Wednesday, May 22, 2013

Red Pill Marriage: When "Make Me A Sammich!" Means "I Love You!"

We've all witnessed the unfathomable power of the Divine manifest in the Midwest this week (take your pick as to blame Jehovah, Thor, or Zeus, and there's always the possibility it was a collaborative effort) in the form of freaking massive F4 and F5 tornadoes, and the devastation and death they left in their wake.  Of course it was inevitable that someone in the Manosphere would be affected, and sure enough, my pal LadySadie, over at motivationalhierarchy, had a close brush with the full fury of Nature.

Luckily, it was a near-miss -- unluckily, a "near-miss" in tornado language is the equivalent of weathering an entire hurricane . . . in ten minutes.  That means tons of clean-up, debris removal, and repair.  How much?  Take a look at her site for a lovely pictorial review of the fun.

Now, this wasn't intended to be an attempt to inspire sympathy and assistance for LadySadie -- she's got matters under control.  As a matter of fact, she's aggressively against being a victim, even of Nature.  What really inspired me to write this post was her recognition of some key elements of the importance of gender roles, especially in a time of crisis.

The disaster sparked the usual rural-Midwest community effort of neighbor helping neighbor restore and repair (the Southern version looks very similar, except with more Sweet Tea and biscuits), and LadySadie's beau had a crew of friends and neighbors descend on the damaged farm to help with the monumental task.  This isn't raking leaves -- this is the safe dismantling of twisted metal and splintered wood, using power tools, saws-alls, chainsaws, axes, hammers . . . basically stuff most Vassar grads are unfamiliar with.  It requires teamwork, coordination, skill, competence, and clear hierarchy to get the job done.

That means Men.

Now, LadySadie is no wisp of silk and fluff, she's no fainting flower, and if left to her own devices I have every confidence in her ability to handle her business in a crisis better than the average dude, easily.  Indeed, the desire to actively assist in the work must have been overwhelming.  Moms hate a dirty room, and when the whole farm is dirty, well . . .

In any case, LadySadie is in a solid Red Pill relationship, and she's very aware of such things as the importance of the division of labor in a time of crisis.  So when the Menfolk showed up in trucks with implements of destruction and a determination to remove every scrap of debris in sight, she didn't grab a chainsaw and try to join them . . .

. . . she went into the kitchen with her daughters and made sandwiches.

Now, while the few feminists who happen across this blog recover from your head exploding, Lady Sadie is not a mindless little domestic drone.  As she tells me herself,

I found it fascinating to watch the work take place, and the efficiency of the whole operation was just short of breathtaking.  There wasn't any reason for me to by in the way, and while I can use a chainsaw and a saws-all, I am far more effective at being the care-taker.  Now that the major debris is removed and [the Beau] is back at work, I can go with my girls and rake the splinters, pick up glass and nails and replant the garden where it was damaged. 

She's highly competent, and highly capable.  And she's so intelligent that she recognizes when female interference in a masculine endeavor is counter-productive to the goal.  Sure, she wanted to help.  But she's been around farms, around men, all her life, and she knows how men work.

And men work best when there are no women around.  Further, Men work best when there's no women around . . . until lunchtime.

That sounds trite and misogynistic, but the Red Pill observable fact of the matter is that when men self-organize to do a job of work, they typically assume a highly-efficient hierarchy based on experience and competence, reduce communication to a casual banter designed to advance the work, and default to the "dudes-crudely-bullshitting-while-they-work" mode designed to increase strength-building testosterone and reduce thought-provoking estrogens.  The presence of even one female in such a group can and usually does disrupt this vital element of masculine culture.

Sometimes you can "overlook" a woman, ignoring her presence to the point where you almost forget she's there - if she's quiet.  But even then the feminine presence can be felt by the group, and while they might approach the male-only level of efficiency, even having a woman watch them slows men down.  If a woman is talking to them, no matter how efficient they might appear they have actually slowed down their work.  If a woman is attempting to help them, unless they have worked in that capacity before and she knows her shit about tools and tool safety, and how to work in a male-oriented work party, then the efficiency is broken along with the concentration on work.

There's a reason that the meme of construction workers whistling at passing women is a part of our culture . . . and has been since the Pyramids were built.  When men are involved in a male-only, masculine exercise like construction, demolition, defense, or hacking code, then they revert to the base-level of masculine culture in an effort to find common language and streamline efficiency.  As such, group objectification of passing women not only encourages genuine bonding among the men (sorry, ladies, we're really just that way), it also allows a brief emotional break from the intensity and focus of the work . . . and a natural point at which to resume.

That seems like a minor thing, but taking that away from men (as feminists want to do in pursuit of a "non-sexist" world) would be the functional equivalent of allowing women to work together without being able to discuss their relationships with each other.  No, really.

Instead of trying to "help", LadySadie and her daughters went inside and prepared food and other refreshments for the Menfolk.  And they stayed the hell out of their way.  That wasn't a humiliating demotion to domesticity on her part, it was a conscious and appropriate decision to contribute to the effort in the most powerful way she could: by supporting the existing masculine organizational structure both materially (food) and emotionally (Caritas-lite, Cheerleader variety).

As LadySadie related to me in a private email,

I don't know exactly how to state this, but there seemed to be a big boost of respect for [the Beau] from the other men because I was there doing the meals and staying quiet and out of the way. 
The respect that LadySadie detects is genuine, and it's not because her Beau is adept at keeping his woman quiet and in the kitchen.  The respect is the honest tribute due a man who has managed to build a relationship strong enough with a woman so that she respects HIS need to handle his manly business, with the implied reciprocal agreement that he respects HER need to handle her womanly business.  They aren't giving him respect because he's being oppressive, they are paying him respect out of admiration for his ability to build a sturdy House.

If the issue was stuffing envelopes or making signs for an event -- social organization and promotion being usually more in the feminine realm than the masculine -- then those same men will further pay the Beau respect when he has to bow out of boy's night because "LadySadie needs my help to get ready for the parade tonight."  They won't rag on him one bit: he has established his mature masculine credibility by demonstrating the strength of his relationship in public.  After that, when your woman requires your aid, not providing it at need is going to get you a lot more crap from your friends than handling your relationship business.

Most women in the post-feminist era are scornful of such gestures, seeing them as an inherently demeaning assumption of traditional gender roles.  The first time a young Mrs. Ironwood asked Papa Ironwood what she could do to help work on her car, she almost had a fit when he told her calmly, "Just stand there, be quiet and look pretty."  But she learned quickly enough.

LadySadie, being wise and understanding of the Red Pill, knew that the visible support of women for men while they are working adds both incentive and validation of their effort.  Men thrive on female gratitude for honest, hard work done on their behalf.  Indeed, if it is lacking in quantity . . . then so will the man in question be.

LadySadie points out that while she and her girls were being helpful and supportive, a couple of the men who had graciously donated their time, tools, talents, and trucks to help were repeatedly harassed by text or phone by their wives.  Each text or call doubtlessly slowed down the effort.  When men are working, we like to WORK, without interruption or distraction.

As annoying as the telebitching was, I've personally experienced even worse female forays into the masculine realm in the wake of a disaster.  I live in Hurricane Alley.  I'm the veteran of over fifteen major storms, including rockstars like Fran, Bertha, Andrew, and Floyd.  When shit has fallen out of the sky all over the place, a Man with a Chainsaw and a Truck is suddenly the most important man in town.  

The amusing thing about post-disaster cleanup in my town is the number of "strong, independent" women who are "perfectly capable" of doing "anything a man can do".  When the feces hit the fan, these women tend to divide into two rough groups: the larger "Oh, God, why isn't anyone helping me?" victim group whose answer to the crisis is to try to call a commercial tree-removal service and then complain bitterly when they can't get out there in a timely fashion, and the "I can handle this myself!" group.  In most cases, they demonstrably cannot.

(I'm not talking about lesbians here, for the most part.  My town has a HUGE number of lesbians, I'm proud to say.  The vast majority aren't man-hating feminazis or radfem Third Wavers, most are just women trying to live a normal life in a safe place . . . and my gods, the power tools . . .   The lesbians I've worked with and had as neighbors have generally been broad exceptions to this rule, and most are knowledgeable enough of masculine modes of work that they can blend almost seamlessly in a job.  I love lesbians.)

The objectionable women are the heterosexual dominants, usually divorced or married to Beta/Gamma schlubs, who feel that "if a man can do it, I can too" . . . and then they actually try, with little or no idea of what they are doing.  I saw this repeatedly after Fran.  I saw one woman rant, outraged, at the local Lowe's store because they hadn't stocked enough chainsaws, and actually insist on talking to a manager and filing a complaint with Corporate (which had also been hit by the storm) . . . on a store without power, without a roof, and which had graciously decided to open up in the parking lot to help with the crisis.

I watched another (sorry, Yankee) woman I knew dealt with her frustration of having a 150 year old pinoak tree neatly bisect her garage and her minivan during Fran by screaming first at the insurance adjuster, then at her husband, over why they couldn't "just call someone to deal with it!".  They tried to explain that the destruction was so wide-spread that there was literally no one available to answer a phone in any shop because everyone was already out in the field, and the phone lines and power was down.  She said that was ridiculous - it was business hours, wasn't it?  Her entire attitude was that it was up to the rest of the world to fix her problem, and that she was inherently entitled to action on her behalf, regardless of the situation.

The adjuster fled -- the husband should have.  She had steadfastly intervened in his developing any close friendships with other guys over the years, instead inflicting her own circle of divorced harpies and bitter, unmarried girlfriends on him.  When she angrily demanded that he "call some friends to help", he had to admit - in front of me and a couple of other neighbors - that he didn't have any dudes he could call.

Don't look at me.  I had shit to do myself, and there was no way I was getting in the way of that woman.

This is the funny part.  In the end, the woman decided that she could handle the tree herself, because "none of you damn men are competent enough to do it!".  After hacking her way through the branches to the minivan door, she got the car successfully started.  The tree was suspended between the back of the crushed van and the garage, so she felt she didn't even need to secure it, since it was "attached naturally".  Several of us tried to talk us out of it, but she dismissed us all as being both incompetent and attempting to undermine her "independence" as a woman.

So we watched with a mixture of amusement and horror as she drove the minivan forward twenty feet, pulled the pinoak canopy off of the garage . . . and caused the deadfall suspended within to take out her kitchen and about half of her dining room.  Insurance didn't cover it, of course -- it happened after the adjuster she'd just pissed off had left, and she caused it.  Because she was strong, independent, and didn't need a man's help.

If there is justice in the universe, that dude has gotten divorced by now.

She wasn't alone.  Single moms and corporate spinsters are virtually helpless in the aftermath of disaster, dependent on menfolk for aid and assistance.  All they can do, it seems, is beg, cry in frustration, and complain bitterly about the unfairness of things.  The manual labor and tool-using ability they sneer at during good times suddenly becomes vital, but they have a hard time attracting it.  Those who disparage men and masculinity during good times cannot expect to be subject to their masculine grace in bad times.  Those who discourage masculine pursuits and solid male relationships in their husbands' lives have no right to expect their "males" to sudden become Men, just because the power is out and the roof is leaking.  

Men built this civilization.  Men can wreck it.  And only Men can rebuild it.

Over and over again our modern world has shown how fragile it is in the face of such disaster, or terrorist attack, or random force of chaos.  The sophisticated post-industrial civilization that allows women the luxury of feminism can be wiped away in moments, especially in an era of festering police wars and global climate change.  How many feminists were running toward the Twin Towers on 9-11 when they were burning and collapsing, and how many were running away?  How many former Boy Scouts were running toward them . . . and how many were running away?

We're all one meteor away from a paleolithic existence or worse -- and that's an inevitability, not a possibility.  When the sky gods war or the earth goddess dances, when the human curse of zealotry or simple stupidity lays waste to our delicate civilization, it takes Men, doing Manly things, to bring us back from the edge of barbarism.  Despite all the hoopla about the "civilizing" force of femininity, we'd all be holding our book clubs in mud huts, if women were in charge of building Civilization.

Gender roles are important at such times.  When men are willing to toil and labor for the common good, they don't do it for money.  Beyond their inherent altruism and civic spirit, they do it for the respect and honor they get from their male peers, and the affirmation and admiration they get from the women in their lives.  If your dude has been out tearing apart the twisted remains of a barn in your yard, ladies, don't offer to "help".  Instead, smile, ask if there's anything he needs, thank him and his buds for what a good job they're doing, and get the hell out of there.

And if he calls to you, "Hey, Babe, how 'bout fixin' me a sammich?", I can assure you that that's his way of saying "I love you, thank you, I aim to do you proud."  He just doesn't want to say that in front of his dudes.  It will break their workflow.  He'll tell you later, when you're alone . . . and you can really thank him for his herculean efforts properly.

A man at work is always a hero in his own mind, and a Red Pill woman can impel him to even greater heights of heroism and dedication just by expressing gratitude, respect, and appreciation in a way he understands.  You can criticize his efforts, or you can inspire him to go fight dragons on your behalf.

And hell.  What woman could ask for more than that?


  1. (And of course not thanking him properly later is a common reason to have no one, still later, to thank.)

  2. You did a wonderful job of summarizing the situation, Thanks a Bunch! I always appreciate you insight, and I am now even more grateful knowing I am nothing like the woman who pissed off the adjuster and apparently isn't able to understand basic laws of physics. Yikes!!!

    Perhaps we will draw the ire of shrieking feminists, but I sincerely appreciate the support that you have shown during this mini-ordeal.

  3. I will never forget the two weeks I spent in my IL's kitchen cooking for 15ish people while they re-did the siding on DH's grandma's house. None of the other women were caretakers, and to this day, I'm well loved by people I barely know.

    I don't do tools, but give me a chef's knife and get out of my way.

    My primary job when DH is working around the house is to make some sweet tea and bring it to him. Yes, I help... but that's not my big job. My big job is breakfast before, dinner after, and making sure he stays hydrated during. We both know I can't work half as hard or as fast as he can - but I can enable him to get more done, and to feel a lot better the day after.

    Looking cute while I help? Bonus. ;)
    Preach it, Ian. :)

  4. "Those who disparage men and masculinity during good times cannot expect to be subject to their masculine grace in bad times."

    Money quote. Tattoo this statement to every beta out there.

  5. Oh my holy fuck. You are such an ass.

    1. Wow. As eloquent as you are expository. Why, exactly, do you think I'm an ass?

    2. The ass - also "donkey" - is a creature of notable traits. Though notorious for stubbornness, science suggests it's actually due to a strong sense of self-preservation, far stronger than that of horses who, while capable of belligerence, do not appear to have the same level of independent thought. They are quite difficult to coerce or frighten into doing something they perceive as bad for them. According to Wikipedia, "Although formal studies of their behaviour and cognition are rather limited, donkeys appear to be quite intelligent, cautious, friendly, playful, and eager to learn." Once familiarity is gained, they become dependable and companionable workmates.

      The voice of an ass carries a great distance, kilometers in fact, and is important in maintaining contact with others of its kind throughout the lonely deserts they often inhabit.

      A jack (male donkey) can be mated with a filly, producing highly valued offspring. I would like to point out that Jack is a familiar version of John, and Ian is the Gaelic version of same.

      As Dogberry said, "Dost thou not suspect my place? Dost thou not suspect my years? O that he were here to write me down an ass. But masters, remember that I am an ass: though it be not written down, yet forget not that I am an ass."

  6. Editing nit-pick: "if she's quite" should be "if she's quiet"

    I love these kind of "men built civilization" blog posts. It helps me get a handle on what I need to be imparting to my son as he matures into a man.

    I believe you coined a new word: "telebitching". I think I shall steal that.

    1. Thanks, fixed.

      Just wait to you see what I've got to say about the military.

    2. Ian,

      Okay, that answers my question. I was looking for the obviously relevant tie-in to the current push to feminize the military, which has been a bastion of traditional masculinity.

      I look forward to what you have to say about that.

  7. "we'd all be holding our book clubs in mud huts, if women were in charge of building Civilization"

    What books? Men created language and writing.

    1. And even then, the books would all be about cosmetics or celebrity gossip.

  8. You said you are are "manly" about 18 times.

    IMO, a real man can be "manly" even making sandwiches.

    Other guys can only be manly when they are handling a chainsaw and insisting women belong in the kitchen. All those requirements must be satisfied for his "manliness" to come out. And if you don't thank him, he is so hurt he won't be manly again later on.

    I think I am quite manly making sandwiches or using a chainsaw! And I do things because they need doing, not because I am hoping for thanks from a woman.

    1. Friend, I applaud you. You're a good person for standing up to Mr. Ironwood. But trust me, he needs handling with silk gloves if he's gonna change his ways (or at least modify them). Fair play to you, though, and I congratulate you on not sticking that tiresome dismissal, "TL;DR" on his book-length reply.

  9. Hell, so can I. In fact, I can do a better sandwich than you any day of the week, and sprout hair on my chest while I'm doing it.

    That isn't the point. In fact, you are missing the point.

    You are Blue Pilling it, pointing out the fact that particular skillsets are the defining characteristic of this exercise. In fact, I made the point that it isn't about the skillset -- LadySadie can use any tool the guys were using, and kick your ass twice on Sundays . . . in a stylish vintage apron. But that's not the point.

    The point is, the important part of the "manliness" here isn't tool use. It's effective social organization. The men's masculinity isn't predicated on "keeping women in the kitchen", it's predicated on their ability to organize and execute a task with minimum distraction and diffusion of efforts. LadySadie was wise enough to realize that, and saw a more effective use of her time, and that of her girls, was to stay out of their way and support the men who were doing the cutting and heavy lifting. That's intelligent, cogent use of her abilities. Just because you have a skillset doesn't imply that you are mandated to use that skillset.

    Your attempt to cast aspersions on the "manliness" of others in this situation is quite revealing. You're so sold on the idea that everyone in the Manosphere is a knuckle-dragging slope-browed redneck that you can't bring yourself to admit that there is a tremendous amount of thoughtful, well-informed discussion on such subjects, and that (gasp!) we might be right about some stuff. In this case, the men were not doing the work in order to earn or hope for "thanks" from a woman . . . that's a Gamma thing. These guys were high Betas and Alphas, Getting Shit Done. The women in question thanked them because they were genuinely gracious and appreciative and (hold on to your fanny pack) respectful of the men who had labored on their behalf. The chose to show this gratitude in part by feeding them . . . and you want to cast aspersions on their manhood because they did a damn job the right way, and a woman was wise enough to recognize how best she could help?

    You want to demean and degrade your fellow men when they try to be masculine, likely because you have your own insecurities about your own masculinity.

    I get that. A lot of Blue Pillers start out like that, confused Deltas or Gammas starting to doubt the inherent purity and goodness of all things with a vagina. The fact you bothered to comment at all is a start. You know, once you start thinking about things - like how your automatic response is to take a thoughtless, knee-jerk feminist perspective instead of recognizing the important point: Men and women self-organize differently, and those organizations are more effective for some endeavors than others.

    And if you have to think you are manly because of what you do with bread or a tree, you've got a lot of work to do. You are manly because you have established yourself as a Man . . . and therefore everything you do is manly. It has shit to do with your job choice or your preference for sports or even your sexual preference. It has to do with self-respect, respecting others, honor, strength, and competence. If you gotta crow about how gosh darn manly you look while you're layering arugula and smoked gouda over your foccacia . . . you need to rethink your priorities.

  10. Okay, okay, I'm gonna raise my teenie eenie hands in the air and say it: I didn't read the whole article through. You know me, Mr. Ironwood-I'm a female. Deadlier of the species and so on and so forth. And I couldn't concentrate on the whole thing when a film kept on playing in my head, showing me at forty, sweating like a pig in a kitchen filled with screaming toddlers, making sandwich after Goddamn sandwich as my husband swaggers around the front garden being important and admired by all. So you needn't take this entirely too seriously, but still:

    Doesn't your scenario sound like a perfect meld of two kinds of people? The man who thinks that whining for constant snacks like a muscular infant is a great substitute for "I love you", and the woman who has the Freudian instinct to understand him-it's a match made in a certain kind of heaven, I'll give you that. But consider the same man-toddler paired with a lady who had hopes and dreams before she met him, and who still retains a small vestige of free will, a lady who doesn't make his sandwich EXACTLY how he likes it....

    Ugh, I'm getting all alarmist again. Ah, feck this all to hell-say what you want to this, Mr. Ironwood. You wrote a bad article that does nothing but tell us how you can't make your own lunch. Big deal. We all have off days. I'll let you go now, but in future, my advice is to quit pandering to your audience (which is far less intelligent than you).

    1. Hardly. If your approach to domesticity is based on receiving validation for your sandwich-making abilities, of course you are going to fail to appreciate the deeper message here.

      And of course Mrs. Ironwood doesn't make me sandwiches. I make my own. She couldn't cook her way out of a refugee camp. More here:

    2. No, no, no-I don't want "validation" for my sandwich-making "abilities". I hate the things (however, I'll not object to a toastie). What I'm saying is that I don't see a future in which I, or my peers, are expe ted to quietly retire to the kitchen when the going gets tough. A wise man once said, "The desire to be Batman is not gender-specific." Allow me to put it another way: who wants to be Alfred? Sure, he sounds good enough on paper. He, I don't know, helps Batman tie his Bat-shoelaces or something. But at the end of the day, all anyone wants is to defeat the Joker and melt back into the night. See, men and women all over the world-including me-want to be the Alpha-smart, strong, the kind of person a paedophile cowers before (see your Taking Out The Trash post). And it's sad that you think that only men can do that, leaving their dames to trot along behind them toting platefuls of sandwiches.

    3. It's not that men are on the ones capable of doing that. It's that men are less-attracted to women who don't need them. You can be Batman, but why would I want to marry Batman when I'm already Batman? Your unwillingness to act as a support for your man when the need is high, and eagerness to instead attempt to gain control of the situation yourself (therefore taking it out of - possibly incompetent - male hands) makes you a worthy competitor - but is that what he needs?

      I'm not trying to diminish the accomplishments of women, here, and Mrs. Ironwood is highly accomplished and has achieved nearly all the success she can in her chosen field - but that's not why I value her. Yes, she can be Batman when she needs to be, but she understands that my need to "be Batman" is fundamental to my being. I'm committed to my role. Whether or not she is supportive of me in that is far, far more important to the health of a good marriage than her ability to "be Batman" herself.

      It all depends on what you hold as your priority: your need to "be Batman" or your need to contribute to the stability and longevity of your relationship and your family. If the allure of the cowl is too irresistible, then spare everyone the heartache and stay single.

      The idea isn't to condemn women who are able to achieve. It's to keep that achievement and that drive in perspective, understanding it in the context of the complexity of how a cishet LTR actually works.

  11. Some nice thoughts about gender roles but fugg you for mocking religion you preening, pseudo-intellectual, Hitchens-Dawkins parroting, basement dwelling, neck bearded douche.

    1. I'm not mocking religion. I'm mocking Christianity. Subtle difference. I'm pretty devout, myself. Just not Christian.

  12. This is an absolutely brilliant summary of the differences in men and women, of their respective abilities in a survival situation, and of men's need to work without interruptions, even interruptions we might welcome. I for instance would love to be 'interrupted' halfway through my workday by my spouse coming to my place, but I wouldn't get much of any work done. The best way for her and 90% of women to truly help their men is in the support roles they are best suited for. This also goes when emotional understanding is more needed, such as when a small child NEEDS his mommy because daddy literally isn't wired as well for feelings, but that's a whole 'nother discussion.

    Little relevant anecdote: a decade back my homecity was ravaged by a windstorm with speeds that equaled low-grade hurricane the Midwest. I happened to be home alone, and it took me an entire day sawing a 2-foot-thick tree limb off the roof with a hacksaw blade before it snapped the telephone line and left me without communications. (cell towers and internet were down due to massive power outages). Every minute I was thankful for being a strong young man.

    And you know what I worried about the minute the storm was over and I'd determined the house was miraculously undamaged? That the women in my neighborhood were in HUGE danger because their husbands were at work. (at the time i was in high school) If something serious had happened they were physically unable to help themselves or their children. I also thanked Providence that my sister hadn't stayed home because I didn't have to worry about her being hurt.

    And once the tree limb was off, I went knocking on doors down the street. Again, not having to worry about my sister, I was able to do a far better job helping.

    Really got me to thinking about the reality of things once the emergency was over.


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