Tuesday, March 26, 2013

Your C-Card

When I was a lad in the late 1980s, when we had to start the Internet by hand with a crank every morning, the buzz around the dorms wasn't about a girl's "number", it was about her "V-card".  Her virginity.

Losing your V-card is a big deal for any young person, of course, but it means dramatically different things to young men than it does to young women.  A young woman often jealously guards it, while a young dude will be happy to give it to the first vagina who walks by -- hey, 5 times the legal limit of testosterone makes you slightly less discriminating -- who knew?  Dudes find it important, but not the same way.  We want to ditch that V-Card ASAP, preferably to someone hot, slutty, intense, knowledgeable, and from someplace far away where she can't disagree with how great it was.

For a dude, losing your V-Card is like signing your Selective Service card:  It's something you need to do, and once it's done you can move on with your life a little wiser, a little closer to being a man.

While I'm not as heavy on virginity as a prerequisite for love or marriage as the Christian end of the Manosphere, or even Athol's reasonable "Try to marry a virgin or as close to virgin as possible" advice, I'm not going to deny that a girl's V-Card is a highly emotionally significant issue to her.  How and why she loses it/gives it away/sells it to the highest bidder becomes an important part of who she is.  Indeed, until she gets engaged (maybe someday), has a baby (but not a husband) or completes her PhD. in Women's Studies, it's the first and last Big Thing that happens to her as an adult woman.

Of course, once gone, many women see the lack of virginity as carte blanche to enjoy the fruits of the Sexual Revolution with abandon.  I bring this up not to influence anyone in particular to do anything in particular with their hymen, either literal or spiritual.  No, I bring this up because while I believe we all understand the concept of the "V-Card", few men understand the concept of their "C-Card".

C.  For Commitment.

Before you recoil in horror at the mention of The Word That Shall Not Be Named, it's important you understand a few things about it, and about how you deal that card.  For you, it's as important as a sixteen year old girl's hymen.

Firstly, just like you wanted to ditch your V-Card ASAP to the "right girl", most women want to collect a C-Card with the "right guy" . . . but really, any ol' guy will do, at first.  Turning down a proposal of marriage is a sign of strength and notability within the Female Social Matrix, like getting hit-on by a pornstar would be for a dude (believe me, nothing gets your ego pumping like politely rejecting a pretty pornstar who has propositioned you.  It's happened a few times, and - you Gentlemen will be pleased to know - in all but one occasion, the ladies in question congratulated me on the level of respect and esteem I showed for my wife. (They did also usually show me their boobs anyway, to be fair, but it's not like I haven't seen them professionally already).)

Those who have the wit to hear and learn the Red Pill truth, attend:

Women control sex.  They have all the pussy and half the money.  Unless you want to go Lambda (and that has some advantages), you have to deal with women to have sex with another person.  Women have known that for millennia  which is why the FSM's control of sexuality is so vital to their integrity.  Just one unattached Sexually Liberated Uninhibited Tart in the village and their ability to control their husbands through sex is compromised.  One whore in town, and the nookie supply is in flux.  The classic Greek play Lysistrata demonstrates the power that women united in their control of sexuality can ostensibly wield over men.  The women want to stop a stupid war and go on a sex strike.  Hilarity ensues.

BUT . . . what women do not often understand, explicitly, is that just as they control sexMEN control
commitment.  Women can choose whether or not to offer us sex, and just what kind and how much.  They can NOT choose to offer us a commitment we have to take seriously.  Don't believe me?  Then why in a world where feminism has run-amuck are even hardcore feminists reluctant to break the social taboo of women proposing?

Because they know what would happen if they did.  Even a rational, level-headed egalitarian feminist in a relationship understands that while men and women might be "equal", the social shame and humiliation she would face by having to ask herself - and then the ignomy if her proposal was rejected (what are the odds?) - is such that a female-led proposal of commitment is as undesirable as a dude who's first line after introducing himself is "Hey, wannafuck?"

Among non-feminist or feminist-light women?  Forgetaboutit.  If a woman has to propose to a man, then there is something wrong with one or both of them.  No, women have to just sit there and wait for you to escalate the relationship.  They might try to encourage you with a number of incremental "mission creeps", but they can't actually make you their boyfriend/fiancee/husband without your permission.  I looked it up.

Most of women realize (and the FSM instructs) that men get skittish if you come on too strong and even mention commitment too soon in a courtship.  It's as tricky as just when to agree to sex.  A chick who slips an "after we get married" comment in on a third date is  as doomed as a dude who asks about anal on the first.  There's a time and place for everything folks, and while you might get lucky and get precisely the answer you're looking for ("Married?  How's next Thursday sound?", "Anal?  I thought you'd never ask!"), more than likely you're just crashing and burning.

Its common knowledge that women are naturally reluctant to be free with sex and men are reluctant to agree to a commitment.  It's implicit to the concept of Body Agenda.  But despite ample exceptions to both rules,  both parties measure the suitability of the other in part on how they express those desires.  I'm not breaking new ground here.  The difference is that women usually do understand (via the FSM's two-tiered, subtextual communication system) the ground rules for sex.  Men in general have no real understanding about commitment . . . until it's too late.

While men can force women (and other men) into sex against their will, it is exceedingly difficult to force men into commitment against their will.  Indeed, women cannot proceed to a commitment without your willing consent.  In the past that has been manipulated through pregnancy tests, shotguns, and uneasy crossings of state lines by moonlight, but in most cases a couple can't be married unless the man in question has actively consented.  Given up his big C-Card, as it were.

And like virginity (theoretically), you can only give up that big card once.  Thing is, you have no idea just how important that card is to the woman in your life.  Once you understand that YOU control commitment, then you gain power.  You gain hand.  But it doesn't end there.

You see, there are degrees of C-Cards, just like there are degrees of V-Cards ("Twenty-two blowjobs and two anal encounters, but I'm still a virgin!"). Marriage is, of course, the biggie. But it's just the last spot on the ticket to get punched.  Your C-Card usually gets punched more gradually than her V-Card (after she loses it, it becomes her "N-Card", but we'll still call it the V-Card.  I'm sure you can think of a handy mnemonic), and sometimes it can get punched without you even realizing it.

First Love

The first box to be punched on that card is the "first love", usually a high-school or college girl who touched your junk (or maybe more) for the first time causing your hormones to fall in love with her in a fit of undying gratitude.  Oh, you might pin it to your "first kiss", or your first real date, but it's all just romantic infatuation until the penis gets involved.  When she touched your dick for the first time, you were in First Love, whether you knew it or not.  Don't dismiss the power of First Love/first handjob in a man's mind lightly.  Hell, James Joyce built a career on it.

You usually let her punch that "first love" ticket on your C-Card, and you gave your heart to her whether she was worthy or not (usually the latter).

If it was more than a long weekend or a couple of days, then you may move up a notch.  Luckily, the "First Love" punch is almost a freebie.  Very rarely does that turn into a legitimate commitment, unless intercourse and pregnancy get involved.  But you only get one.


The second punch on that ticket is "girlfriend".  That's a big one on the C-Card, especially the first time, and this day and age you usually get anywhere from 7 to 10 of these before you seriously consider progressing.

This spot on the card was really developed in the post-WWII 1950s, the Archie/Veronica/Betty-in-Riverdale ideal.  "Going steady" originally meant that you were a girl's steady (weekly) date, the girl you experimented sexually with in the back seat of a borrowed car every weekend after working each other up in anticipation all week.

The original industrial-age protocol was to swap steady dates around through High School until people were more or less reasonably happy with their choices, looking forward to a steadily escalating exchange of sex and commitment until the Big C-Card and the Big V-Card (or a reasonable facsimile) got exchanged on the Big Day.  Then you bought a starter home, started having kids, and went to work for someone you'd retire from thirty years later.

Eventually people started smoking weed and having sex in the 1960s and your "steady" turned into your girlfriend. And that first girlfriend could be a doozy.  Sometimes (but not always) the same girl who punched your "First Love" ticket ends up checking the first "girlfriend" box on your card, and may even have the first taste of real expectation of commitment beyond bringing a corsage to Prom to a woman, so pay attention carefully.  I've known guys who -- through no fault of their own -- ended up having a girlfriend just because they weren't paying close enough attention.  One moment you're getting your oil changed by some chick in the back seat, and the next you're going to her house for dinner to meet the parents on Saturday . . . and all you really wanted was a handjob.  Don't let this happen to you.

Basic Girlfriend

While the exact nature and expression of the Girlfriend commitment changes, there are a few fundamentals:

1) You commit to not "see other people".  You are committing to be (at least temporarily) monogamous.
2) You are both willing to tell other people of your exclusivity and even engage in acceptable PDAs.
3) You agree to spend a certain amount of time together in the pursuit of both sexual and non-sexual intimacy.
4) You agree to not openly leer or talk about other people for whom your loins may incidentally ache.
5) You agree to attend each other's non-family social events "as a couple". (we'll get to family in a minute).

Okay, that's Basic Girlfriend.  You can knock all of that out in a week or two, and still call it a relationship in this day and age.  Failure to agree to do any of the above means you haven't really handed over your C-Card -- you aren't treating her like a girlfriend, and if she calls herself that before you've granted her permission, that's potential chump-bait  (say, if she calls you her boyfriend before she's touched your junk more than once.  Arbitrary, I know, but it's a place to start the metric).

Consider any assumption of prerogatives not expressly given as a failed Fitness Test, indicating an unlikely choice for a long-term relationship.  You can safely rack up quite a few of these "shorties" without too much worry (and if they're short enough, it's likely she won't even count you toward her "number").

Beyond that, there's...

Intermediate Girlfriend

At that level, a chick who punches your C-Card has established social control over you, theoretically in exchange for increased sexual access.  It implies all of Basic Girlfriend, but includes:

1) Actual dates - social excursions designed for the sole purpose of entertaining and increasing both non-sexual and sexual intimacy.

2) A shared circle or pool of friends.  Often this is the point where a woman will start evaluating your potential for a long-term partnership and begin trying to influence your development through whom you spend your time with.  Your friends she sees as "bad influences" will be pruned from your combined social calendar, while friends she sees as good influences (say, dudes with girlfriends she can stand) are encouraged to remain.  NOTE: your girlfriend and her girlfriend will automatically form a node of the FSM, a node which they --collectively -- will try to establish control over you and the other dude -- collectively.

3) Gifts and expressions of sentiment on appropriate occasions (to be negotiated).

4) Spending the night occasionally after sex.

5) Notification of parents/Facebook that you are a couple.

6) Sharing meals together on a regular basis.

7) Daily communication.

8) She can legally keep tampons in your bathroom, in moderation.

9) Your BFFs are introduced, and then introduced to each other.  Hilarity often ensues.  Just ask Harry and Sally.

The Intermediate Girlfriend box isn't that bad, and usually begins anywhere from 2-6 weeks into a standard-issue relationship.  If you've started having sex and getting to know each others' bodies, then it's still exciting fresh and new.  The novelty and the serotonin and the vasopressin and the oxytocin create a thick, rich cocktail and her boobs look perfect and you don't even notice the annoying way she laughs.

At this point, the punches on your C-Card are still fairly innocuous and fun.  You've only committed your emotional, sexual and social life to her, nothing further (to a chick, please remember, the emotional and social enjoy a much higher value and the sex a much lower value . . . but she's usually willing to pretend otherwise -- yay, hamster!)

This is also the point where most nascent relationships begin falling apart.  Extended contact and knowledge of the other person begins to reveal flaws behind the "good girlfriend behavior".  We might start to get the first glimmerings that she is

a) a closet feminist

b) batshit crazy or

c) actively husband shopping.

In addition, by Intermediate Girlfriend you should be able to evaluate whether or not she is

a) sexually compatible,

b) socially compatible (say, if she's a racist and you aren't, might be a problem)

c) flaky as hell.

Depending on just how good the sex is, you should keep all of these in mind during the Intermediate phase and determine whether or not to abort the relationship.  Most dudes get blinded by pussy and the Blue Pill and social expectations and end up ignoring the obvious warning signs, ending up with the Hellbeast Girlfriend.  I'm not saying avoid her - she's instructional.

So is getting your assed kicked by a prison gang.

If you decide to bail, don't fret it.  Women Are Fungible.  Finding another and starting over means a brand new chance and brand new pussy and maybe a chick who's a little freakier than your last one.  You can get another girlfriend as easily as you can get another car.  But if you don't bail when the danger signs are clear, then you can expect her to make more demands on your C-Card.  And this is when things start getting bad.  This is . . .

Advanced Girlfriend

Your mileage may vary, but you can trace Advanced Girlfriend to a combination of any two of these three occurrences: Meeting the parents/siblings; going on a multi-day trip alone as a couple, or attending any wedding together as a couple.  Any one of these, and you're in danger of getting your AG box punched.  Any combination and . . . dude, you got a serious girlfriend.  Says so right on your C-Card.  You either accept that, or you find a graceful way to bail ("Your parents are LUTHERAN?  Die, blasphemer!" often works).  Of course, even if you avoid the above, if you celebrate your One Year Anniversary, you've got a bad case of Advanced Girlfriend.

AG comes with a whole lot of baggage.  Sexual, social, personal, psychological, if  you leave a relationship any time before this box gets punched you have a reasonable hope of bouncing back and recovering fairly quickly.  But the longer a girl has your AG box punched, the more and greater the expectations.

From her perspective, if she's introduced you to her parents and they actually like you, you went to a wedding and danced with her and looked half-way decent in a tux, and you made it for three days at that run-down Bed & Breakfast in the Catskills without killing each other (you might have gotten anal as a reward for your good behavior - and if you didn't, take that into consideration.)  If you passed all three of those tests, then you have Serious Boyfriend Potential, and her pursuit of your C-Card begins in earnest.

Serious Girlfriend

The Serious Girlfriend box gets checked on your card about the Year Three mark, and/or your decision for real.
to cohabitate.  A live-in boyfriend is a test run for a more permanent relationship.  It's also the point at which the wise Red Pill man starts vetting his girlfriend

It's not all-bad.  Some dudes see Serious Girlfriend as a safe spot between Hopelessly Single and Married.  And this is where most dudes start pressing the serious sexual stuff.  Because while she's starting to think about wedding locations and honeymoon destinations, you're thinking about anal, oral, and what her sister looks like naked in your imagination.  By this point, you probably already know what she will and won't do in bed, and what she does and doesn't like.  You might be wrong, but you know.  And you should be getting laid like a champ for a while, too, as your SG tries to upgrade her spot on your C-Card.

This is usually where the gloves come off sexually, too.  During the evaluation-and-vetting period, you've got to establish if she's going to be sexually-compatible long-term.  You have to settle the issue of kids.  You have to determine future birth-control options.  And you have to decide if you really can stand hitting just that one pussy for the rest of your life.  So think about this carefully.  Then think about it some more.

At the SG point, many of the mundane domestic matters have already been settled.  The toilet seat question, the grocery-and-cooking question, the housework question, the religion question, the social issues, and the day-to-day minutia of a relationship have been gone over exhaustively, and you still haven't broken up.  During the SG phase, this is where you turn up the heat before proceeding any further.  Despite its name, SG is the last step you have before the serious commitment phase.  Use it wisely.

I'll cover good vetting and wife-testing in future posts, but for now just assume that you have assembled your list and have begun figuring out whether she's going to work out, long-term.  While three years might SEEM long-term, the fact is it's the minimum time I would spend investigating and vetting any woman who wasn't a brilliant, independently wealthy "10" with incurable nymphomania and an oral fixation.  For at least a year, you need to put this woman through her paces and challenge her, observing and noting every reaction to adversity or provocation.

But your serious vetting shouldn't go more than two years.  If you don't know by your fifth anniversary, then you really DO know, and just don't want to admit it.  If she passes the tests (and you pass yours) then you can consider proceeding to the next box on your C-card: Engagement.


This is the Penultimate Step.  The second-to-last box on your C-Card.  Fuck this part up, and you're going miserable.
to be

The Fiancee stage comes (ideally) when you have decided to offer a woman a pledge of open-ended commitment.  It's stating your intent to be with her for the rest of her life.  It's not a "celebration of your love", it's the point at which you've agreed on general terms, and now it's time to begin the negotiation process for permanent status.

Once you give a girl an engagement ring, they're notoriously hard to get back.  But it's still a pencilled-in commitment, with no real legs in court ("breach of promise" notwithstanding, thanks to feminism).  You still have the power to end the relationship at any time and clear your C-Card.

Fiancee is where you decide between the two of you the Big Questions: where shall we live, what jobs should we have, how many children and should they be raised Jewish, dog or cat, whose parents get Christmas and whose get Christmas Eve, live tree or artificial tree, blinds or curtains, etc. etc.  These are Advanced Domestic Issues, and they need to be settled.  The Fiancee slot is where you start consciously knitting your family cultures together.  That's not always easy.  Hell, it's never easy, unless you marry an orphan (HIGHLY recommended . . .).

But a wise man doesn't proceed to this step unless he has already assured himself that he will not regret it.  And that means either doing a whole lot of vetting or a whole lot of luck.  While the latter is nicer to have, it's harder to come by.

The process of vetting your future spouse is worthy not just of another post, but of another entire book.  Let's just pretend you've done all that, and you are certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that this woman is The One, or at least A Real Good One, and you feel comfortable taking that last step, the last box on your C-Card save death: Marriage.

(First) Wife

This is the big one.  This is the point past which no man may tread lightly.  When you put a ring on it, you're legally becoming one person with your wife.  There are sacred obligations implicit with the office, and while technically you can "go back" and un-punch your WIFE box, the process is painful and expensive -- akin to a woman having her hymen surgically re-attached.

Wives can be your greatest joy or your greatest curse, the reason you go to bed every night and get out of bed every morning . . . or the reason why you hide in the bathroom, masturbating gloomily.  They can watch your back and make your bed, or they can sabotage your plans and spend your bread.  Letting someone get that far up your C-Card who doesn't respect the measure of commitment implied in marriage is a recipe for chaos and disaster.

Second Wife

Unless you're a widower, remarrying is nothing less than the victory of optimism over experience.  Yet many
men find wonderful partnerships in their second wives for a number of reasons.  Honestly, the man I know who historically was most down on marriage after his divorce is now blissfully happy with a woman sixteen years his junior.  He claims his earlier screeds against the institution were based on a poor selection sample.  His second wife was vetted far more thoroughly than his first, and being older and presumably wiser my friend had a much better idea about what he wanted in a wife . . . as opposed to what he wanted in a girlfriend.

But other second marriages are no better than first marriages, and sometimes far worse.  The native enthusiasm and tenacity you had with your first wife are broken -- you know for a fact that things can go horribly wrong, and the ideal of True Love is no longer the untarnished trophy you once thought. Age and desperation also play a role.  My grandfather remarried a few years before his death, and while the two of them got along great while he was alive, I cannot help but wonder what would have happened had he lived far longer with her.


That's your C-Card, Gentlemen.  From First Love to Second Wife and beyond, your commitment level is the biggest card you have in your hand when you meet a woman.  Sex is easy -- she can get it anywhere.  But a woman who craves commitment (and a thunderous majority do) the way you crave cooze is just as determined to get it from you as you are determined to relieve her of her virtue.  Of course, the old-style exchange of sex-for-security no longer applies, strictly speaking, but even in our post-industrial civilization commitment is still coin-of-the realm in the Female Social Matrix.

The important things to take away from this are the following: a woman who is a great girlfriend does not necessarily make a great fiance or wife.  And a woman who will be an ideal wife may be a mediocre girlfriend.  But as you contemplate expanding your commitment with the woman in your life, be mindful of the pros and cons of such a move.  I would no better counsel my sons to propose marriage on early acquaintance (say, anything under three years of courtship and vetting) than I would condoning my daughter having sex without thought of consequence.

The 21st century Red Pill gentleman will understand the role that his C-Card plays in motivating the women in his life, and he will play that card very cautiously, appreciating it for the treasure it is. When he is too eager to turn it over to a woman, it's usually because of sex in some form or fashion -- which is ironic, because with an open C-card, a dude with Game can get sex in part on the basis of his open card.

The value of your C-card to any particular woman is going to be variable, of course, and some will judge you harshly because of it.  A long history of short relationships is going to be a red flag for all but the horniest ovulating women -- and those ladies are going to be convinced they can fuck you into it, if they tried hard enough.

Be a sport.  Let them try.

But hold onto your C-card like its the One Ring, and be as stingy as possible with it.  Why?  Because men who are too willing to commit too early raise red flags with women too, just  like a woman who sleeps with a dude on the first date raises red flags with men.  If you do not value your C-Card for what it is -- your Precious -- and are liberal with how you commit, you lower your own value.  And the lower you value yourself, the lower the women you meet value you.

It is hard, but it pays off.  The more you value your C-card, the higher value you have.  And the more you bring to the table as a potential husband, the higher value your C-card has.  That means having higher standards in the early days, and keeping to them later on.  That means considering and reconsidering the situation seriously before being willing to even be called someone's "boyfriend".  That means understanding that your ability to make a woman a wife is one of your most desirable characteristics (after wealth and power), even more important than the size of your dick.  That means breaking an engagement (or postponing it) if you are not absolutely happy with how things are going.

Men are not taught to value their own commitment, not overtly.  Of course, when society values their commitment less, men tend to downgrade their commitment value as well.  The advent and popularity of divorce culture has cheapened the very meaning of a marital commitment in most men's eyes, as demonstrated by the plummeting marriage rates and the higher median age of first marriages.  Why take the risk your girlfriend will be a bad wife or a future ex-wife, when you can just break up, move on, and get another girlfriend?  The C-card lets you do that.  Don't leave home without it.

The other piece of good news is that your SM value naturally rises over time, and the value of your C-card goes up as you become more and more successful.  Again, most men have no idea that a 40 year old single man with a job and a car and a roof over his head is actually a HUGE catch, compared to the alternatives in the Puerarchy.  He might feel utterly inadequate about it, and some are quite mystified how it happens, but a middle-aged man who has conserved his C-card wisely is gold bullion to the commitment-starved women in America.

Gentlemen, be aware and mindful of your C-card status.  Don't pretend that this shit happens "naturally", that you'll propose when you know the time is right (but not necessarily the woman).  Dangle that C-card over her head until she demonstrates her true colors, and then decide whether or not to let her punch it . . . or to move on to someone with better prospects.

Friday, March 22, 2013

Breaking Beta: “Because I am afraid. And he gives me Courage.”

I looked forward to the release of Peter Jackson’s first part of The Hobbit: The Unexpected Journey with far more anticipation than most mortal men.  That’s because when I was 8 years old I pulled a dusty old hardback library edition of the book off of my elementary school library shelves at the direction of the librarian (Thank you, Mrs. Small!), and I started reading. 

I went to Middle Earth.  And I never really came back.

As much as I admire and love the breadth and majesty of The Lord of the Rings, and approve of Jackson’s brilliant adaptation, there will always be a special place in my heart for The Hobbit.  It’s the book that started me on my personal adventure in many, many ways.  So when Jackson’s movie came out, I went in with high expectations, which (I’m happy to say) were for the most part exceeded.  Loved the movie.

I work in porn, so I’m pretty partial to boobs on the worst of days.  But the plain fact of the matter is that there just weren’t any boobs in the book, The Hobbit, and the boobs that were in the movie, while of exceptional quality, were indeed a re-write.  The Hobbit just didn’t have any female characters to speak of.

That’s not because J.R.R. Tolkien was a misogynistic bastard tool of the Patriarchy, as some would suggest.  There aren’t any women in The Hobbit because, quite frankly, girls just don’t do that sort of thing.

Think about it: if you’re familiar with the story of the book/movie, then you know that it revolves around a quest . . . not just any quest, but a quest for fortune and glory with a dragon at the end.  It’s a quest to re-establish a great legacy, to re-conquer that which had been wrongfully taken, a quest to redress old wrongs and change the landscape of the world and ensure the legacy of a long and distinguished line.

And the plain fact of the matter is that groups of women just do not congregate toward dragon-slaying operations as a rule.

As has often been noted, groups of women never did really get together and build a boat just to see what was on the other side of the ocean the way men did.  They didn’t travel to distant lands to seek their fortune the way men did.  They didn’t pursue decades-old vendettas involving lost fortunes and missing legacies the way men did.  The impetus for exploration and adventure (and exploitation and fortune) are soundly male traits.  Women just take advantage of them, and are occasionally taken advantage of by them.

The criticism of the movie (and, by extension, the book) revolving around the lack of female characters isn’t just indicative of the typical knee-jerk reaction toward anything positive and all-male these days; it demonstrates the utter lack of understanding of basic differences in how men and women think, plan, and act.  At the risk of making a “sweeping generalization” (or, for those addicted to the opium of reason, an “observable fact”), going off on a quest with an axe in your hand in search of fame and fortune is traditionally and historically a “dude” thing, not a “chick” thing.  Sterling exceptions to that rule notwithstanding (they’re exceptions, remember), it is men, not women, who undertake such adventures.  Men get together and slay dragons.  Women get together and trade pants.

You can ascribe the reason for that to many things, depending on your politics: the inability of men to commit, the inability of women to agree on just how a boat should be built, the male fascination with getting-out-of-town-fast, the female desire for a comfortable night’s sleep and tasty carbohydrates, the male capacity for violence and the female dislike of the same, you name it and you can find a sure-fire genderized reason that will float positive or negative, as you see fit.

But the reason that the thirteen dwarves, one hobbit and a wizard were all men was because men, as a rule, adventure in dangerous enterprises.  Women, as a rule, do not.  It’s as simple as that.  Trying to change the gender of a dwarf or throw in an extra chick somewhere along the line would ruin the story because it is, in effect, a male story, about masculine values.  Even including Galadriel was a stretch, and while I approve of the inclusion I also feel it departed somewhat from the intended narrative feel.  Thorin & Company was a stag affair for a reason.

Of all the races Tolkien revalorized from old Northern European pagan myths, the Dwarves of Durin’s Folk were by far the most overtly masculine.  We get intriguing glimpses of their culture from the books, and it is decidedly male-oriented by nature.  Short and strong, and possessed of great flowing beards (even, as legend says, the women), Dwarves were the epitome of several key masculine virtues: ingenuity, craftsmanship, strength, courage, and indomitable will.  The Dwarves were delvers under the earth, wresting iron, silver, gold and other minerals from deep mines and forging them into artifacts of exquisite craftsmanship, from toys to weapons of war. 

They were naturally aloof, some preferring not to marry at all so devoted they were to their craft (consider them Dwarves Going Their Own Way).  Yet they were passionate, with strong ideas about kinship and family.  The entire War of the Dwarves and Goblins was over a vile, fatal insult delivered to Thorin’s grandfather.  Dwarves also epitomize some of masculinity’s less-stellar traits, from quick anger to rash behavior to intractable stubbornness to insensible greed.  Dwarves are men with the softer, feminized elements of our culture stripped away (and added to that of the stylishly-dressed Elves).  Even Dwarven art is blocky and masculine, utterly unlike the curves and arches of the home of Elrond the Half-Elven.

Complaining that The Hobbit has too many males involved is like complaining lesbian porn doesn’t have enough women.  It might be true, but it misses the point

The Hobbit is an adventure tale, a “buddy movie” in which the main character is forced out of his comfortable, civilized, feminized existence into the rough and dangerously masculine world.  Bilbo Baggins is a comfort-loving hobbit who gets all but Shanghaied from his comfy country subterranean manor home.  Indeed, their entire culture emphasizes the Beta traits of comfort-building, predictability and social propriety to extremes. Hobbits are terribly civilized and don’t see much use for adventures at all.  It takes Gandalf’s friendly boot on his ass to get Bilbo out the door and committed to the quest – but that’s what wizards do.  Wise Old Men are in charge of initiating the boy into manhood.

The ensuing quest reads like a Joseph Campbell book: Bilbo and the motley assemblage of Dwarves take a while to learn to work together.  Like any quasi-military unit, the screw-ups and inadequate leadership inevitably cause problems at first, and much of the movie involves the party getting sorted out.  Gandalf and Thorin duel for leadership, with Balin mediating, while the rest of the company finds their roles.  Bilbo is constantly underfoot or otherwise lagging behind, yet even at this early stage of the adventure (as his role in the troll episode demonstrates) his utility is clear.   Still, the ultra-masculine Dwarves are skeptical of his usefulness and chances of survival – even those most sympathetic with him.  

Despite being smaller than the smallest Dwarf, and very differently-natured, Bilbo persists on the quest often for no better reason than he committed himself.   At several points he expresses regret at leaving his comfortable Beta existence behind.  But he made a commitment, he signed a contract, he pledged his nascent masculine honor – no matter how small his contribution to the effort – to the completion of the quest.  At the end of the movie he even verbally abandons his comfort-seeking life and re-commits himself to helping the Dwarves recover their stolen home. 

The masculine themes throughout the movie are strong: not just the powerful narrative of Thorin and the Dwarves, but the struggles Gandalf faces on the White Council, in the face of his inferior superior, Saruman, are just as dramatic and just as instructive.  Most of us have been at a place where our boss was kind of an idiot, and possibly even plotting with the Evil Dark Lords behind your back.  It happens.  Gandalf does what men traditionally do: kiss just enough ass to get by, and proceed with your own plan anyway.

The story of The Hobbit is particularly timely, in Red Pill terms.  We stand now at what might be the beginning of the Revolt of the Betas, an opportunity for the meek-hearted, timid hobbits among us to cast off their waistcoats, forget their pocket handkerchiefs, and pick up swords they didn’t know they had in an effort to strive toward regaining their masculinity in a hostile wilderness of feminism and anti-male sentiment.  

Bilbo is Beta, at the beginning of the story, and the remainder of it is really about how any man finds his Alpha: in the company of other men, guided by the Wise,  a clear quest ahead, through danger and hardship, and – eventually – finding a dragon at the end.

(Notice the utter lack of princesses involved.)

The Dwarves are a mixed-bag of embodied masculine traits, from the majesty of kingly Thorin to the youthful exuberance of Fili and Kili to the family-man Gloin building a legacy, to the wisdom and experience of old Balin.  Dwalin epitomizes the battle-hardened Warrior, and Dori is dedicated to the sophisticated tastes of the finer things in life. Each of them has something to contribute to Bilbo’s education, and each of them is naturally sympathetic to the out-of-place hobbit . . . but that doesn’t keep them from doing what is necessary to temper him. 

The doubts, the teasing, the constant remarks about how different Bilbo is seems almost cruel to feminine sensibilities.  But they are vital elements to how a boy becomes a man.  You don’t gain strength by catering to sensitivity and weakness, but by challenging it and overcoming it.  The good-natured hazing the Dwarves offer Bilbo is designed to toughen him, not break him.  They want him stronger, not broken.

The Dwarves act in good faith.  Even when things look the grimmest, they do not seriously consider abandoning Bilbo.  He signed a contract.  He committed himself.  He pledged his masculine honor– what little he had – for the common goal and the common good, and even when things went bad he and his companions did not break faith.  That's an essential masculine value, and a vital lesson of manhood.  

But the most shining example of masculine themes is in Gandalf’s expository discussion with Galadriel, after the council, in which she questions the wisdom (which is a big thing for a Wizard) of including Bilbo on the Dwarves’ desperate quest. 

His answer may sound like a generic, vainglorious throw-away line for a sappy action-adventure fantasy, but under further study it becomes something more . . . something much more.  Something intrinsic to and glorious about the masculine soul.

Gandalf and the Dwarves may have needed a 14th member, a burglar, and a well-stocked host when they hired Bilbo to join them (and convinced him to go of his own accord).  The inclusion in the party seems almost an after-thought, especially to the doubtful Dwarves of Thorin & Company.  But upon reflection, Gandalf reveals that what first appears to be a dumb-ass move (including a very killable hobbit among the far-tougher Dwarves) is not just for his nimble utility and cleverness . . . it was actually designed to improve his own stewardship of the enterprise:

“Why Bilbo Baggins?  Perhaps it is because I am afraid.  And he gives me courage” is what he admits to the aloof, immortal and impeccably-manicured renegade ring-bearing Noldoran Elvenqueen.  And that sentence is telling, a roadmap to the masculine conception of duty and honor. 

No matter how doughty and dedicated the warrior, without a worthy task or precious vulnerability to protect, bravery is a shallow thing The warrior who fights for survival is honorable.  The warrior who fights for gain is bold.  The warrior who fights for others even as they fight for him, is noble.  And the warrior who can admit his fear and his dependence on others is wise.

Honorable, bold, noble and wise – these are the elements the Beta hobbits of our post-industrial Shire need, but they can’t get them online and they can’t get them from women.  Only in the company of men, guided by the wise, through hardship and adversity will they shed their fear, find their strength, and become the men their ancestors intended them to be.

This was recently brought home in my own personal life.  My oldest son is 13, nearing the cusp of manhood.  He’s at the age in which toys are fading in importance and girls are starting to be more than an annoyance.  You remember how difficult, strange, and wonderful that time was in your life.  We each seem to get some seemingly-insurmountable challenge around that age, one which forces us to take the first steps toward adult responsibility, whether we want to or not.

We’re not Christian, so we don’t do confirmation camp and such, and our Pagan equivalent is a private family matter.  But the rites of adulthood are an important if not essential element of our sacraments, and we spend a lot of time discussing and preparing for his future.  As a symbolic part of his initiation into manhood I bought him a sword. 

Not just any sword, but a replica of Bilbo’s sword (which will be named “Sting” in the next movie, if you were curious).  It’s the lower-end replica, unadorned by Elvish script on the blade, by design.  I shall have it engraved, when the time comes, with a new name and a new legend.

Why a sword?  Because for ten thousand years our ancestors acknowledged a young man’s maturity and adulthood by granting him arms for the defense of his village/tribe/family, and a sword is a defensive as well as an offensive weapon. 

But I’m not just giving it to him – he has to earn it.  As he goes through the unexpected trial the Fates have granted him, and he has to face up to adult responsibilities and the consequences of adult actions for the first time, he will – like Bilbo – discover new reservoirs of strength, tenacity, cleverness and – yes – courage within his boyish heart.  He will learn to walk away from the comfort and safety of childhood and venture into the Wilderness of adult masculinity.  He will learn the sweet masculine thrill of knowing that you are strong and you are powerful and you are wise in a hostile world.

He will learn, as he grows into his man’s body, that even at his meager age and slight build, with a sword in his hand he can take a man’s life, and that is a heady responsibility.  He will learn that his masculinity will be a burden and a blessing, a reason to be despised and a reason to be prized, a thing to be carefully cultivated like the finest strain of pipeweed and to be proud of, as if it was the most intricate jewel ever wrought.  He will be taught that the comfort and security of the Beta – while valued – lays lighter on the scale of masculine worth than his Alpha contributions: leadership, dedication, loyalty, trustworthiness, competence. 

The goal, you see, is to keep him from sliding into that Betatized state our society so favors prematurely, and instead push him into the grand adventure (“nasty disturbing uncomfortable things, adventures.  Make you late for dinner.”) ahead.  My job of ensuring his happy childhood has all but come to a close, and the just-as-important job of ushering him into manhood lies ahead.  It scares me, this responsibility.  If I screw it up, I’m not just messing up my son’s life, I’m releasing an untrained Ironwood on the unsuspecting world. 

I could just slack-off and let television and the internet raise him, as his peers’ parents seem to be doing.  But the last thing I want is for him to be a 28 year-old Bilbo in a one-bedroom apartment, his only devotion to a game console and his only adventures virtual.  He’s an Ironwood: he can make it big or screw up big, but mediocrity is not in our DNA.

I’m hopeful.  I’ve done a good job so far, else he wouldn't have made it through his recent ‘adventure’.  It doesn't really matter what it was -- he was challenged, and despite taking a hammering, he rose to it and did what needed to be done, like the man he aspires to be.

And when he arrives at that point where I can look him in the eye and see a man grown, not a boy, then and only then shall he be presented with his cadet blade (he’ll get a full-sized sword when he’s 18), it shall be inscribed and engraved (in actual Sindaran Tengwar, ‘cause I’m a nerd like that) with this legend:

“Because I am afraid.  And he gives me Courage.”

If you are a Beta dad and you're reading this, spend the next month reading The Hobbit out loud to your boys every night until you finish.  Watch the expressions on their faces.  Share in their delight and fear and surprise and adventure.  Look into their eyes, see the eager boys they are and the strong men they can become, and realize - if you haven't yet - that the only person in the world who has the responsibility for them becoming men is not your wife, your ex-wife, their teachers, their neighbors, the government, society, or any particular village . . . it's you.  Only you.  

And if that scares you . . . good.  It's a scary thing.  It should be.  Look at your sleeping son's face some night and try to imagine the unforeseen challenges he will be forced to face in his life, and understand that you alone can prepare him for them. 

But take heart, if you don't feel up to the task ahead.  If you're afraid you'll screw up, you have all the courage you need, right there in front of you.  You'll discover reserves of strength and patience that you didn't know you had while you do it.  In the process of helping your son become a man, you yourself will become a much better man.  

If that's not a good enough reason to break your Beta and go forth into the world like a conquering hero, then there isn't one.

Wednesday, March 20, 2013

Breaking Beta: The Boob Test

If there is any better demonstration that the Red Pill isn’t blanket misogyny and unreasonable expectations, it’s the HUGE number of female readers I seem to have developed.  These women are eager to hear what I have to say about the male psyche and appreciate my observations about the female psyche.  More importantly, they want something that would seem a no-brainer for most American women, but something that has been dropped on the list of feminine priorities: good, solid, dependable relationships that are sexually and emotionally fulfilling with decent, strong, masculine men who aren’t afraid of their own masculinity . . . or of femininity.

That last part is the problem.  The Betacization of the American Male is a historical fact, as is the abuse of the Betas by (often feminist-leaning) women in the SMP, not to mention the hue and cry over the lack of “good” men for American women to mate with.  Even seemingly-stable, secure, all-American marriages can and do disintegrate all the time, thanks to the chasm between the expectations and fulfillment of both genders.  My previous post, You’re Just Going Through A Stage, elicited a lot of email.  Some from women who are going through just this issue, and some from men and younger women who see it as the horror it is.

So the question arises: "if I’m married to a Perfectly Decent Beta Dude, how do I unlock the hidden Alpha beast-man-with-a-heart-of-gold I yearn for?  Realistically, that is."

And that’s a good question . . . in fact, it is one of the most pressing questions in the Manosphere.  Because the Gen Xers who were the first bitter products of divorce are hitting 40, and a lot of them didn’t get married, got married and then divorced, or are in unhappy marriages headed for divorce, and if these dudes don’t get their act together now, then more trouble is inevitable. 

So how do you . . . de-domesticate your dude?

We’re not talking total reversal, here – you don’t want to drive him to quit his job, by a Harley and hustle pool for a living or anything.  You just want some sharp edges, some excitement, some command presence, some . . . ALPHA.  You want to look at his face and see a far-off gaze as he hears the call of the wild, and then the warm grin he gets when he looks back at you and says something saucy about your boobs.  You want to see him stiffen up and prepare for action when he sees danger, not quietly drag you away by the elbow.  You want to come home from work and discover that he’s booked plane tickets to Cabo as a surprise, or that he’s cooked a five-course Chinese meal for the two of you, or he’s rented a convertible for the weekend and wants to have a picnic in another state.  You want to see him take initiative, step up, lead, command, BE A MAN, all of those wonderfully romantic, undeniably ALPHA things that make your nipples hard and your naughty parts tremble.

Only . . . he’s still just Bob.

Oh, we all know, Bob is great – actually, Bob is good.  Perfectly good . . . but not quite great.  If he was great, you wouldn’t be here, you’d be thinking naughty thoughts about Bob, but you aren’t.  Bob is your husband, and that fact alone makes him . . . boring.  And if you think he’s boring now, then just wait 10 years.  Only you won’t, maybe.  Maybe you’ll say “I’m not haaaapy” or “I don’t feel appreciated” and then dump poor ol’ Bob. 

Thing is, Bob is the way he is – uber-Beta – because that’s what you’ve taught him you want him to be.  Especially if you have children, you likely have sanded as much of his rough edges off as possible, to make him a better and more dependable dad.  You both have gotten into patterns that have calcified into habits that are turning into customs which are well on their way to being traditions . . . and they aren’t the kind of life either one of you envisioned or, perhaps, even really wanted.

Oh, it’s probably pretty good on paper, despite the struggle.  There have always been issues.  But you’ve solved them – or, at least, you (singular) have solved them, and your husband has quietly agreed with your leadership.  Because it’s more trouble to agree with you and not piss you off than to put up with a fight and no sex over something stupid, in his mind.

But now, how do you get Bob out of his well-worn place and get him to show enough Alpha so that you aren’t dreaming of exotic and muscular strangers on tropical beaches when you make love?

I’ve said it can be done, and it can.  But I’ve never said it would be easy, and it isn’t.  At least not usually.

If a woman wants to break her husband’s Beta, she has to first face some uncomfortable truths about herself, women, men, and relationships; then she has to evaluate herself and her husband objectively, without emotional context, according to masculine (not feminine) standards.  Then she has to discover a way to inspire/ignite/incite him toward his Alpha without actually leading him there, supporting him when he falters and be willing to “suffer” a little before she gets what she wants.

And what she wants, she might discover, might not be as good as what she actually gets.

Ever wonder why divorced men do so well after a divorce?  If the psychological pressure doesn’t kill him or ruin him, then a man is forced to get more Alpha as a survival and mating tool after a divorce.  His old life, the life he thought he’d been building, is gone, and in his mind he’s in his teens again, trying to prove himself and attract the eye of a pretty girl.  So he works out, learns a modicum of Game, and in this target-rich environment he doesn’t usually have to wait around long to find another woman who’s perfectly willing to accept his baggage in exchange for his renewed lust, proven ability to provide, and resurgent, re-discovered Alpha. 

If you want to get that kind of effect without a divorce, that’s going to be tricky . . . but a lot cheaper.  How do you get your husband to be the kind of man that will excite you and lead you and make you want to follow him . . . anywhere?

You get him to stop being the man he is, and become someone else.

In divorce, that’s easy: he was your husband, now he’s your ex-husband.  Poof!  Instant transformation, human soul sold separately.  But if you want him to start out as your husband and still be your husband when you’re done, then don’t change his title and position – change the man.

But “Men don’t change”, I’ve heard that a thousand times this year alone.  The fact is we do change, all the time, and some of us are capable of quite profound changes . . . if we feel inspired enough to make the effort. 

Now, of course, you’re wondering “so . . . am I just not worth the effort?  Am I not naturally inspiring enough for him?  Is it my thighs?  My belly?  My ankles?  My hair?  WHY DOES HE DO THIS TO ME?!?!” and before you know it you’ve picked a fight with the man without him having to do anything at all.  Self-esteem issues, thy name is woman.

So, to begin with, quit worrying that he isn’t attracted to you.  If you’ve clearly offered him sex and he’s eagerly accepted it three times in the last month, he’s still plenty interested.

Want to test that theory?  Go flash him your boobs and offer him an opportunity to play with them for a moment, no strings attached.  If he doesn’t take you up on it, you might have a problem.  More likely, he’s just trying not to be “too pushy” and make you feel intimidated . . . because he has no idea that you want to be a little intimidated.

And of course he feels you’re worth the effort . . . some times.  But most of the time everything is fine, so he doesn’t push it.

A new hairstyle or wardrobe or shoes isn’t going to suddenly spur him into Alphahood, although it might get you boned.  Giving him additional guidance on what he’s doing isn’t going to increase the quality and strength of your partnership, it’s going to annoy him.  But he won’t push it.  He’ll keep his mouth shut, do it your way because it’s just easier than fighting, and move on. 

If you want to change the man you have, you have some work to do. There are no guarantees it will work, but it’s almost inevitable that things will change . . . one way or another. 


Let’s begin by sketching out your husband.  Or, let’s begin by sketching out what your ideal for a husband is, and then determine how close your actual husband comes to that . . . as objectively as possible.  Try not to be too specific (“the ideal brings me flowers every Thursday, on my birthday, Valentine’s Day, and sometimes just because.  The actual got me flowers on my birthday only because his sister reminded him to.”) or too general (“my ideal has good values . . . but my actual husband looks at porn and likes to hang out in bars”).  Use the time-honored formula employed by high school girls everywhere: the Pro-Con list.

Before we move on, let’s also examine by just what you feel when you think of the word ‘husband’.  Is it a warm and tingly feeling that makes you feel safe and protected?  Or is it a sad admission that a woman can’t do it all and needs help?  When you think ‘husband’ do you think ‘boring’ or do you think ‘exciting’?  Just the word – not your actual husband.

Why?  Because a friend of mine had a great relationship . . . until she got married.  Then things went south, quick.  It wasn’t that she didn’t love him or was even not attracted to him, it was the simple fact that her mother and aunts had always said the word “husband” in a disdainful and derogatory manner, and when she heard someone refer to her boyfriend as her ‘husband’, she cringed.  She felt that just having a husband was a kind of admission of failure and inadequacy. 

So . . . stop thinking of husbands, in general, as clumsy and incompetent boobs who usually get what they deserve.  Stop thinking of them – in general – as obstacles to sensible living and challenges to good taste.  Most women in America have a very low opinion of husbands, largely because of how much they hear other women complain about theirs.  When a woman looks upon the word “husband” as a term that grants strength, protection, and pride in her union, instead of the inevitable suffix to “ex-”, then it’s amazing how much her attitude toward her husband can change.

If you aren’t familiar with the etymology of it, the term husband refers to Middle English huseband, from Old English hūsbōnda, from Old Norse hūsbōndi (hūs, "house" + bōndi, būandi, present participle of būa, "to dwell", so, etymologically, "a householder").  That is, he was the one legally and socially responsible for a family’s dwelling . . . the “head of household” designation that feminists have been so desperately attacking for years.  In our transient, post-industrial world, that merely means his name is on the lease or the mortgage – no big whup.

Only it is, or at least it was.  Before we changed homes every five years, the establishment of a permanent dwelling fit to raise children in was a major accomplishment to aspire to.  Nor was it easy, thanks to laws and customs and class and economics.  And yes, the laws did indeed prevent wives or single-women to be considered “heads” of households, except in special circumstances.

But for thousands of years the defining issue of “husband” was a man who had established a House.  He had built a home, or provided one, and was intent on raising a family, one that would ensure his survival into dotage.  That was the entire purpose of the institution of marriage in the Agricultural Age.  Your family was the ONLY “social security” anyone had, and building a strong family was a matter of survival, not just an occasion to go to bridal shows.

Being a husband had a social component to it that it currently lacks.  In the Middle Ages in England the term transformed into “Goodman”, but a husband was not merely the spouse of a wife, he was a unit in a larger social and political organization.  The investment in a marriage and a family and a House was a substantial commitment, not just to a woman but to a community.  You had a social obligation to protect and provide for your wife . . . but you also had an obligation to see that she didn’t “stir up trouble”.  The goodmen and the goodwives of a village were part of a sophisticated social network in which the responsibilities and expectations of what role a “husband” and a “wife” were well-defined, to each other and to the community.

Over-defined, if you ask feminists, who are the ones largely responsible for the denigration of both the term and the institution.  Such “gender-based roles” were barbaric and crude, designed only to keep women oppressed and silent, they say.  Removing the layers of expectations implicit in the institution of marriage may have “liberated” women, back in the 60s and 70s, but as so many women are discovering now, those “archaic gender-based roles” held more value than they thought.  Otherwise, why are they so unhappy in their marriages . . . when their horrifically-oppressed-by-the-patriarchy ancestors didn’t seem to have those problems?

That is an unfair comparison.  We don’t live in the Agricultural Age, we livein the Post-Industrial Age.  Now we get married because we’re “in love”, and children are a checkbox or a dealbreaker.  Raising a family isn’t social security, it’s a time-consuming and expensive hobby.  Plighting troth isn’t the solemn commitment it was, it’s an excuse to look at silver patterns. 

“Establishing a House” means signing a lease or mortgage, and you aren’t looking to establish a dynasty as much as making a thrifty investment.  All too often, it’s merely the largest asset to divide in the divorce, so even that small claim to dignity as a “house holder” is denied a husband. 

Modern women just don’t respect the term as a title or position – hell, they often mumble it “Hey, Alice, I wanted to introduce you to Barry!  (he’s my husband)”.  Plenty of women want to Be Married, and their ring is one of their most prized possessions.  But far less women want to Have A Husband.  Important distinction.  

In fact, the only people who seem to see husbands in a positive and respectful light these days are gay men. 

If you can re-define what the term means in your head, and shift it away from Al Bundy, Homer Simpson and Peter Griffin and more toward the traditional conception of the Head of Household.  Yeah, I want you to imagine Bob, back in the 1950s, being Head of Household.  It might make the remnants of your feminist soul boil, but back then being a solid, good provider and a Perfectly Decent Beta Dude was something to aspire to, the fulfillment of the American Dream.  I’m not saying you have to go put on an apron and make a pot roast, but start re-conceptualizing husbands, in general, as more than the accessory you get with your wedding ring. 

Now, take a cold, objective look at Bob and see where he falls short of that.  Don’t despair – I told you it would be work.  But you have to know what you’re dealing with before you can deal with it.  Just where would you like to see your husband improve his husbandly performance, and how?  Don’t go all fairy-tale – this is Real Life.  List some concrete, objective performance standards that you believe would give him a lift into the Alpha you crave in him.  If you find his taste in humor disgusting and banal, and it reduces your attraction to him, then list it.  If you hate the way he calls you “babe” all the time, list that.  In fact, list everything that reduces your attraction to him. 

What you’ll end up with will look like a wish-list for your next husband.  And in a way, it is . . . but not the way you think. 

Group your concerns by category, and if you have difficulty doing that, try really hard to break them down to their constituent pieces.  For example, if you think you’d like to see him drive something classier than his old heap, his wardrobe needs a makeover, and it would be really nice to stop dodging creditors all the time, then group all of those under FINANCIAL SECURITY ISSUES.  If you want him to really connect with you emotionally, be able to discuss his feelings, and share the deepest part of his soul with you then put those under EMOTIONAL ISSUES.  If you would like to see him buff up, lose weight, quit smoking, start eating properly, etc. list those under PHYSICAL ISSUES. 

And yes, if his dick is too small, list that.  In code.  Don’t be a bitch about it, but it is a concern.

You get the idea.  Once you have your concerns grouped like that, it’s easier to tackle them comprehensively.  Some, like financial security and physical fitness, will take some time.  Others, like “I hate his cheesy little mustache” can be quickly and easily rectified. 

But here’s the trick: you have to persuade him to deal with his deficits . . . without letting him know that’s what he’s doing.

Don’t get me wrong, if you tell a man you’re sleeping with you want X he’s going to move mountains to get you X, just because most of us are that partial to vaginas.  But if you come right out and say “I really am just not turned on by your passive demeanor and your indecisiveness, please grow some fucking backbone” all you’re going to do is plunge him into a depression, make him withdraw, and/or start a fight.  It’s insulting to hear such direct criticism from a woman, even for a Beta.  Especially for a Beta.  You have to be far more subtle than that.

It’s tricky, and you may have to use some rusty feminine wiles to do so.  It’s a long, involved process, often fraught with mistakes and false steps, but once your hubby starts to realize that Something Is Going On, then you can start to influence how he changes. 

That’s a huge process, and will require a lot more posts and probably a book, before long, but here’s a place to start.  The Boob Test.

One of the big mistakes many future ex-wives make is assuming that your husband knows what you want.  From your perspective, it seems like a no-brainer . . . but if he was seeing things from your perspective, you wouldn’t be here.  The truth is, he doesn’t pick up on more than half of what you say, and he probably is wary of taking anything you say at any particular time seriously, thanks to the feminine nature of examining an issue from many, many different sides before staking out a position. 

Women understand instinctively that another woman has to “try on” her feelings about something before she decides which one she’s firm on – but to dudes, it just looks dangerously indecisive.  Until he’s sure about what you think about something, he’s unlikely to commit because he doesn’t want to end up on the wrong side.  So he sits there with a dumb look on his face and mumbles “Idunnowhateveryouwantbaby” because he’s afraid that if he commits to one of your decisions, he will be judged and ultimately challenged, and that’s just not something he’s comfortable with.  It endangers the pussy supply and the wu of the marriage.

So make your desires clear to him without making him feel like it’s an ultimatum or judgment.  And in doing so, also lay out both your expectations of him, and the potential reward involved in a successful accomplishment.  It could go something as simple as this:

WIFE: “Hon, I’d love to go up to the lake this weekend.  Will you think about it?  If you book a room somewhere by Thursday, that would give me plenty of time to buy something special to wear for you.  Let me know what you decide.”

This was a good Red Pill way of inviting and encouraging your husband to take the initiative: you’ve spelled out your wishes, you’ve invited him to participate, you’ve given him some conditions, and you’ve outlined and hinted at the potential reward.  Now all you have to do is stand back and be amazed.  In fact, that’s part of the deal: you have to extend the invitation to lead, and then let him do it.  Or not.  It has to be his choice – all you can do is let him know what the stakes are.

If he’s smart, he’ll be having hotel sex and you’ll be having exciting interpersonal intimacy by the weekend.

Or, if Bob (or whomever) holds true to form, he’s not going to do anything.  Why?  Because you talk about stuff all the time, and he only half-listens to you anyway because most of what you say doesn’t concern him or things he’s interested in.  He may see your invitation as mere idle talk.

So . . . show him your boobs.

Seriously.  I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again.  If you want your husband to really listen and pay attention to you, remove your shirt and bra while you’re speaking.  Then repeat it.  Then ask him to repeat it back to you, until he gets it right.  He might – on purpose – fumble it a few times, just to keep staring at the unobstructed Twins, but he’ll eventually be able to repeat it back to you, verbatim. Then kiss him on the lips, let him cop a feel, and put your clothes back on, while asking, “Now, did what I just did demonstrate how important I felt it was to bring this to your attention?” and walk away before he can answer.

If you’re rolling your eyes, unconvinced that this will jar him out of his betacized lethargy because men couldn’t possibly be that . . . predictable, or if you’re snorting in disgust that I would suggest that you use your body and your sexuality to propose a perfectly normal and sensible suggestion to your husband, who should be listening to you anyway because he's your husband and he loves you, then allow me to dispel some myths about male psychology:

1)      Yes, men (most men, at least) really do react that way to the mere sight, much less physical presence, of naked boobs out of context of a shower or bathroom.  It’s banal, it’s crude, it’s unsophisticated, but it’s also a fundamental element of male sexuality in our culture.  Show us boobs and we listen.  Just ask the Lite Beer and Sports Car industries.

2)      Yes, you should be using your sexuality and your body (despite what you might think about it) to elicit interest and attention from your husband . . . because he didn’t marry you for your resume or your snappy wardrobe or your witty conversation, although any or all of those things could have contributed.  No, he married you because he wanted to fuck you – you, personally – for the rest of his life.  Period.  Kids, house, job, all that is secondary to the fact that he got hitched so that he could bump uglies with you.  A lot.  And if you are, indeed, somewhat disgusted that you would have to “demean” yourself with such an “undignified” display of your private sexuality merely to ensure your husband’s interest in a simple conversation, then you have to admit to yourself that yes, it is your pussy and not your brain he wants to spend time with most.  That doesn’t mean he doesn’t love, honor, and respect you, or that he wouldn’t take a bullet or hide a body for you.  It just means that he’d prefer to fuck you than just about anything else.  And you should make use of that fact, if you want to boot him out of Beta.
I understand that low-desire husbands do exist, and that the naked display of boobs may not be as efficacious in that case.  Still, if you aren’t the type of woman who would ever show her boobs so brazenly, just to get her husband’s attention, the consider the fact that such an act would, indeed, get his attention purely because of its novelty. If you have kept the Twins out of his hands on a regular basis, then suddenly thrusting your boobs in his face is going to be a major shock to his psyche.

And that is precisely what it is designed to do.

It’s not a pancea, but it’s a place to start.  Show him your boobs.  Don't be self-conscious -- he married those boobs, after all.  He sleeps next to them every night.  He likely knows what they look like, every hair, vein, and mole.  He will not, believe it or not, compare them to every other woman's boobs he's seen, because in Dude World the most important rack is the one that's right in front of you.  Don't think he won't go for it because "he's just not that kind of man."  Of course he is -- I know gay men who like to play with boobs.  The man who says he doesn't care for tits in his face is lying or asexual.  If I were you, I'd guess the former.  The truth is, if you gave him license to do so he'd be motorboating your girls on a daily basis.

But he’s also (if he’s Beta) so ridiculously timid and respectful about your body that the sight of your boobs in a strange and unusual context will jar him . . . hopefully toward a more Alpha response.  If you want to reinforce the point, give him three minutes to fondle you however he likes while you talk to him.  He’ll love it.  You’ll have his attention.  And you can reiterate your suggestion, invitation, and reward in a way that will stick out in his mind.

And I bet he’s a little more attentive next time you tell him you want to ask him something.  And a little more Alpha   Hell, it's a place to start . . . and if he doesn't react to your boobs, then you know you have other issues to deal with first.  But I'll lay money on a reaction, just because I'm confident that he enjoys boobs.  More than you think.  Probably more than you're comfortable with.  But his entire life he's been told to "treat women with respect" and "don't objectify their bodies" and other feminist tropes that have managed to make Perfectly Decent Beta Dudes into the indecisive, un-masculine specimens y'all are complaining about.

So show him your boobs while you talk, and see if it has any appreciable effect.  I'm guessing it will signify to his subconscious that there is a game-changing movement afoot in his marriage.  You've released your breasts for his pleasure (and attention) and that is a uniquely masculine form of empowerment.  A woman who shows you her boobs of her own free will (to the male subconscious) likes and respects you as a man (and even if she doesn't, who cares?  Free boob). That's the kind of self-reinforcing confidence-builder that can help begin to Break Beta.

Because once he gets tacit permission from you to actually, y'know, BE A DUDE (and dudes love boobs!) then he's far, far more likely to give up his gynophobic handicap and start thinking of himself not as your husband, a co-equal partner in a planned enterprise whose job it is to act as your emotional and intellectual support, but as your Husband, the man in charge of protecting and defending you, in charge of providing for his family like his ancestors before him, and in charge of giving you, his Wife, righteous boning on a regular basis without a lot of obsequious begging and pleading on his part and disgusted eye-rolling on yours.

It's not a cure-all -- and it might take more than one application.  Most women don't understand the depths of Beta to which most American men have surrendered, nor do they understand how hard it is to Break Beta -- hell, they've been threatened with social punishment their entire liveds for that.

But if you want to get your Perfectly Decent Beta Dude to Alpha Up, he has to stop being afraid of offending your delicate femininity with every word and gesture, and start acting like the Perfectly Exceptional Alpha Dude you want him to be.  Yeah, with your boobs.

And if he tries to cop a cheap feel later . . . let him.  Free boobies are one of the significant reasons he married you in the first place, and if he feels at liberty with your boobs (within reason, of course) then he will start feeling more free to take more risks . . . because your boobs have set him free.

More on this subject – probably a whole book more – is coming.