: over time the women become ugly, inside and out. They become that way in part as a defense against being bombarded by endless unwanted advances. They become corrupted by their adventures with to the most vulgar expressions of masculinity. But the kicker is, part of them also loves all that attention along with the lowered expectations on their behavior, and they become complacent, having lost the incentive to bring anything to the table besides their gash.

In a matriarchy, men display and women choose. But under patriarchy, women aren’t let off the hook: they have to put in a little work and audition before the men too. Which takes us to:

K-Selection / Patriarchy — the men make a deal with each other. This is a win-win scenario in which Betas concede the first-tier women to the Alphas, who in turn leave the second-tier women untouched for the Betas. Under this arrangement’s ideal form, pure monogamy, the Alphas claim the most beautiful women while the Betas hold up their end of the bargain by not bothering the girls who are — remember that phrase? — out of their league. This scenario maximizes the quality and quantity of women for all but the Omega males and foreign interlopers, both of whom the Betas keep an eye on.

(On that last thought, I wonder — is white-knighting also an evolved Beta tribute to the Alpha, a readiness to protect the higher-value women for her present or future Alpha’s sake in exchange for the higher-ranking men leaving plenty of other women alone for the Beta, a kind of lord-vassal reciprocity?)

So under Patriarchy, girls get to relax a little. The bitch-shields are lowered because the first-tier girls aren’t pestered by presumptuous Betas’ clumsy fumbling and the second-tier girls by Alphas’ nakedly mercenary interest in them. And paradoxically, this collective self-restraint does not create a sexless or repressed environment. Quite to the contrary: Betas are charming without being creepy, while the Alphas lay on the charisma without triggering a lower-tier girl’s anti-slut defenses. And the girls can then let down their guard and actually be pleasant to everyone.

How did this dynamic play out before Western women nosedived into the gutter? I think that up to two decades ago, for example, Western Europeans’ relaxed attitude about nudity, or Eastern European girls’ femininity after the Cold War, may well have been the fruits of the successful cooperation between the Alphas and Betas in their respective Prisoner Dilemmas.

As to Game itself — under all of its carpe diem promise, was it nothing but the Betas’ usurpation of the natural order? No. Game is not the breaking of trust, it is Betas’ adaptation to their newly dispossessed state; namely, the loss of their own pool of second-tier women to obesity and to the Alpha cock carousel. If first-tier women are beauties, then second-tier ones are what used to be known as “pretty girl next door,” or normal young women who made up in personality where they lacked in exquisite sexual appeal. Female liberation and the obesity epidemic destroyed those kinds of girls, and with them, the Beta’s obligation to the old agreement.

But White men and women don’t do r-selection well or for too long, therefore sooner or later the angels and devils of our nature will once again come to a settlement.