In the heyday of the Red Pill community, it was common to hear the phrase “thousand pipe stare”, or perhaps its more graphic equivalent. The verbiage referred to the facial expression of a woman presumed to have contended with countless male partners, reaching a point where she now lacked any depth or passion for life. Mystery was far gone from her demeanor, along with any vague hopes of a genuinely seductive potentiality. She merely stood there, oblong and embittered, waiting for another round in the sheets, and hating any playful banter between.
I’ve certainly come across a few of these specimens, although the less popular admittance is that there are women capable of fully displaying the charm a man expects, albeit with the same record as those females who seem to be dead inside. In other words, the aura they give off does not encompass what truth lies behind the clockwork appearance.
But all that belongs in another post’s dominion. Here I wish to discuss a phenomenon less impressed on women by aggressive sexuality, and perhaps more so the mere lives they tend to lead: an utter devolution of personality. Any man who has bothered to “approach” as the PUAs say, can attest to this reality. On occasion you will venture across a lively woman capable of decent conversation and eye contact, though even rarer is her availability or interest in the male prospect. This platonic mumbling remains somewhat desirable at least, because in a frustrated mind it becomes an “almost” moment, inevitably destined to lead later attempts into the arms of victory.
On the other hand, we encounter those souls completely divorced from common social cause. They merely stare, deer in the headlights, hoping for a diversion which could allow retreat to the flickering rectangle in their palm. Anything to avoid interaction and speech. Even the briar patch would be better than awkward small talk, for the love of God.
I do not believe their attitudes are informed strictly by disinterest, or certainly not in the sense of attraction. In the realm of the Black Pill we rhapsodize about levels of desirability, though at the day’s end there are only so many men available at any given time. No, I suspect a relatively innocent culprit is afoot here: the systematic programming away of feminine charm.
By introducing women to the world of smartphones, tech daemons expertly dispatched the need to actually offer anything of value aside from perhaps a physically appealing frame. Women are not brought up understanding they must use manners and decorum when speaking with the opposite sex; they see such traits as remnants of an elderly time, cute and cuddly, but relegated to generalized disrepute. The lone tidbits of personality bound to heighten their interest is something streamed on the digital dreamscape, where everything is somehow real as compared to boring reflections of self off-camera.
The consequence is that most men in the average to below categories are simply ill-suited for going around in search of the proper “Game” to employ and ensnare women. They ought to build digital status or simply take money and search after superior pastures. Per chance there might rest higher forms of logic, and human character capable of matching the same. Just maybe.
Alternatively, one could continue practicing “Game” in the trenches, begging after the possibility of arriving at that glorious status of the Zoomer female whisperer.