The Arrogance of Youth

One of the tropes of the New Misogynists is that attractive "quality" women, with their impossibly high standards, often miss the boat.  They turn thirty (or forty, or whatever), only to find themselves alone on the dock, all weathered and nasty and flea-bitten, while the ship of true happiness (a marriage to one of them, presumably) sails away. 

In Roosh's forum, he reproduced a post from "Date Lab" from a very attractive middle aged blonde named "Carla" who was reporting that she had recently met a nice fellow.  My response to Roosh's snark attack follows.  

Date Lab: 53 y/o woman wants magical spark
Author	Message

Roosh Innovative Casanova Posts: 8,346 Joined: Aug 2008 Reputation: 91

Roosh snark:  53 year old women still have standards? Carla quote: I told [her new beau] I’m trying to figure out why it took [Date Lab] so long to find someone for me Roosh snark: Not all mysteries of the universe will be solved. Carla quote: Definitely similar sense of humor. [That’s] important to me. A lot of guys don’t get my humor. Roosh snark: If enough people don't get your humor, at what point is it time to accept you don't have it? Carla quote: I didn’t feel a chemical attraction or that spark where sometimes you know right away. Roosh snark: This bitch is almost dead and still waiting for the spark!    (See what I mean about the braying donkey?) --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Unless she's been diagnosed with Stage 3 cancer, a 53 year old woman is hardly "almost dead."  Statistically, she is likely to live another 35 years, and statistically she is likely to outlive her male partner.  She could very well outlive you, Roosh. Wouldn't that be a burn!  But who among us knows when he is going to die?  (Note -- topic for my other blog.) I do see from her picture (which I have deleted to respect her privacy) that, although she's two years older than her new beau, she looks a decade younger.  In fact, she's an attractive woman for any age, and I'll bet he's feeling very lucky to have met her.  Is that what bothers you Roosh?  That a woman old enough to be your mother is sexually viable? But here's the truth:  Love is precious at any stage of life. And as long as we're alive, and our hearts are open, and the desire is there, life is full of endless possibilities for love.  Here's something else I want to say, Roosh, and you may choose not to believe it, but the fact is, A woman can always get laid.  Yup, you heard me right:  If a woman wants sex (and only sex), it hardly matters how old she is.  As distasteful as it is, them's the realities of the sexual marketplace: ladies' choice, men's opportunity.  Sorry about that! Hell, I'm even older than the lady above plus I'm fat, and if all I wanted was a Casual Encounter, it would take me about thirty minutes to arrange one.  Not only can an older woman get laid, she can be loved.  It's rather harder -- at any age -- but I also know this, from personal experience, to be true. I'm not sure why evidence that people over fifty seek -- and often find -- "that spark" vexes you.  I would rather that it encouraged you.  You are approaching middle age yourself.  Aging is tough regardless of gender.  Is that why you're scared? And as for referring to a woman your mother's age as "the bitch..."  May I remind you that you are not an adolescent anymore?  Do you still talk like that to your mother?

A Modern Love Story

I have a younger friend.  I'll call her Becky.  I've known her about ten years.  She's from the midwest, is tall, slender, auburn haired.  At the age of forty, she still looks very much like the barrel-racing rodeo princess she was as a teenager.  To my annoyance, she still gets carded in clubs.

Around the time I became friends with Becky, she met "Mark."  Mark is a couple of years older and also from the midwest.  He's been bald and rather pudgy since he was in his twenties.  As a result, he doesn't look much older now than he did when he graduated from college, but he's still rather self-conscious.  Both Becky and Mark are passionate about hiking, wine-tasting, and sex (not necessarily in that order).

Mark was enamored with Becky from the get-go.  In terms of appearance, she was the kind of woman he had always wanted but never thought he could win: real trophy wife material.  Becky, on the other hand, never seemed quite as enthusiastic about Mark, and she definitely had zero interest in being a trophy wife (she made her own income, thank you).

Ten years ago, Mark was doing very well in commercial real estate, pulling in $200,000/year plus bonuses.  That was a lot of money in our circle, and I'll admit I was a bit envious when Mark sent Becky exotic blooms for no reason at all, or swept her off for all-expense-paid vacations in Europe.

But Becky was always complaining about Mark.  He drank too much.  He didn't share his feelings enough.  He was too conventional.  He wanted to get married and she didn't.  He was bossy and critical.  He wanted her to play hostess at his parties.  His friends and colleagues were pretentious.  That sort of thing.

Yet their relationship persisted, off and on, for a decade.  Finally, Becky announced she'd had it with Mark, and they broke off.  Becky took off for North Dakota to take care of aging parents.  We thought it was kind of a shame.  We liked Mark and we missed being invited to his parties.  However, it was a relief not to listen to Becky complaining about him anymore.

Then the recession hit.  Overnight, Mark lost his job and his prospects of finding another one were bleak.  He was so devastated he started seeing a therapist, which wasn't the sort of thing we expected Mark to do.

It took Mark a year to find another job, and that was in the non-profit sector for about $45,000/year, a fraction of what he was used to making.

And that's when Becky decided she really missed Mark after all, for all his imperfections, and they got back together, and have been together ever since in apparent harmony.

When I ask Becky what accounted for her change of heart, she shrugs.  He's still bald and he still drinks too much and he still nags her about getting married.  And now when they go out, it's dutch treat: no flowers or expensive restaurants.   

But apparently, she likes him better now that he makes less money.  She's always nattering on about how darn important his work in low-income housing is.  Go figure!

So much for hypergamy.

  

Roosh: America's Ambassador of Love to Romania

I hate to link to one of Roosh's posts, cuz I know it just gives him more hits, but the videos from Romania are pretty funny, especially the one where he wanders around a half-empty subterranean shopping mall looking for girls. All I can think about is, He's paid a thousand dollars to fly to Europe and he's in a deserted underground mall?  WTF?  I'm not sure what I'd be doing there, but I'd definitely want to do it above ground, in daylight, where I could actually see something.

In one video he is a guest on a local TV show, sandwiched between two lissome Romanian girls, and being thrown questions in broken English that are meant to show the audience what a perfect tool he is.  I'm pretty sure he realizes they're making fun of him, but he is just so damn happy to be on camera he can't stop grinning. (It warms my heart to see Roosh smile, but when he laughs, he exposes his teeth and tosses his head back, so that one can't help but picture a braying donkey.)

Again, I don't know what I would wear if I were invited to appear on Romanian television, but I'm sure that whatever it was, it would be clean.  Maybe Roosh's faded t-shirt and peculiarly unflattering jeans are freshly laundered, but they don't look like it.  There he is, complaining about what slobs American women are, and look!  He's showing the Romanian public that American men are equally slobby.  I don't think he's doing American guys any favors over there. And what's with the crotch shot?  He has spread his legs just as far apart as he can, like he's saving a seat on the bus for a friend who's getting on later.  It doesn't even look like a comfortable posture.  

Oh God now I sound like his mother.  And we all know what Roosh thinks of his mother.

In his favor, Roosh is definitely showing a flair for comedy in these videos. Maybe he can get himself cast in a European sitcom, playing himself ?  I'm serious!  It could happen!

Seals: An Animal I Love

Reading manosphere blogs makes my head spin.  And not in a good way.

I'll watch this whenever I need to go to My Happy Place.  I only wish the clip were longer, so I didn't need to keep clicking the restart...

Don't Get Me Wrong, I Love Dogs!

Whenever the topic of gender came up, my old boyfriend, Paul, used to assert that,  "Men are dogs."  Our ensuing argument always followed along the same lines, with me protesting, "Not all men are dogs!  You're not a dog."  "I am a dog," Paul would counter, "because I am a man.  And all men are dogs."  (By insisting that men were dogs, Paul was claiming men were slaves to their dominant, hormone-driven instincts.  Or something like that.)  After a few rounds, I gave up trying to convince Paul to take a more evolved stance on the matter, and after a couple of years, boredom and frustration with Paul's distorted logic and lack of sophistication took its toll, and I broke off with him.

Whether comparing men with dogs (or rabbits), or women with hamsters (or chickens or snakes), barnyard analogies render any argument meaningless.  They are simply ways to "dehumanize" the other so that you don't have to treat them as individuals with unique qualities and experiences worthy of consideration.  While it's true that humans, like wolves, are pack animals, as any (reputable) social scientist will tell you, to understand the origins of our own behaviors, we are better off studying the higher primates, i.e., chimpanzees. (I'm a bonobo myself.)

And yet-- and yet--

Today I found myself wondering if Paul wasn't right.  Men in groups can certainly act like dogs in packs.  I have four (male) dogs myself.  Each dog, on his own, is a sweet and distinct individual.  As a group, however (Anyone say "kibbies?") they form a howling, snarling mob bent on chaos and destruction, impervious to either reason or protocol.  

Roosh recently got a couple of e-mails which he reproduced in part in his forum.  Apparently they were from a male friend of one of the "conquests" Roosh had described in a book.  What the sender's messages lacked in coherence and literacy, he made up in sincerity.

Sample of what the "white knighter" wrote to Roosh:

"I hope you [Roosh] feel bad for what you did. You betrayed her.... Do you ever think of the consequences you create when you do this? What pain you create?...  I believe this is a form of terrorism towards other countries and to the people you have hurt already. Terrorism is defined as creating terror in people and that is what you do when you write about your conquest. It is the woman's fault too, to fall for your game and they have had a choice to sleep with you, but it is not fair to them that you write about it without their permission...What you did to her was uncalled for.  You scared her... When you write your books, please warn them or at least send them a book so that way they can take steps to prepare for the shame you might bring them. .. to be published in your books of accomplishments with women would make any woman feel cheep, used, and disgraced..."

These tidbits are the bones that Roosh throws to his troops, who slavishly leap into the fray like... well, like a pack of dogs.  A grindingly predictable thread follows, in which the Roosh's minions deride the "beta orbiting" e-mailer's masculinity and dignity (for protesting the treatment of his friend), and lavish praise on Roosh, All Hail to the Chief, etc., ad nauseum.  In this way, Roosh uses a "threat" to the Group Think to reinforce his own authority.  He's very shrewd that way (part of why he's scary).

Ironically, the "hive mind" of females is a persistent trope among misogynists.

I can only hope that on some level, some of of these Rooshites realize:  Hey, he [the victim's friend] has a point...  Maybe it's not very manly or heroic to exploit women that way...  I wouldn't like it if it were my sister / my friend / my daughter Roosh was exploiting sexually and monetarily. .. 

(While some manosphere bloggers do concede that Roosh isn't the type of guy they'd want their sisters to marry, they don't seem able to take empathy any further.)

Russell Brand: A Man I Love

I've always had a mad crush on Russell Brand.  I've sat through every one of his movies, even though most of them were crap, just to watch him.  His gypsy-boy physicality is dead sexy: the unruly hair, licorice-whip legs, yoga-toned torso, the manic energy his wiry frame can barely contain, those black eyes glinting with mischief...

But as we all know, physical attraction isn't enough to sustain a long term relationship, even one as unilateral and unrequited as the one I have with Russell Brand.  No, it's his brain that really turns me on: the cliche "rapier wit" was invented to describe Russell Brand.. 

When did I first know that it was love, not just lust?  Perhaps it was when he hosted the Westboro Baptist Church on his talk show.  It's hilarious.  He is irrepressible, and yet so sweet in his mockery.  He shreds them, but in the kindest way.  One imagines that it would be impossible to have a real quarrel with Brand: in minutes, he would have you on the floor laughing at yourself in spite of yourself.  He would kill you with kindness.

Then yesterday I read his remarkable essay on the demise of Margaret Thatcher.  It was one of the best things I have read for a long while.  Although I am neither British nor of Brand's generation, he made me understand what it was like growing up under her administration.  (Actually, liberal Americans who have been living with the post-Reagan legacy will relate equally well to what Brand writes about Thatcher).

The entire essay is a masterpiece -- anyone with the slightest interest should read it in entirety -- but this bit really stayed with me:

It always struck me as peculiar, too, when the Spice Girls briefly championed Thatcher as an early example of Girl Power. I don't see that. She is an anomaly, a product of the freak-conomy of her time. Barack Obama interestingly said in his statement that she had "broken the glass ceiling for other women." Only in the sense that all the women beneath her were blinded by falling shards. She is an icon of individualism, not of feminism.

And this!  This is when I knew beyond any doubt that the love I felt for Russell Brand was no passing fancy, but The Real Thing:

Interestingly, one mate of mine, a proper leftie, in his heyday all Red Wedge and right-on punch-ups, was melancholy [upon hearing of Thatcher's death]. "I thought I'd be overjoyed, but really it's just... another one bites the dust..." This demonstrates I suppose that if you opposed Thatcher's ideas it is likely because of their lack of compassion, which is really just a word for love. If love is something you cherish it is hard to glean much joy from death, even in one's enemies.


(SIGH)

On PUA

Are you old enough to remember when the back pages of comic books and popular magazines had ads for stuff like "X ray glasses," that promised to give readers the power to see through girls' clothes, and Charles Atlas programs that guaranteed to turn any 90 lb. weakling into a muscle-bound beach bully?  There was always at least one ad for a guide to picking up girls.  I'll admit I was intrigued by glasses that provided x-ray vision, and I remember buying at least one clutch of "sea monkeys," but I knew the pick up guides had to be a load of rubbish and even if I had been a boy, I was pretty much sure I wouldn't have fallen for those scams.

Nowadays, we have infomercials and pick up artists like Roosh.  And while I'll confess I still slow down at the Walgreen counters where "As Seen On TV" products are displayed, I still scoff at the sad sacks who think the secrets of successful seduction can be found in slim missives dispatched from turd world countries.

Although I am contemptuous of PUA, I don't hate the suckers who support this industry: I feel kind of sorry for them.

I don't really hate PUA on principle, or rather I don't hate it more than I hate Cosmopolitan magazine.  PUA is like Cosmo for boys.  Adolescents are desperately looking for answers to the burning teenage question, "How do I make [people of the opposite sex] desire me?", and these sources give lots of advice, repetitive and reductive and simple-minded to be sure, perhaps reassuring by its very repetitive, reductive simple-minded nature.  It's understandable to devour junk when a person is fifteen, but by the time he/she has graduated from college and entered the "real" adult world, it's time to grow up.

Anyway, I'm all for everybody pursuing as much sexual validation as they need or want. What I hate is reducing both men and women to the sums of their worst parts.

My problem isn't with PUA or MRM in theory, it's with misogyny  misanthropy.  My problem with the PUA of Roosh, Rossy, et al. is that it isn't "sweet love making" that is being promoted, but rather opportunities to degrade, exploit, or humiliate a.target.  My problem is with referring to women as "notches" and "flags" or to men as "betas" and "manginas."

My problem is that I just don't recognize the people who inhabit the PUA/MRM world, where every man is a caged, snarling predator in a gnawing state of priapism, and every woman is either a conniving gold-digger or a maniacal, castrating bitch.

For one thing, nurturing a hateful, resentful, "us against them" mind set is counter-productive to the immediate, pressing concern of getting laid.  We won't even think about how it ruins any chance of a long term, emotionally intimate and trusting relationship.  C'mon guys, think about it:  Roosh gets his dick wet maybe once a month by making pick up his full time job but he's in his mid-thirties now, and he doesn't seem to have ever had a real friend, much less a regular girlfriend.  And this is your relationship guru?

People like Roosh or Roissy or (God forbid) Paul Elam are not making the world a better place, that's for sure.  And the irony is they're so self-evidently miserable themselves.

What's in that red pill, anyway?  Why would anyone want to take it?

Roosh Hates Toronto

One of these days I mean to visit Toronto, because until recently I had heard nothing but rave reviews of this sparkling, multicultural cosmopolis.   My parents visited Toronto when I was a teenager.  They returned with a beautiful Indian scarf for me (which I still cherish) and praise for the sophistication and civility of its residents.  A friend of mine used to date a Canadian lad.  Unfortunately, when he sold his Toronto condo and moved to Edmonton, she kind of lost interest...

The only person I've run across to say a disparaging word about Toronto was Roosh, who had a recent, spectacularly unsuccessful weekend there, unable to persuade one single lady to return to his hotel room for a sip of flavored vodka. (I know, flavored vodka?  Blecchh.  But apparently that's what all the cool club kids are drinking.)

Apparently, he is still stinging from his defeat.

Roosh was offended by a young Toronto lass' words in response to his negativity about "game" in Toronto.  (Read her entire post; it's quite funny.)

Roosh observed that "Girls are more excited about getting late night food than having sex."  

Emilia: "Could not agree more. Everytime my friends and I heard the song “Gasolina” we changed the lyrics to “Pizzaiola”. The Diana. The Americana. OOOOOhhhh Vittoria. No sex beats a late night slice."

This made me chuckle.  It also made me recall the great Southern wit Florence King, who once wrote, "I've had sex and I've had food.  And I'd rather eat."  Never were truer words spoken.  And the older a woman gets, the truer they become.  Which explains Food Porn and my own ever-expanding waistline.
 
Roosh also wrote that "Girls [in Toronto] cock block more than anywhere else in the world.

Emilia responds:  "Girls don’t cock block. If a girl wanted to fuck you, she’d fuck you. Even with seven of her friends yelling at her to stop, she will proceed with no caution. I’ve literally had to owe my friends money for sleeping with people they hate. I’ve had friends run out of cabs and go back to people they were dragged from."

I nod my head vigorously in agreement.  I hate to tell you how many guys I had sex with that my girlfriends warned me about.  (Did I listen?  Never!  Were they right?  Always!)

I'll admit that due to my advanced age, the term "cock blocking" is new to me.  Back in the day, we just called it "being a good friend."
 
Roosh also complains, "Buy a girl drinks or she loses interest."

Emilia says,  "I don’t know how to say this without sounding shallow but here’s the truth: whatever you’re talking about, we don’t care. Something about sports, something about your job, maybe you have a dog, we don’t give a shit. Less talkee, more shotsee."

I mean really, Roosh (and his lame-ass followers):  Do you expect intelligent, attractive young women to fuck you stone cold sober?  Men like you should fucking worship at the shrine of  Dionysius.  

Anyway, I guess Roosh has declared Toronto off-limits to his acolytes, which is nothing but good news for the ladies of Toronto.

Don't Bang Danish Girls (or Only In Your Dreams)

I've always been irrationally proud of my Danish ancestry.  Although my ancestors left Denmark in the late nineteenth century, I even allow myself to take vicarious, wholly-unearned pride in the loyalty they demonstrated toward their Jewish citizens during WWII. (How dismayed I was to learn that the story of King Christian X displaying the Star of David on his lapel was entirely apocryphal!) 

Visiting Denmark some years ago with my mother only deepened my admiration for the Danish people.  At one point my mother's bum knee forced us to visit a clinic for treatment.  After the doctor gave her a cortisone shot, we asked where to pay, only to be told that medical services were free to anyone who needed them -- even hapless American tourists.

What most struck me about Denmark was how uniformly good looking the people are.  I expect this has a lot to do with the excellent standard of health care, nutrition, and sense of social security.  Despite a diet that is traditionally heavy with dairy products (butter, cheese, ice cream...) I did not see a single fat Dane.  Maybe that was because everywhere we went, people were walking, bicycling, or sunning themselves in the public parks.  We were actually relieved to finally encounter a woman with rather poor teeth -- finally, an imperfection!

Roosh's complaints that Danish women are unattractive and "manly" are patently ridiculous.  On the other hand, I expect it is difficult to "game" a Dane.  They are not easily impressed by or even very curious about foreigners (as Americans we were mostly ignored).  It wasn't easy to engage Danes in conversation although, when we were able to, they were unfailingly civil, and every Dane we met spoke English fluently (although they were modest about their ability).

Perhaps what offended Roosh was subtle prejudice based on his near-eastern appearance.  A lot of Danes seem a bit weary with their immigrant population, vestiges of a Turkish guest worker population that have overstayed its welcome.  As one Danish woman explained to me, "I understand why they come here, with our great social services and public education -- I don't blame them, really -- but..." she trailed off helplessly and sighed.  Being Danish, she couldn't bring herself to admit that these swarthy, "backwards" people didn't belong to her vision of a progressive, liberal Danish society. 

It's A Big Country

I haven't read Matt Forney's blog much, mainly because when he isn't trolling for hits with outrageous posts, he's really, really boring.

He's an acolyte of Roosh, and religiously reviews everything Roosh writes, but never writes about his own adventures putting "game" into practice.  He comes across as the prototypical "forty year old virgin."  He seems deeply cynical about politics although he leans toward libertarianism.  He is very interested in the male-bonding aspect of being an MRA, and his writing about the need for male friendship is his most original and poignant.   His current preoccupation is how to make a living as a blogger.  Good luck!

For a while he was working in the oil fields of North Dakota before he did a mini-Jack Kerouac and hitch-hiked to Portland.  I understand that Williston is about the worst place in the world for horny guys (with the possible exception of Saudi Arabia).  But my burning question to Matt is, Why Portland?

For a guy who really hates social liberals and radical feminists, Portland seems an odd choice indeed.

Why don't these lonely guys move where the odds are more in their favor?

If you are an introverted, deeply conservative guy who wants to meet women, why leave the midwest?  Why not head for, I dunno, Wichita or Tulsa? Why not join a fundamentalist church (where there are loads of pretty, virtuous girls who are busting to become full time home makers for some traditional, manly-man)?

If you want a woman who looks and comports herself like a bimbo a starlet, why not take up pimping photography and move to Los Angeles?

If you are a guy who is only attracted to women with <7.5 body fat, join a coed sports team or start running marathons.  

If you don't like dissolute women, stay out of bars.  (Hint:  Bars are where barflies hang out.)  On the other hand, if you believe only drunk women will "bang" you, but hate gold-diggers, stay away from the clubs where "venture capitalists" and attorneys hang out.

If you yourself are overweight, quit whining that only fat chicks will date you.  Or perhaps entertain the possibility that equity of physical attractiveness is a good predictor of long term stable relationships.

If you know in your heart-of-hearts that you can't compete for top-drawer "talent" but refuse to "settle," well, instead of zipping off to Moldava, why not save your pennies and occasionally treat yourself to a really high class call girl?  

My point is, to sit around and complain about the dearth of models in your basement is pretty silly, isn't it? 
.

Is Roosh a Sociopath?

Roosh is now in Romania, a country I've never visited.  I've always assumed From the little I have read and seen on television, it's kind of a shit-hole a developing country with many socioeconomic challenges and seriously ugly Soviet era architecture. 

This is nothing against the people.  I've had several wonderful Romanian students in the past.  Rather, it's because Romania is still recovering from the disastrous socioeconomic policies of the Nicolae Ceaușesc regime, i.e., a large population of unwanted young people who grew up on the streets due to Ceausesc's prohibition of contraception = a high crime rate, degraded family structure, and pervasive despair.  It certainly isn't a place that would draw me as a tourist, although I might take a temporary assignment there as part of an international aid program. yet. 


But Roosh favors Eastern European countries like Romania because the people (specifically, the women) are poor and desperate.  American tourists are rare for the reasons described, and they represent opportunity (for cash or green cards).  This is Roosh's value in the eyes of young Eastern European women.  The language barrier which he occasionally complains about actually works in his favor; it's harder to evaluate a stranger's intentions or character if he does not speak your language, and people tend to forgive foreigners for social faux pas that they would not tolerate in a native.

Roosh likes Eastern European girls because, unlike American or Scandinavian women, they embody traditional "feminine" characteristics: they put effort into their sexual appeal (naturally enough, as it is their only real avenue of social mobility), they tend to be thin, they defer to men (at least in public).  And unlike American and Scandinavian women, they are not "promiscuous" (that is to say, sexually autonomous).

The problem is that the chastity that Roosh admires is an obstacle to his mission, which is to have sexual intercourse with as many nubile teenagers as he can without either opening his wallet and paying upfront, or establishing a committed relationship.  He deals with this by deceiving women, either directly or by omission.  For example, he suggests he's more interested in a serious relationship than he really is, he attempts to disguise his true identity, he doesn't hang around too long in one place.  He coolly acknowledges the occasional tears, the sense of betrayal these girls experience, yet remains emotionally detached.  He is, after all, a predator, so is only acting according to his authentic nature: "This is what I do."  

He is not disingenuous when he denies that the appalling way he exploits girls reflects any animosity toward them. In the same way, many of us are genuinely fond of animals, yet still enjoy eating cheeseburgers.

He blames global feminism and western materialism on corrupting the women he himself is trying to corrupt.  He refuses to acknowledge his own culpability in the process.  The lack of integrity, the disconnect, is mind-boggling.  He doesn't seem to be stupid.  He certainly takes his own intellectual pretensions seriously, with his regular reports on the "big ass books" he is reading (Thucydides, really?). 

And yet there is a giant blind spot in his moral consciousness that defies explanation.

To read Roosh is to enter the mind of a functioning sociopath.

In a Roosh V forum thread, a reader worries whether he himself is a sociopath. Some readers dismiss his concern, reassuring him that the fact that he asks is proof he is not. 

I dunno, if I thought I might be a sociopath, I'd be running, not walking, to a good shrink. But that's just me, your garden-variety neurotic.

Roosh, on the other hand, responds, tellingly, "Why do you feel the need to label your behavior?  Do what you want. As long as you don't get arrested, get AIDS, or cause unreasonable harm in other individuals, who gives a fuck whether you are or not."  [italics added]

Steubenville Rape Verdict

I went to college in the seventies, which makes me a kind of historical relic.  In 1973, Roe vs. Wade had just made abortion legal, the "sexual revolution" was well underway, and the second wave of feminism was reaching its zenith.

I had just turned eighteen.  I had lost 100 pounds, morphing from a very obese high school student beyond the social pale, into a very pretty, very buxom blonde.  I could hardly wait for my life to begin.  I was all juiced up on my own hormones and fantasies.

But I was also riddled with anxiety and crippled by lack of confidence.  I didn't have a clue... about practically anything.  So I made a lot of foolish, impulsive choices, as many young people do, especially regarding alcohol.

I attended a large public university in a dry state in the midwest, where the only alcohol legally available was 3.2 beer.  I had very little experience with hard drinking.  One night I went to an acquaintance's room in my dorm with several other people.  He was lavishing us with screwdrivers, and I got very drunk very fast.  One of the young men in the group, Simon Kuttab, offered to help me back to my room.

(I call him a young man now, but in fact he was a grad student at least ten years my senior, with a receding hairline and a pot belly, so from my perspective seemed positively middle aged.)

I remember little of the rest of the evening, except coming to, face down on his bed.  He had removed my bra and pulled my jeans down to my ankles.  He was attempting to penetrate me anally; it was probably the pain of this that brought me back to consciousness.  Although I was now aware of what was happening, I was literally immobilized.  I said, "Please stop" before passing out again.  Perhaps an hour later, I stumbled out of his room and made my way back to my own, losing my bra (never to be retrieved) in the process.

In 1973, the concepts of "acquaintance rape" or even "sexual harassment" didn't exist; they weren't.even on the radar.  I knew whatever had happened to me did not fit the legal definition of "rape."  It's true Simon had acted caddishly, but I was the one who had been defiled. I was responsible because I had put myself in the position to be taken advantage of.  Therefore, I carried the burden of shame alone, and never questioned for decades that I should not.

So I never said anything to anyone about this incident, including Simon's "girlfriend," who happened to live on the same floor.  For the rest of the academic year, I passed Simon in the cafeteria or lobby.  He was usually sitting with his friends, bright, angry Palestinians like himself.  Every day I passed through this gauntlet, as they pointed, jeered, and muttered to each other.  I had become an object of their endless contempt and amusement.  One of them once made a clumsy pass at me at a dance; when I politely declined, the ridicule and gossip escalated.  It was as if  by "allowing" myself to be raped, I had lost the right to own my own body.  I pretended to ignore them, praying the scandal would not spread beyond his immediate coterie of pals. It never occurred to me to confront them and make them own my mortification. 

The same year, two girls who lived in the same dorm, and whom  I vaguely knew, were picked up by some boys in a bar.  They were invited to a party.  They jumped into the boys' cars and were driven to an abandoned barn, where a dozen men were already queuing, and where they were gang raped repeatedly.  One of the girls was hospitalized for physical injuries that included abrasions in her throat and vagina.  I don't recall if there were any arrests.  I do recall the charges were ultimately dropped for "lack of evidence."  The girls were pitied, but also ostracized, and shortly thereafter, they dropped out of school.  The message was clear: report rape at your own peril.

You might have thought I would have learned my lesson about drinking with strangers, but in fact, this episode ushered in a period of hard partying, many hours of drink-fueled dancing and relentless carrying-on.  A year later, I was at a party chugging tequila out of the bottle, while the people around me cheered.  The next thing I remember was waking up in the front seat of an unfamiliar boy's glossy Trans Am..

I tell this story to demonstrate that not all young men are opportunistic rapists.  In fact, I suspect only a minority of them are though it's a theory that I cannot prove.

Anyway, the boy was very concerned about me.  He didn't want me to pass out.  He kept suggesting we stop and get some "bread" because the bread would "soak up" the alcohol in my system.  Every time he said the word "bread," I retched, jeopardizing the upholstery of his new sports car.  He finally drove me to a trusted female friend's house, put me to sleep it off in a back bedroom, and disappeared.  I didn't wake up until three the next afternoon and I never saw him again.  (Of course, in light of what I now know about alcohol poisoning, he should have dropped me off at an ER, but I expect he didn't want me to "get in trouble.")  My finger tips were numb for days and I couldn't look tequila in the eye for years, but I passed through the dreadful experience without the added trauma of having been sexually assaulted.

So what accounts for the difference in behavior between these two young men?  Why will one man view a woman's incapacity as an opportunity to have intercourse, knowing full well she would not consent if she were unimpaired, while another man is motivated in the same circumstances to protect her?  This is the question we need to be asking ourselves, and for which we need to elicit the input and support of men too. 

And another question I've been asking myself is, Where were the Steubenville victim's girlfriends while she was being assaulted?   Why do young women so often fail to look out for each other?  (Although I am somewhat reassured by Roosh that this sort of "cock blocking" is a standard part of the clubbing scene.)

It's hard for me to see the convicted football players as "victims," but it strikes me that they also have been badly let down:  let down by their parents, their team mates, their classmates, and just about everyone in their community who had a chance to support their character development and failed to do so.
  

Roosh ‏@rooshv 3h

There is a petition to make "consent" a mandatory part of sex education in school http://ow.ly/jlTMe  Because all men are born criminals

No, Roosh, not all men are "born criminals," except insofar as all humans are, by our imperfect natures, capable of doing appallingly evil shit to each other.  Education helps.  As civilization evolves, our mores change.  In fact, statistics indicate the rate of rape has fallen fairly dramatically in the past two decades, even as the definition of rape has broadened, and this does seem correlated with the inroads feminism has made in convincing people that women are autonomous beings worthy of respect and compassion.

I appreciate how fast standards seem to change, and that it is hard for some folks to "keep up,"  (As fond as they are of evolutionary psychology, MRAs don't seem to have read enough "Evolve or Die" bumper stickers.)  Although I am not very old, I have lived long enough to see social attitudes change in ways that I could never have anticipated.  Were I now the 18 year old I once was, I would have felt significantly less shame and significantly more anger at Simon and his friends.  Of course, it's likely it would never have happened at all because Simon was a smart, ambitious fellow who would have been loathe to put his academic career and social reputation in jeopardy.  And nowadays he would know what the consequences were, thanks to education about "consent."

By teaching adolescents the concept of consent, girls are also taught to be accountable for their own sexuality.  I look forward to the day when girls who want to be sexually expressive with a partner take responsibility for communicating that and owning it enthusiastically and unambiguously.

I note also this week the kerfuffle regarding Adria Richards and the vicious backlash she is experiencing.  I have nothing to add to this story except to agree with comments that, while I sympathize with her frustration, she seems to have over-reacted, that sex jokes are not necessarily sexist, that it is a shame the offending programmer was fired and an equal shame that Richards was fired.  The social media has evolved faster than our standards of professional etiquette and decorum can accommodate.

I enjoyed the hilarity of the tweets regarding Roosh's "Feminist Victim Fund."  Nice to see at least half of the ridicule coming from men.   I will also confess to a certain cruel satisfaction in seeing the widespread coverage of Roosh as an "admitted rapist" tied in to the mockery, and knowing that whatever he does, he will never escape that label.

Reckless Blogging

The prevalence of false rape accusations is one of the central obsessions of the MRM.  In response, fervent Roosh fan Matt Forney recently posted "tongue in cheek" advice to would-be rapists.  Yeah, it's obviously meant to be read as Swiftian "satire," a la American Psycho (which I didn't think was funny either).   He admits he has gotten his ideas from watching movies, and there is nothing very interesting here beyond a rehash of morbid cinematic fantasies.

For the record, I don't find jokes or ruminations about humiliating or castrating men amusing either. Neutering my dogs is more traumatic for me than for them!

Rape is the ultimate act of domination, whether male over female or male over other male. (I acknowledge women also occasionally rape men, particularly in cases of statutory rape, and these acts are just as reprehensible.)  Nobody is going to argue that rape is worse than murder or mutilation, but it violates an individual's sovereignty in a way that few crimes do.  And it strikes me as an act of terrorism, because the fear it engenders affects all women all the time.


Although the legal definition of rape has broadened, the rate of rape appears to have declined in the U.S.  This is good news, albeit a trend no one has been able to explain.  People do seem to be more sensitive and knowledgeable about what rape is / is not, possibly thanks to the fact that it has been a feminist concern for a generation.

We don't know why humans are sexually aroused by the imagery, suggestion or reality of violence.  There are almost certainly biochemical mechanisms at work here:  somehow, the wires for aggressive and sexual impulses get crossed in the limbic system.  Furthermore, we are awash in imagery that promotes violent sexual fantasy and horror.  The disappearance, violation and murder of attractive  white women is such a pervasive theme in entertainment and popular media that it is hardly shocking anymore.

What stuns me is that young men like Matt Forney are putting their fantasies out there on the Internet with their legal names attached.  What compels people to burn their social and professional bridges in this reckless way?  I don't buy that it's "ballsy" to commit social suicide.  It's tragic.  

Perhaps he is so young that he cannot envisage a day when he wishes more than anything that he hadn't done so.  Perhaps the ego stroke of Internet "celebrity" is as addictive and self-destructive as crack?  Or do these men feel so hopeless and despairing about their futures that they really have nothing to lose?

Update:  Forney has removed the piece from his blog and (sort of) apologized for it.  I've also ascertained Mr. Forney is forty years old, not as young as I had assumed.  (In other words, old enough to know better.)   
 

Roosh is Not an Arab!

Roosh ‏@rooshv 9h

If I became a terrorist, what race would the American media say I am?

Expand

_____________________________________________________

Uhm... I dunno... "not white?"

Roosh's racial designation is important to Roosh, so please pay attention!

Iranians consider themselves to be Aryans (as do most Afghans).  I have actually met Iranians who concluded on that basis that Hitler must have been a righteous dude.  Iranians are, by and large, incredibly racist.  This helps explain why Roosh insists he is "white" (and he is, sorta, whatever "race" means), and why he has actually constructed a "totem pole" of racial desirability.  Many Iranians look down on Arabs, whom they consider to be of an inferior race. 

The language of Iran (Roosh's first language) is Farsi, or Persian.  It belongs, like English, French, German, Hindi, and Sanskrit, to the Indo-European family of languages -- although the writing system uses the Arabic alphabet.

I hope this helps explain Roosh's notably weird hang up about "race," which seems to cause some of his (nonwhite) readers much pain and confusion.  It also explains why he can only "bang" white chicks.  He has to prove over and over and over... just how very "white" he is.

Class over!

What's hot, what's not

Roosh, who believes women exist primarily to provide men with boners, spends a lot of time thinking about which women meet his "boner" specifications and which do not.  Apparently, a woman's capacity to give him an erection on sight is his operational definition of "beauty."   (Asian women don't cause his penis to stir; therefore, they are not beautiful to him, contrary to the experience of millions of men around the world.)  Whenever he has nothing else to tweet, he'll post some random woman's picture with the caption "Would you bang or not?" 

It's caused me to think a bit about my own definitions of beauty and sexual appeal in both sexes.  A woman doesn't have to be bisexual, as I am, to enjoy looking at images of both men and women, of course, or to respond sexually to either gender.

Most of the women Roosh seems to find appealing are what the current "Hollywood" ideal deems "beautiful," and although I agree they meet the popular current criteria of "beauty," they are a bit plastic:  augmented breasts, big hair, lots of artful make up, etc.  I know that is what we are "taught" to like, but it's a shame how popular media divorces us from the beauty and richness of diversity.

I find that, at least for myself, sexual allure is quite a different thing than beauty.  Beauty is often a rather cold and sterile thing: "look but don't touch."  Perfect symmetry of features is cited as the universal standard of beauty, but it isn't interesting.  On the other hand, people who project the most sexual "heat" are often what the French call "jolie-laide" (pretty-ugly). 

Grace Kelly?
or
Anna Magnani?

Alain Delon?
or
Serge Gainsbourg?

I once had a boyfriend that was the essence of jolie-laide in masculine form.  He looked a little like Iggy Pop.  His mouth was too generous, his rugged facial features somewhat crowded on to a narrow face.  He was not handsome, and he was not photogenic..His frame was light and wiry, a combination of strength and delicacy. Although he was dominant sexually, he had slightly effeminate gestures.  He freely copped to the fact that his sexual promiscuity was his compensation for being ignored and bullied as a boy.  Yet, ever the bundle of contradictions, he was supremely self-confident.  I never got tired of looking at him (or fucking him).

I find some fat women incredibly appealing.  I have a serious girl crush on Queen Latifah: her intense, knowing eyes, her warm, authoritative voice.  Also Rebel Wilson (whom I fancy looks a bit like me, back in the day): that combination of soft, blonde prettiness and self-effacing wit is pretty irresistible.  And again, self-confidence.  I found the late Anna Nicole Smith, may she rest in peace, gorgeous -- both fat and thin, made up or natural. 

I am hard pressed to find any person "ugly" in terms of physical appearance.  Some folks are more stereotypically attractive due to symmetry or conformity to fashionable ideals.  Almost anyone who is willing to "work on" themselves can achieve a pleasing or socially acceptable appearance.  Even people who have been born with congenital "deformities" or have been disfigured in accidents can be gorgeous.  The "difference" seems to draw more attention to their physical assets, somehow, and makes them "POP."

Take J.R. Martinez, for example.  Hot and a hero.
or

Bree Walker.  Exquisite face, lovely figure, what a smile.
or

Peter Dinklage.  The eyes, the facial structure, the voice...

I feel sorry for people like Roosh, who have such narrow, rigid, and unimaginative ideas of what beauty is. They miss a lot of opportunities to be pleased and gratified by the endless array of interesting people to look at.  Can they even find the beauty in themselves?

The Shortest Fairytale in the World

This link was posted on some MRM blog, I cannot remember which, probably by a Man Going His Own Way.  I watched it, and wondered if there was a female version, for the concept works equally well for both genders.

The Shortest Fairytale in the World

Not that I'm not against marriage by any means -- it obviously makes a lot of people happy -- and I'm content with my own pair-bonding of the past several years. 

But I'm not against People Going Their Own Ways either.  I just wish the MGTOW would get on with it, and GO already.

A Brutal Takedown

Here he goes again!  Roosh performs a "brutal take down on a budding feminist" who has dared to write in her school paper about the MRM in disparaging ways.  (How does Roosh find time to scour the editorial pages of small provincial college papers, anyway?)

So the "brutal take down" starts out with a bucket load of sarcastic vitriol, the gist of which seems to be a dismissal of her views on the basis that he (Roosh) is no more an MRA than he is "a merman." 

You see, Roosh is not an MRA -- oh no!  Anyone who has read his blog(s) knows that Roosh is vastly superior to the typical "passive" MRA, mostly because, about five times a year, he manages to get himself laid. How silly to conflate misogynistic MRAs with misogynistic PUAs. Shows how much those dumb "feminists" know!

"Thank you, Paige, for your opinion piece about Men’s Rights Activism. In particular, thank you for using fallacious arguments to suggest that because you don’t care for the mission and the tactics of some MRA’s, MRA’s are a farce. Thank you for demonstrating that hasty generalization, straw man, false equivalence and other lapses of logic are not limited to men alone. Thank you for demeaning what many men perceive to be an inherent violation of bodily autonomy and integrity by dismissively saying that it’s not as bad as the “very real issue” of female circumcision. Thank you for grudgingly acknowledging that some MRA’s aren’t a complete waste of time and, as self-appointed Spokeswoman for Feminism, deigning to give me permission to advocate for those things that you believe should be important to me as a man. Thank you for making it clear that it is ok for a member of one gender to tell another gender what to think. Thank you for misrepresenting feminism as a unequivocally, schism-free homogenous quest for good, unlike fractious and controversial men’s rights, and that it is acceptable to define a civil rights movement by an outsider’s perception of its basest members. Most importantly, thank you for demonstrating the self-righteous ignorance and arrogance that drives much of the anti-feminist sentiment that you observed in many of the groups you wrote about. I also would like to pre-emptively thank you for misunderstanding this comment as an attack on women and feminism in general, rather than a criticism of the vapid and condescending nonsense you somehow had the temerity to publish."

But then?  It's like the man cannot help himself.  In the end he just has to "go there," delivering his customary coup de grace by attacking the girl's physical appearance.  This time he cannot bring himself to call her "ugly," he isn't quite that delusional -- so he settles on calling her "fat."  Then tacks on a condescending remark, that she can thank him later for his advice to hit the gym.

First of all, Roosh, you realize that when you tell women they are unattractive to you, they mostly react with sighs of relief?  The last thing any girl, fat or thin or in-between, needs is to have to fend off the advances of a sociopathic loser.

Second of all, Roosh, do you even recognize what the word "fat" means, anymore?  Has every woman with half a brain and a voice that demands to be heard become "fat" by default? 

As a genuinely fat person, I am dismayed by the use of this word to describe people who are thin.  As a fat person (fat baby, fat girl, fat woman, and fat crone), I reckon I have rightful claim to that word.
 
You wanna know what a fat arm looks like?  I'll send you a picture.  It will give you a real frisson of disgust, and if you tell me that my upper arms resemble "bleached hams," well, I'll laughingly concur.
 
Readers know Roosh prefers women who have been professionally posed, made up, have long (and "big") hair, and/or photo-shopped to the nth degree, but still...  that bicep he has circled doesn't look plump, or even flabby, by any normal medical or aesthetic standard. 

In short, this girl is in no way "fat."  Au contraire, this is a girl who is very young, quite slender, and perfectly lovely to look at in every respect, by any conventional standard.  

Sorry if I seem to be beating the point to death, but if she is fat, then what am I?  Nothing? 

Never mind.  I didn't want to go there, Roosh, but you made me, you made me say this:  this young woman, purely on the basis of physical attractiveness, is so "out of your league," that it makes your whole post laughable.  Your arrows have rubber tips.  The only way a girl that looks like this would go home with you is because she was (1) poor, and (2) thought you had some money (in other words, if she weren't North American), or (3) was forcibly abducted (and please don't take that as a viable option).

I'm sorry to say this, Roosh -- but YOU MADE ME. YOU MADE ME SAY THIS!

False Nostalgia

Roosh, like most of the New Misogynists, seems to believe that there was some golden era when men were "kings" and women accepted their subservient roles.  This is pure "false nostalgia" -- that is, a nostalgia for a time and place that never really was.  Let's take one of their premises: that ordinary men used to have a greater selection of beautiful, submissive potential wives (before fat, grumpy feminists came along and ruined it for the average joes).

In fact, U.S. history demonstrates that a competitive marriage market has always existed, especially in the West.  The lonely, eccentric Norwegian bachelor is not a myth.  Furthermore, the idea that a wife should be "beautiful" (that is, sexually desirable to other men) is a relatively modern concept.  Throughout our history, men and women have tended to value more practical qualities in mates, i.e., the capacity and willingness to work hard, shared religious values, property or the potential to acquire property.  Marriage was too important a commitment to be based primarily on sexual attraction, and literature abounded with stories about the perils of letting romantic or erotic love take sway over pragmatic considerations.

Let's face it:  George Washington, the most admired American man of his day, did not marry Martha Custis because she was centerfold-worthy!

My own grandfather, as surviving photographs attest, was an exceptionally handsome young man.  My grandmother, on the other hand, was quite plain.  He married her because she was clever with her hands, extremely industrious, both frugal and enterprising, and had skills (including carpentry) that were useful.

So when Roosh and others hearken back to a time when an array of chaste, lovely girls were available for any man's taking, like the houris of an Islamic paradise, they betray their ignorance of the realities of American social history.  Roosh blames coveted status symbols such as I-phones for rendering women "incapable of love," yet his own values have been equally "corrupted" by consumerism and popular media.  

In fact, all of us are to some extent similarly corrupted, awash in advertisements and commercials (some 3000 per day!) that teach us that we not only deserve whatever the sponsors are selling, but will be miserable failures without it.  And this has nothing to do with feminism.

Fat Shaming?

Roosh (via Heartiste) has declared that a story about a graduate student who was temporarily suspended represents a "truly scary" violation of freedom of speech.  And just because the student made a fat joke!

OK, that's not exactly how it went down.

The graduate student, Joseph Aziz, had gotten into a kerfuffle with some other students whilst defending a Republican speaker on campus.  His online comment that one of the other students had legs like "bleached hams" appears to have been an ad hominem attack in the wake of what started as a heated ideological conflict.  In other words, his decision to publicly deride a classmate's physical appearance was not a conscious act of "fat shaming," but a lazy, juvenile attempt to undercut her political position.

Meh, it happens.

Aziz was first disciplined by the university, who "acted in accordance with its Student Code of Conduct which complies with the New Jersey Anti-Bullying Bill of Rights Act, and other applicable federal and state regulations.’ 

The reprimand included an order that Aziz have no further contact with the other parties involved, either in person or online.  It was Aziz' violation of the no-contact rule that got him suspended.  He just couldn't seem to restrain himself from hopping back into the fray with another online reference to his victim's meaty calves.

"Aziz, a molecular biology student, said that he was shocked that a careless comment about a stranger’s appearance made online may have put his educational career in jeopardy."

I don't know about Montclair State, but every college I have attended or taught at issues Student Handbooks, in which expectations of student conduct are clearly delineated.  Part of those expectations are that students will help maintain a mutually respectful, collegial environment.  Granted, few students read these handbooks, but ignorance of the law is no defense, etc.

College admin and faculty are well aware that many of their students have not achieved full cognitive development; physiologically, the frontal lobe of the adolescent cerebral cortex is still maturing.  This is why Montclair State's initial discipline was mild.  Students are routinely given second chances for non-criminal misbehavior.  On the other hand, once warned, students are expected to comply or face possible expulsion.  The fact that Aziz has only been suspended for one term suggests the college emphatically does NOT want to "put his educational career in jeopardy." Aziz is disingenuous when he claims that it was a "careless comment" (that he later "regretted") that got him in hot water; on the contrary, it was his very deliberate choice to disobey a "cease and desist" order that forced the college admin's hand.


Five years up the road, if Aziz behaves in this manner with a co-worker, he will not get a pass from his employers.  Guys like Aziz' spell l-i-a-b-i-l-i-t-y to HR these days.  He will be out of a job, and he won't even qualify for unemployment.  (Hopefully, like Roosh, he can sleep in his dad's basement.)

Like businesses with employees, colleges are institutions that have the right to demand students and faculty comply with their policies on campus.  Are social media sites like Facebook or Youtube "off" campus?  It looks like the courts may determine this;  they may rule in Mr. Aziz' favor on this one.

Regardless, Mr. Aziz's reputation has been permanently tarnished, and it is likely to haunt him both professionally and socially for the rest of his life.  And it won't be because he doesn't like fat girls.  It will because of his demonstrated lack of judgment and self-restraint.

I've been warning my students for years that what they do online has consequences to their futures, and this is just another story to add to the canon... 

UPDATE:  Several days ago, Joseph Aziz' suspension was lifted.  
He's back in school.  It doesn't make anything I've written above less relevant, however, or his behavior less reprehensible.

Roosh Is Sad

I'm not alone in recognizing the black thread of melancholy that runs through Roosh's writing, that "tugs at [one's] heartstrings."

(One of his followers, Delicious Tacos, is sad too; however, his superior writing skill, sense of irony, and higher degree of self-awareness actually gives his blogging some pretension to literary merit.) 

How can I feel sorry for someone whose views I find so thoroughly repellant and even downright evil?  Well, what can I say?  I cheered the mob on during the Iranian Revolution of '77.  I rejoiced at the downfall of the corrupt Pahlavi Dynasty.  Yet I still wept for the Shahbanou as her husband died in lonely exile of cancer, and she lost two children to suicide. I even find pathos in reading about the last hours of Hitler and Goebbels.

I'm sorry that some people were ever born, yet their suffering and demise bring me no satisfaction: only further sorrow. See, I am sad, too, and in that respect have everything in common with every human on the planet.

In his video posts Roosh wears a plaintive expression and projects a low affect.  He occasionally clutches his head or his hands and looks down before locking his eyes on the camera.  He seems to emit a faint sigh as he launches into the sermon du jour.  The burden of his vocation weighs heavily upon his narrow shoulders.  Posts are often prefaced with mild physical complaints about his surroundings or health (and his travel guides demonstrate an uncommon obsession with the state of his bowels or the cleanliness of local toilets). I don't think I've seen him ever laugh, or even smile, in these posts.  His body language suggests that addressing his minions is rather a trial, more obligation than opportunity.  The backgrounds (often kitchenettes) suggest cold, stark, clean but inexpensive accommodations, empty as the life that inhabits them.  One commenter has observed that Roosh would look utterly at home posing for Unhappy Hipsters.

A lot of readers, including his own fan base, speculate what will happen to Roosh in the next decade.  I don't think anyone foresees a happy ending to this story.  Once he was a young guy who probably seemed, on the face of it, to hold a lot of promise, at least to his parents.  But the chances of picking up his pre-Roosh identity are dim.  Because of his notoriety, no U.S. company can ever hire him.  It is likely he would even have trouble trying to legally change his name.

Will he finally cross the line and be convicted of rape?  Will he be murdered by one of his victims, her friends or family members, or a vigilante group?

Perhaps he will emigrate to another country, but once his true identity is revealed in the process (and because he has relatively few assets), most countries will consider him undesirable.  Even if another country accepts him, he is unlikely to enjoy the lifestyle of a permanent expatriate, for as much as he complains about the "corruption" of American culture, he writes with even more contempt of, and less insight into, others.

In my girlfriend's parlance, He's really screwed the pooch, and I don't see any way out.  In the immediate future, he'll continue to milk his current roles as PUA guru and feminist provocateur even though he is only marginally successful at the former pursuit and widely mocked at the latter.  At any rate, time is running out, which is what most of us begin to understand in our thirties.  While a 33 year old hitting on club girls is pushing the socially-sanctioned limits of adolescence, a 40 year old doing the same thing is a universal object of ridicule.

Mommy Issues?

What's wrong with guys like Roosh?

More than one woman has posited "mommy issues" to explain his extreme loathing of women. 

Well, I hate to blame mothers.  They get blamed for everything that goes wrong with their kids, from autism to allergies.

There may be something to this, though:  a woman who knew Roosh in college claims that he was "suffocated" by his mother.

His mother, like many immigrant mothers (think "Tiger Moms") no doubt pushed her eldest son to perform well academically.  She wanted him to be a doctor.  Roosh had the requisite number of brain cells and the financial support to get a B.S. in microbiology from an accredited state school.  Admission to medical school proved to be a much greater challenge.  (And we can all thank the powers to be, given Roosh's demonstrated personality disorder.)

But I think the problem of Roosh, and of many of his acolytes, speaks more about Daddy issues, myself.  

In his blog, he describes a boyhood punctuated by ferocious rows between his mother and father, during which his mother would hysterically insist on being let out of the family car immediately.  It had to be traumatic for little Roosh, and humiliating too, his parents screaming in public in Farsi.  Roosh's parents divorced when he was young.  He spent little time with his father until he was an adult.  If he blames his mother for chasing his father away, he would not be the first child of divorce to do so... 

Although he seems to have carte blanche to sleep in his dad's basement nowadays (in between his EE sojourns), he cannot share his "achievements" with him, which must be frustrating on some level, because Roosh's primary motivation is his desperate need for male approval.  And that is pretty much what his unfortunate career choice is all about.

The fact is, Roosh doesn't really enjoy sex.  At the tender age of 33 he is already reporting trouble maintaining an erection or achieving climax.  He can't fuck with condoms.  He can't fuck girls who are not "white."  He complains that the vaginas of "sluts" are too loose, and that the vaginas of "good girls" are too tight.  (He's like the Goldlilocks of pussies!)  He admits that the best sex he has ever had was with women he "hated"; presumably, he didn't have to worry about impressing them.  His ignorance and disdain of female anatomy has been the topic of much hilarity on various sites.  Sex is, for Roosh, a means to achieve status among his peers.  The value of women?  Ditto.

Every night he has to prowl the bars and clubs of second tier EE cities in search of... well, something to blog about.  He appears to have no real friends or to be able to relate to either men or women in anything beyond the role of "guru" or "seducer."  He cannot function socially unless he is in control.  When not sacking out in his father's basement, he lives in cheap rented rooms, and spends almost all of his time either alone or amongst strangers.

Of course, his new blog, "Return of Kings" is for "masculine men" only.  Only a man who feels deeply insecure about his gender identity needs to describe himself as "masculine."  It's no surprise that the worst insult these guys can sling at other men is to disparage their masculinity ("beta male," "mangina," etc.).

It's probably impossible for him to conceive that most adult men aren't particularly anxious about their "masculinity."  Or that most "feminists" don't care whether he finds them physically appealing or not.

All in all, it sounds like a pretty miserable and tedious existence, a real hamster wheel, but he is prodded on by his acolytes, who believe (or would like to believe) that Roosh is The Man.  Note how quickly his followers leap to his defense or take the offense on his behalf!  Their admiration and fealty, especially in the absence of any other rewards in his life, are really all that he has got.  No wonder he courts the ire of "feminists."  Any attention from women is better than none.  And if he weren't such a hateful person, he would be an absolutely tragic figure.