The other night I encountered a Bulgarian-American woman just before closing time in a bar. She was cute (albeit not gorgeous) and seemed to be in her late twenties. She spoke English with a slight Bulgarian accent, and as I later learned she came here when she was fourteen. I wasn’t hitting on her, I just wanted decent conversation. Besides, her boyfriend was nearby, talking to other people.
After discussing Bulgaria for a bit (I’ve actually been there), the conversation migrated to the European Union as her boyfriend migrated away. We both disliked the EU, and as long as that remained the topic of conversation the conversation was pleasant.
Soon the conversation somehow migrated to questions of maternity leave, and this soon prompted her to proclaim her strident support of feminism. I made it equally clear that I’m by no means feminism’s friend. Her face registered shock.
I normally try to soften my initial declarations of my political views, but sometimes it isn’t possible, and this was one of those cases (or maybe I just didn’t feel like it). Parenthood/maternity leave/paternity issues were the frame through which her views on feminism were introduced. She asked me if there could ever possibly be a case in which a man’s responsibility for a child could possibly differ from a woman’s. The first thing that sprung to mind was if a women lied about using birth control.
Thus, a flurry of accusations and evasions. “What if the condom breaks?” That’s not fraud, lying about being on the pill is. “What if the pill doesn’t work?” Again, not fraud. Nothing’s perfect, but the chances that the pill will fail if taken properly are considerably lower than if either taken improperly or not taken at all. “What about rape?” Who the hell lies about birth control before being raped? Rape is a different issue entirely.
Her tendency to attack rather than so much as admit that lying to a sexual partner would be wrong if it were even conceivable that any woman would ever do such a thing tagged her in my mind that she was among the Anointed. As I’ve stated before, the only reasons to discuss this stuff with the Anointed are to either convince an audience listening in or practice. By now there was no audience, but after reading so many feminist articles recently I was most decidedly in the mood for some practice.
She’d evade, I’d bring it back to my initial point, even though I was well aware that lying about the pill is hardly the most pressing issue regarding modern gender relations. One of my rhetorical rules is to allow for no evasions. If I make a point, they have the option to either refute it, concede it, or effectively call into question its relevance, for if you allow an opponent to engage in a ridiculous evasion once, the discussion is thus framed as one of ping pong; you’ll follow her from point to point forever and never get anywhere. She chose no valid option, so I held her to the fire: lying about birth control is wrong and fraudulent behavior on the part of the female. Admit I’m right and we can talk about something else. Don’t, and this is where we stay.
We moved from the outside of the bar onto the street (about ten feet) and back came her boyfriend. She told him I’m not a feminist. He said, “Every man should be a feminist because it’s important we support the women in our lives.” She gave him a high-five but didn’t seem to care if I stayed or not. He left (evidently to somewhere else in the vicinity).
She ran her own business (I’ve no idea what) and threw out all sorts of stats about maternity leave. I’d give a quick summation of my views on maternity leave, give her credit if she ever happened to say something that wasn’t nonsense, and bring it back to lying about birth control. She’d somehow bring up rape, I’d again tell her that rape is awful but has nothing whatsoever to do with what we were discussing. Back to sex and birth control.
We made our points referring to a hypothetical couple, referring to “he” and “she” and their hypothetical sexual relationship. However, I soon noticed that “if she has sex with him” became “if you were fucking me,” and it wasn’t me who initiated the transition. The hypothetical woman trying to steal the seed of her hypothetical man was now her hypothetically trying to trick me into getting her pregnant. I was now the man who didn’t care if the condom broke and she was the potential victim of my evil masculine machinations.
Shortly thereafter she was moving in closer and yelling. She threw out “that point is SUCH BULLSHIT” after I said something perfectly reasonable, to which I calmly but firmly replied “not at all” and explained why I was right. She sighed audibly to catch her breath and said something about rape again. I brought it back to my initial point, eventually deciding to repeat the refrain, “If I fuck up, it’s on me. If you fuck up, it’s on me.”
“NOT AT ALL! SUCH BULLSHIT! SUCH BULLSHIT!”
“If I fuck up, it’s on me. If you fuck up, it’s on me.” (I’ll readily concede that the Christian prohibition against swearing is one I frequently have difficulty upholding.)
At this point although there was nobody in our direct vicinity, I could tell we were attracting attention from drunken stragglers. I could also see police in the distance. Her eyes shot into me like daggers. Her volume caused heads to turn our way. I could tell she wasn’t going to change her mind, but she was about to grab me (whether in a “good” or “bad” way I couldn’t tell). I figured it was time to go. After all, if a woman decides to hit a man, who’s going to get the blame? If she fucked up, it would be on me.
And as far as getting her number, she wasn’t my type.
So I looked straight into her eyes, repeated my refrain, and walked away.
“YOU FUCKING BASTARD!!!!!! WRONG!!!! SO WRONG!!! YOU’RE A FUCKIING MONSTER!!!!! MONSTER!!!!!!” gradually fading into the distance as I make my way up the street with a nice wide grin.
It would have taken some skill to transition, but I’ve seen that look in a woman’s eyes before, and it’s never been followed by the friend-zone. Overtly opposing feminism may not be optimal Game, but it sure as hell beats being nice. I find this to be evidence that although women may not want you to oppose them, they actually do.
No matter how hypothetical a discussion might be, to a woman it’s ultimately about her. Moreover, she’s likely to project that mindset onto others, assuming that her conversation partner isn’t arguing about a hypothetical either and instead making a point that matters especially to him. Therefore, I think by choosing that particular issue, I inadvertently framed myself as an Alpha, a man with similar concerns as professional athletes who have to worry about their flings stealing their semen out of their condoms. After all, Betas need not be particularly worried about women trying to fraudulently maximize the use of their seed. Even though I’ve only had one incident that might relate to what I described (a girl once tried to slip off a condom right before we had sex in a prior epoch of my life), she assumed that women trying to trick me into impregnating them was first and foremost in my mind. Thus, I believe it’s of particular importance that if you want to support an issue particular to men that would strike women as being of concern to Betas (i.e. paternity fraud), be certain you’ve first framed yourself as Alpha, for an Alpha defending Betas will come across as far differently than a Beta whining about the possibility of somehow getting screwed over himself. Indeed, the possibility of being destroyed by unfair divorce laws and being tricked into impregnating a woman are both valid concerns for men and both reflect what we don’t like about women, but discussing the latter will strike most women as somewhat authoritative, the former as butt-hurtedness. Obviously, make your point, but be aware of the possibility that defending something that primarily affects Betas may well frame you as a Beta unless you sufficiently inoculate yourself.
I really wish there had been an audience, for I suspect that anybody witnessing her meltdown would have sided with me.
Although during prior political discussions I decided not to listen to that little voice inside that didn’t want to say anything that might cause me to be disliked, this time that voice wasn’t there. At all. Love me, hate me? I didn’t care. I was right, I knew it, and that’s what mattered. Furthermore, I wanted to make my points enough to engage that part of my brain that made them but not enough to stress about it. If for an instant or so it looked like there was a remote possibility she’d get the upper hand, I calmly neutralized it. This shows me that I am in fact becoming more the man I want to be.
I found the blasé way in which she treated her boyfriend downright hilarious. It was difficult stifling my laughter.
If I encounter her again, I’m curious about what will happen. If she says she hates me, I’ll tell her to join the club. “No, literally. Do you want to join the club? I’ll have the local chapter president get in touch with you. I think ‘Martel’s Despisers’ (sounds better with my real name) meets every other Sunday or something.” Moreover, would a random woman waking up to me and slapping me serve as some sort of “social proof”? I’ve been holed up at home or Starbucks writing a lot lately, but this isn’t exactly a huge city so I may well find out.
I have no idea what her name is.
Anyhow, I’m plodding along with my book, having fun but wishing I had a lot more time to devote to it. And I miss blogging. That’s why I wrote this.
God bless you all.