My high school was full of fundamentalist prudes and stuck up rich chicks. The prettier they were, the worse the attitude. Some girls – including pretty ones – had pleasant personalities, but generally they didn’t stay single very long. As a nerd with lousy game, my social life was doomed. I practically counted the days like a prisoner until graduation.
Horrifyingly, the college social scene wasn’t much different. The Princess Complex was just the same. The rigid high school cliques were out, but status consciousness (read: gold diggers) were in. Politics was a new element; the predominant ideological climate would have made Comrade Gorbachev seem like a Republican. Propaganda surrounded us: posters littered everywhere, classrooms (indoctrination included even in my grammar class), and of course the fishwrap masquerading as a student newspaper where future cogs in the mainstream media machine were honing their skills at brainwashing the public. Distressingly, I noticed others changing their beliefs to fit their surroundings; many people just “go with the flow” rather than think for themselves. Some of the students saw through it; one of my old friends lamented, “I’ll get an F on this paper if I don’t lie.” I was already politically Red Pill, pretty outspoken about my views, and pissing off many people.
Although Social Justice Warriors seem like a new phenomenon, actually they’ve been around for a good while; we just have a new name for it. Back in the mid-1980s, there were already quite a few stormtroopers of political correctness on campus. One was a former roommate who majored in marijuana, lowered his IQ tremendously, and eventually flunked out, though all that’s another story. Another SJW almost became my girlfriend. Let’s call her Lenina.
I met her on a campus commons, as she staffed one of many tables for propaganda distribution. Lenina was chubby (though not too far from today’s average), but extra weight isn’t a problem for me, up to a certain point. She had an enigmatic face, intense eyes, and clear skin – pretty cute overall, the way I see it. On the down side, half of her luxuriant hair was shaved off – even before the Skrillex cut was “in” amongst this crowd – along with green highlights. The stuck-up attitudes I had encountered from junior high onward were a complete turn-off, and as a result, I became quite open to “alternative aesthetics”. (In fact, whenever I take a butch lesbian to bed and give her the best sex of her life, I’m serving as an ambassador for the reconciliation our society so desperately needs.) I’ve dated conventionally beautiful women too, but not until much later. But, I digress.
So despite my lack of game, I got a Number Close from an archetypal green-haired feminist, one who wanted to burn down our civilization. Must be love, right? I don’t pick my friends or mates by ideology, even if they believe in perfectly silly things. In fact, the only girlfriend 100% on my political wavelength is one of my current ones (one of the conventionally beautiful ones). As it happens, Lenina was an anarchist. Personally, I think anarchy is unworkable and thus rather silly. There’s a place for government in society – most preferably responsible or at least limited – and vacuums of power don’t last long. In practice, Lenina was basically extreme left, anti-everything, into radical anything, and indistinguishable to me from the many campus Communists. David Duke’s autobiography had a scathing anecdote about her – yes, that one… Such lack of good taste on her part usually would be a disqualifier. Somehow I let past indiscretions slide, though she had a pretty good idea of what I felt about it.
Anyway, I saw Lenina quite a bit after that. Before too long, I clued her in that our views were very different. Given her radicalism, that was basically like telling the Pope that the Beatles really are bigger than Jesus. Surprisingly, she didn’t tell me to go to hell. Later on, I made a witty comment about the significance of her haircut, referencing Tacitus on the subject. Eventually, the sexual tension began to sizzle. I wondered if the attraction was only on my part, or if she felt the same way about me – we’ve all been there, right?
One day I got brave and hinted that I thought she liked me. That didn’t go so well; I got the standard “Men are all pigs!” lecture. After that, I figured I was in the Friend Zone, though I didn’t have a name for this earthly version of Purgatory back then. We still hung out for a long time after that – I did enjoy her company for its sake alone – but I made no further attempts to escalate. One day she moved away, out of the blue.
By that time, my personal drought had broken after discovering cougars. Fast forward several years. I found Lenina on social media, pretty much accidentally via a common friend. All’s well in her world. Then she dropped off the radar. Fast forward several years and several relationships.
Finally, Lenina contacted me again. She was a little mellower, hair more normal. She revealed that in college, she had intensely desired me. Well, knock me over with a feather… She never told me why she flipped out earlier if she liked me so much, but surely radical feminist indoctrination caused a knee-jerk reaction. Anyway, so we decided to make up for lots of lost time later. Unfortunately, she went ghost once again.
Politics makes for strange bedfellows (or almost, in my case). I’m considerably older and wiser now. I learned some things about game from my experience with Lenina, though fully realized some implications far too late to be helpful in that phase of my life:
Lesson 1 – It’s true that politics (along with money, religion, and sex) are hot button topics best avoided in the very beginning. Be oblique or change the subject, since disagreements will result in you getting written off as a heretic, usually something ending in “-ist” or “-phobe”. However, you can safely talk about these later on after you’ve built up a lot of familiarity. In fact, you’ll pretty much have to get to these eventually if you’ll be seeing someone for very long.
Lesson 2 – Being resolute about your beliefs can be a good thing. Had I pretended to agree with Lenina to try to win her favor – “Yeah, I hate Whitey so much that I want to play with a toaster in a bathtub, want to join me?” – it would have been counterproductive.
Lesson 3 – Quite inadvertently, I had stumbled across “Neg Theory”. Had I fully understood what was going on, I could have used it to devastating effect throughout my wasted years of youth.
Lesson 4 – Sometimes – though not always, of course – a nasty reaction is just a default reflex. She might even like you quite a bit. If only chicks would just communicate honestly, or at least turn off the Bitch Shield when they like you, everyone would have more fun. (Cue John Lennon’s “Imagine”.) With a little Push-Pull, Lenina probably would have gone for what she really wanted, and I could have dated a flaming radicalinski.
Lesson 5 – The game ain’t over until the deal’s closed.
So Lenina, wherever you are, you have my best wishes. If you still want to burn down our civilization, I still ain’t handing you the matches.