Intrinsic, extrinsic, idiosyncratic

I found an old self-comment that deserves promotion:

The ALPHA/BETA axis [Vox Day's capitalization], a.k.a. masculine/emasculated, a.k.a. attractiveness-to-women, can be broken down into three further factors: the intrinsic, the extrinsic, and the idiosyncratic.

The third factor, idiosyncratic, concerns an individual woman’s particular taste in men. It does not work in isolation, rather acting as an intensifier of attraction for which the ground work is already laid. E.g. blond hair, muscle-men.

The extrinsic factor refers to attraction generated by circumstance external to the man’s character and appearance. E.g. fame, wealth, “social proof”.

The intrinsic factor concerns the masculine virtues of the man himself. E.g. “inner game”, confidence, self-sufficiency, violent tendencies.

Fear and Self Sabotage

I made it through the first day of the Motorcycle Safety Foundation basic course, but only by the skin of my teeth, by manning up, and by acknowledging but not being influenced by the little deaths that bring total obliteration. The fear was not very bad, a collection of small whinging fears, really. But the little fears diverted me into a place I have not been for a long time, a mindset of failure and pre-emptive quitting. A self-sabotaging persona was definitely in play, and he/I almost convinced myself to bail on the riding part of the first day at the point they make you shift into 2nd, then immediately back into first gear.

There were excuses, my friends, and very good ones. I was the tallest student by at least 3 inches, and we were riding dinky little Suzuki 250cc bikes. My right foot wouldn’t fit on the peg normally without pressing the rear brake, and I had to cock the left leg out at an extreme angle to maneuver my boot around the shifter. I told one of the instructors that I had trouble managing the small footroom on the left, and he said, “Got big feet, eh? So do I,” and waved me on.

So I went on. I was by far the slowest student in the set for the first few exercises. Bike stalls. Pressing the starter button instead of the engine turnoff. Jerky throttle, weaving and wobbling. Finding neutral from first is a bitch.

There has never, in my entire life, been a time when I was the absolute worst at something I tried. Even in middle school tennis there were a guy or two below me, and I once beat the number 2 guy with a series of ridiculous aces and winners.

All I have chosen to do are activities where I excel. Sucking sucks.

Fear sucks. Self sabotage must not be allowed to exist. Do or do not. I managed the gear shifting exercises, and we moved on to the faster, funner, curvier ones. And there, my friends, I blossomed like a twenty-something divorcée finally relieved of the burden of catering to her abusive beer-swilling husband’s every whim.

I like cornering. Pushing the handlebars in the direction you want to turn and accelerating as you lean into the turn sounds wrong, but it feels so good. The instructors put me in the slow group, obviously, and boy were we slow. Speed up (in 2nd), then brake until you are about to enter the turn. Look all the way to the end of the curve; I’m serious, turn your head 90 degrees; push your bike and roll the throttle so smoothly as you careen controlled in the arc that when you roll throttle deeper you swing around and up vertical looking at the next decision you need to make, and you brake to the speed you can enter the next turn looking hard where you want to be. And the guy in front of you never accelerates on the straightaway, so you dawdle where you can, to make time and space for a rushing throttle roll and a time-narrowing brake to just the speed where this time you push a little too hard on the handlebars to see how it works.

Where I am going, I turn my head to see my path, and the fear is nothing, and I remain.

Thinking, “Faster, man, go faster!”

Stop thinking and listen

“Stop thinking and listen” has become a valuable tool in managing my wife. I use it to derail the common Female Misapprehension Cascade. Deploy this phrase as soon as it becomes apparent that a woman is mentally permuting what you are actually saying according to some undeterminable idea she had which she substituted for the first thing you said.

If you’re petty or agitated, this doesn’t work very well; you come off poorly. I usually interrupt her with some non-verbal noise, make intense eye contact, and say in a calm, strong voice, “Stop thinking … and listen.” I nailed this delivery by accident and intuition the first time.

I have found this to be an extremely effective tactic, both when my wife is capable of reasoning and when she is not. In the former case, it allows her to consciously regroup and assess the situation. Otherwise, it serves as a submission pivot.

The Greater Western Beta Co-Prosperity Sphere

Here’s a piece of confidence-judo for men who think too much and sense too little.

Imagine a sphere of influence surrounding your body, extending out at least six feet. This sphere is Your Space. It is suffused with your benevolent masculinity. Anyone physically entering into it is affected, and for the better. It is a co-prosperity sphere.

Co-prosperity spheres are not mutually incompatible. In the presence of another man with a co-prosperity sphere, yours need not shrink. Where two spheres coincide, the prosperity effect increases.

Visual Proof of How Game Restores Wives

This is a shameless piggyback off of a RoissyCitizen RenegadeHeartiste post in which the warpiggening of a feral female is graphically depicted.

When I started dating my wife, she was 18, 5′ 6″, and about 130 lbs. When we married, she was 21 and 140 lbs.

A few months after our second child, I have no idea how much she weighed, but she looked like this:

The other sufferers in the photo are members of her family.

A few weeks after our fourth child, shortly after I discovered Game and the manosphere (about one year ago), she weighed 200 lbs and looked like this:

Ten months later, she weighed 125 lbs, and looked like this:

She’s now below 115, and I have given her orders to gain a little.

There are two factors driving this transformation. One is my remasculinization. The other is between her and Odysseus. Game alone couldn’t have done this; and yet I believe it took the Game-driven changes in her husband to drive this broken woman to God.

Update: I’m fair game for photos, too. Here I am this summer, demolishing a deck:

Another update: The third factor that I forgot to mention should bring a smile to Keoni Galt: Nourishing Traditions dietary changes for the whole family.

Fire Bender Game

The juggling lie is a fail, and exposing your secret powers for some romantic lighting is fairly sappy. Otherwise, I like: “You have quite an appetite for a girl.”

She opens up for a kiss? Interrupt with a killer neg. She closes the kiss? Nuke her from orbit. It’s the only way to be sure.

Note: IP-tards killed the YouTube video. Trying somewhere else.

The invitation to emasculation

Hawaiian Libertarian responded to the Superbowl commercial that relegates men to the garage. The one with the sad litany of masculine submission. Dave writes his own litany showing what “this commercial would be like if it were based on a Man who understands what HEAD OF THE HOUSEHOLD means”:

You need to start getting up and walking the dog at 6:30am…you’re starting to look a little hefty…you wouldn’t want to turn into one of those people of walmart cows?!

You will add some fruit to my breakfast that you are cooking…but DON’T overcook the eggs.

I will shave…I will clean the sink after I shave as well as that clump of your hair out of the bathroom drain…because as the MAN, I realize that the nasty, dirty jobs are MY job around here…and while I do all the things you simply cannot bear to do, like haul the garbage, kill the rodents and insects and yes, clean hair clogs out of drains, you should be cooking me some food or washing the dishes and not complaining about how you “Do Everything Around Here!” Because you don’t.

…

You can read the rest at his post. The HEAD OF HOUSEHOLD riff is a great idea, but between it and the execution falls the shadow. The shadow of a defensive, bitter beta. I can say that because his responses sound more like me (as I used to be), and less like Dave in Hawaii.

I once was a defensive, bitter beta, but I got better. I rewrote his litany in the style of HEAD OF HOUSEHOLD I’m trying to become. Originally posted in the comments to the article, my list is just amusing enough to repost here.

I will get up and walk the dog at 6:30am.

You should walk the dog in the morning. You don’t want to end up on People of Wal-Mart.

I will eat fruit as a part of my breakfast.

Don’t forget to give me fruit in the morning. I’ve been a little constipated. Remember how I like my eggs, too.

I will shave…I will clean the sink after I shave.

Hey, don’t worry about those shower-kitties you’ve been leaving. I’m collecting them so you can make a doll for the girl.

I will be at work by 8 am…I will sit through 2 hour meetings.

Woman, I’ve got one of those two-hour meetings today. You know what that means. Yes, the sheer thingy. NO, you will not be wearing panties. Are you new here?

I will say yes when you want me to say yes.

“Yes” is for women. Let’s practice: Take off your pants.

I will be quiet when you don’t want to hear me say no.

If you don’t want to hear me say “no”, take off your clothes, or make me a sandwich. Or both. Yeah, both.

I will take your call

Why are you calling me during the day? How do you know I’m not with my mistress? Bet you never thought about that. Is anybody hurt? No? You owe me some naked. Bye.

I will listen to your opinion of my friends.

I will repeat your opinion of my friends to them, and we will share a good laugh.

I will listen to your friends opinions of my friends.

I will flirt with your friends.

I will be civil to your mother.

I will ignore your mother and make friends with your father.

I will put the seat down

I will put the seat down until you’re not expecting it.

I will separate the recycling.

Recycling is immoral. Seriously, it’s economically inefficient. You care about the poor, don’t you?

I will carry your lip balm.

Lip balm. Does it tingle? Yeah, put that on.

I will watch your vampire TV shows with you.

I’m cancelling the cable. Buy me a Blue-ray of LOST already.

I will take my socks off before getting into bed.

Wench, your cooking made me gassy. You’re going to have to clean the sheets.

I will put my underwear in the basket.

I will put my underwear in the basket from across the room, in a perfect arc, pumping my fist and slapping your ass in triumph.

And because I do this, I will drive the car, I want to drive.

When we’re driving in my Malibu, it’s easy to get right next to you.

Vox Hierarchy applied to Winnie the Pooh

Vox Day’s male social hierarchy

Alpha:

“natural self-confidence and strength of character”

Christopher Robin. He is on top of the world, not threatened by toys and woodland creatures, though if there were other boys in the stories, we would see him in competition.

Tigger is an Alpha of the carefree variety.

Beta:

“the lieutenants, the petty aristocracy”

Rabbit from the books. Rabbit knows how to get things done. He takes very good care of his friends-and-relations. He understands the hierarchy and his place in it.

Delta:

“the great majority of men”

Winnie the Pooh.

Owl, perhaps, though he has some Gamma tendencies.

Gamma:

“the obsequious ones, the posterior puckerers, the nice guys who attempt to score through white-knighting, faux-chivalry, flattery, and omnipresence”

Piglet

“Gammas who find themselves in charge almost invariably behave like petty, micromanaging dictators; Gamma male behavior is very similar to normal female behavior in a lot of ways.”

Rabbit from the Disney abominations. When he thinks he’s in power, he’s a petty tyrant.

Omega:

“the losers…. That which doesn’t kill them can make them stronger, but most never surmount the desperate need to belong caused by their social rejection. … [T]he pain of their constant rejection renders the suffering of others completely meaningless in their eyes.”

Eeyore from the books.

Sigma:

“the lone wolves”

Heffalumps. Possibly also Woozles.

Meet Hump

My friend Hump started blogging today. He asks some questions about Roissy’s Sixteen Commandments from the perspective of a Christian whose eyes are newly freed of scales.

I really appreciate and learn a lot from these insights. I have questions about some of it though:

II. Make her jealous
Flirt with other women after marriage? And what when my wife flirts with other men? I get to flirt and she doesn’t? A double standard which I don’t bother explaining because that’s the way it works? She gets to flirt and I get to learn how to respond to her flirting?

You Look Like an Angel

You look like an Angel,
Walk like an angel,
Talk like an angel,
But I got wise.
You’re the devil in disguise.
Oh, yes you are
The devil in disguise.
You fooled me with your kisses.
You cheated and you schemed.
Heaven knows how you lied to me.
You’re not the way you seemed.

I thought that I was in heaven,
But I was sure surprised.
Heaven help me, I didn’t see
The devil in your eyes.

I started using this as Katie’s ringtone a few weeks ago. Now all the kids love the song. Katie doesn’t find this as funny as I do.

Handling the female apology

I picked a fight this morning, because Katie was undercutting me with the oldest boy.

Katie was still in bed, nursing the youngest boy; Dev and I were in the master bathroom. He wants to know how to read and write, but he’s not so interested in actually doing the learning. He knows his letters and can sound out words when he applies himself, so I suggested getting a favorite book and copying out the words verbatim. Dev wasn’t really listening (a trait he gets from his mother), and so the expression of my idea became less of a sentence and more of a comic conversation.

Throughout all this, Katie kept interrupting. It bothered her whenever I stated or implied that Dev can’t read or write yet, so she struck sneaky blows in his defense by interjecting veiled corrections of what I was saying. You know how they do. I appreciate that she doesn’t want him to feel bad, and she is completely welcome to use her feminine sneak attacks on his behalf against other females. But not against me or any of my sons.

About the fourth time she corrected me, it made me angry enough to realize what was going on. She was still laying on her side, facing away from us, and I had just sat down against her legs. I brought my hand down hard on her hip, not a smack, but as if I were steadying something on a storm-tossed ship. Firmly holding her hip, I said, “Do. Not. Do. That. Stop criticizing and correcting what I say.”

“That’s not what–I only wanted–I was trying to add to the discussion.”

“What you did instead was subtract from it.” I paused a moment, then said, “Dev, think about a short book you like. Maybe one of the library books. What would it look like if you were copying the words from it?” Dev looked thoughtful, then scampered off to the living room.

Katie waited until he was gone, then said in a shaky voice, “I truly was not doing what you said. I was just trying to be part of the conversation and–”

I cut her off: “No. You are rewriting your personal history now.” Walked away.

Katie closed the bedroom door at some point after that, but I’m not really sure when, so I know she didn’t slam it. That was the first good sign. The ambulatory children and I had a few of our usual adventures and disputes over the next half hour, and then Katie came out quietly. I can’t see the bedroom from the kitchen, but I could hear her walking softly over. When I turned around, she looked at me seriously and made the Want a Kiss body language. I took a step closer, but made her go up on tiptoes to kiss me.

After the kiss, she met my eyes and in a soft, but determined voice said, “You were right, and I was wrong.”

I leaned back and studied her face for a moment. Then I gave her another kiss and said, “You’re pretty.”

Jilted

The story that follows was sent to me by a man I’ve known for twenty five years. A smart guy, but socially inept, he was a lesser beta, borderline omega in high school. He dropped out of college and into an extreme state of omega, effectively checking out from society. After several years of severe emotional decline, he hit some sort of bottom and decided to change. He moved back in with his parents for a short time, stabilized, then moved to the city where I live.

He wanted above all things to find some woman who would love him. Didn’t really matter who at that point: Willing Female, please respond. He started his re-socialization from pretty near the bottom; needing to relearn table manners, grooming, buy presentable clothing. This was about five years ago. It took a long time to acclimate to human society again, but his progress has been accelerating over the last two years.

One year ago, my friend met a woman. She was just under thirty, had never dated, and was probably resigning herself to being a spinster. They dated for six months, then became engaged to be married. My friend probably ranked as a lesser beta by this time. Definite case of one-itis, but I would hardly expect more under these circumstances.

Last week, the woman abruptly dumped my friend. We spoke briefly about it. I gave spine-stiffening advice that I did not expect him to take.

But yesterday he sent me this email. I am relieved and proud of him, and I think you will be, too.

---

Say you met a woman. Someone special. You dated for over a year. She lives in another city, and you drove there to see her. You proposed. She said yes. You bought her the stone she wanted and put it in the ring she wanted. You planned the wedding and the honeymoon she wanted. You went to pre-marital counseling with your preacher. You looked for a house. You registered for kitchen and bedroom things. You accepted gifts at wedding showers.

A month before the wedding you quit your job and left your home and friends to go live and work in the same town as Her. You start your new job, and it’s a big change, but it’s all worth it because you actually get to eat lunch and dinner every day with the woman you love, the woman you will marry.

Saturday morning, three weeks before the wedding, she calls you from your driveway. She wants you to come outside and listen to something she has to say. She dumps you. The wedding is off. The engagement is off. She doesn’t know if she ever wants to see you again. She needs time to think. Her mother is driving here from another state to pick her up and take her home. She doesn’t know if she’s coming back.

I was barefoot. The concrete was cold. At least she did it in person.

Saturday morning:
Be a pussy. Apologize. Who cares what I’m apologizing for, just apologize for everything. Quick! Write a sweet letter, buy flowers, and get them to her before she leaves. I may just have a chance at strumming that special heart string.

Being a pussy doesn’t work. It just makes things harder.

More Saturday:
Cry a little. Just a little. Not too much now! The final verdict hasn’t been delivered. Maybe she’ll have a change of heart. Maybe if I’m really good and pray really hard I won’t have to deal with the break up, so why get emotional prematurely?

Sunday:
Anxiety. It’s not working! Make it work God! Make it work faster!

Later Sunday:
I’ve got a lot of energy. I feel like whacking a baseball in the batting cages. After a couple dozen pitches I’m drained, but I feel loosened up and at ease.

Even Later Sunday:
What will become of me? Our dreams were so wonderful. The times we had together were so sweet. The aquarium, canoeing, shopping, cooking, eating together! How will I ever do any of these things again? They were so much more fun with Her.

I’m sitting in my car on a deserted road in the dark. The flood gates open and I cry so powerfully that I start laughing. When you tear down beautiful dreams to make room for new ones, something terrible and wonderful happens.

The beautiful dreams came crashing down like a house of cards. The infrastructure of hope in my life, built around Her, collapsed, and in its place I found a plot of clean earth, a land of opportunity.

Monday:
Apologizing for what? I was seriously planning to drive out of state to where she’s hiding out and beg for a chance to plead for her to come back. What was I thinking? She needs time to think? I should cower in fear and await judgment?

No more crying. No more apologizing. No more being a little, sniveling, wishing-She-would-please-come back, weakling crybaby.

Monday evening:
Best day at my new job so far.
Best day in this town so far.
I can’t wait for tomorrow.

Waiting? I’m not waiting for anything.