Cold Fury

Harshing your mellow since 9/01

Chickens

Home to roost.

The recent Vanity Fair article detailing the more lurid underbelly of online dating—the barrage of dick pics, the endless swiping, the death of romance—was grim, if not horrific. Dating, Vanity Fair would have you believe, is evolving into an elaborate charade of deception: Everybody is petrified of giving someone the “wrong idea.” Men are impolite to the point of viciousness to ensure that the women they just hooked up with understand they don’t want a relationship. Women “self-objectify” in profile pictures to get men interested, renouncing the “wrong idea” that they might want something more than a one-night stand. No matter which way you spin it, landing yourself in a committed relationship seems to be, by millennial standards, “the wrong idea.”

I want to believe that Vanity Fair selected only their most salacious interviewees to quote, but I know that’s not true. I’ve received my fair share of lewd attention during my online dating tenure to verify: It really is that bad. But I’ve noticed a new strategy among my set of female friends—lovely, intelligent, independent women—to combat the grime of the online dating world: date up.

I don’t mean status, I mean age. More and more women I know are dating men twice, yes twice, their age. In her new film, The Intern, Anne Hathaway stands with Robert DeNiro and a bunch of young male colleagues in a bar and draws a harsh comparison: “How in one generation have men gone from guys like Jack Nicholson and Harrison Ford to…?” She gestures despairingly at the four men in front of her, archetypes of my generation in their hoodies, craft beer in one hand, iPhone in the other, with their untrimmed beards and general lack of ambition. I see what Hathaway means: Why put up with Tinder when there’s a whole generation of men out there who wouldn’t dream of using it?

Poor, poor babies. They denigrate, attack, and degrade masculinity for decades. They declare us all rapists, every last one. They place a premium on weakness, indecisiveness, self-doubt, and “sensitivity.” A confident, self-assured male is a monster, one who evinces any interest in or attraction to the opposite sex a fiend in human shape. He might as well drink a quart of fresh blood in the village square in broad daylight as demonstrate the least little bit of assertiveness.

As Ed says, these shrieking harpies used their talons to carve themselves an effiminate, pussified Pajama Boy-effigy of manhood—then declared him contemptible. Now here they are agonizing over why whatever real men are left out there aren’t clamoring in droves and herds to marry them.

Sympathy: nonexistent. Interest: none whatsoever. Misery: earned. Bed: you made it, so lie in it, you stupid bints. Next time save yourselves a bunch of heartache and frustration and just buy a fucking teddy bear to bitch at, whydon’tcha.

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1 thought on “Chickens

  1. Ever hear the saying that “for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction?” This is one of those cases. There’s never been a better time to be a single man in his mid 40s. Ask me how I know. I was divorced a couple of years ago….now, I’m slightly above average looking at best, but I look good in a suit. And it amazed me – put me, wearing a well cut suit, in a setting where there are a lot of 20something women, and I can watch them abandon their Pajama Boy date to come over and talk with me. I’ve dated by far hotter 20somethings than I did when I was in my 20s. And they’re all attracted to those old traits of ‘toxic masculinity.’ Even something as simple as walking next to the sidewalk with them on the inside, or paying for dinner, drives them wild. It’s kind of funny. And sometimes they’ll say, “Why can’t I find a man my age like you?” I’ll tell them to go to a Trump rally and they look like they’re about to barf. The cognitive dissonance could be cut with a knife.

    In fact, I had a several-months dalliance with a lovely woman near my age who was a committed SJW type. Except for the politics we really clicked….and then she finally, in tears, said that she just couldn’t be with me because of my politics. I laughed and told her that her problem was that she was too dumb to realize that the traits she found so attractive were part of that “patriarchy” that she bitched about endlessly. I explained that all the dating horror stories she’d had – and there were a bunch – came from dating spineless liberal wusses who had been trained to be spineless liberal wusses by women like her. She has a long life of cat-ladying ahead of her.

    What I’ve said sounds arrogant, but it’s not meant to be. There’s a catch-22 for my situation. Most single women my age are in fact liberal, because good conservative women tend to be married. Which means that my options are to drop down 20 years – fun for awhile but difficult in the long run – or settle for a woman whose worldview is completely different than mine. The feminists have fucked things up well and truly for everyone.

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