There are times when I realize precisely how very fucking little men even bother to try to understand women. Want proof? How about the Jane Austen classic romance novel (and satire, if you're inclined to believe the feminists and the lit geeks) Pride and Prejudice.
Pride and Prejudice is basically a weapons manual that explains how to unlock the full power of the human pussy. Or a story of social moorings and love blooming in the face of initial rejection. But really it's a how-to guide for getting women wet, and that's why it's lasted more than 200 years.
Pride and Prejudice is a parallel story about two relationships, but there is literally not a woman on earth who gives a fuck about anything except the one relationship. The relationship that gets women wet for a 200-year-old fuck fantasy is between Lizzy and Mr. Darcy. Lizzy meets Mr. Darcy at a social gathering and he pretty much treats her like dirt. In fact, that's the entire theme of the book. Mr. Darcy basically calls her an unfuckable pig in polite, early 19th Century terms. Again and again and again. Even when he fuckin' proposes to her he tells her that's she's "reprehensible" and pretty much a worthless and unfuckable lump of unwanted carbon and water.
Here's the real punchline: women fucking worship this novel. I've read reviews of Pride and Prejudice that actually lament that men don't read it! The crux of such reviews is basically that men would know how to romance a girl if they read Pride and Prejudice.
A reminder: Pride and Prejudice puts the worst of PUA game to fucking shame for its raw and hateful view of women. Lizzy is treated like dogshit even at the high points of her relationship with Mr. Darcy. He constantly explains to her again and again and again what a seriously unfuckable manbearpig she is. And the more he does it, the more swoon-worthy he becomes to her.
Of course he goes off and does manly things. Hell, he even does nice things. And then he turns around and pretty much says, "There ya go, you worthless, unfuckable pig on two legs."
Being Mr. Darcy
I've been called Mr. Darcy on multiple occasions by women. I tend to find that a bit funny for two reasons.
One is my raw and abiding hatred for 19th Century English romance novels. I cannot express how very fucking much I'd like to desecrate the graves of the Bronte sisters. I hated 11th grade English for the specific reason that between Bobby Burns and Jane Eyre that I became convinced there was zero redeeming value to anything literary that had floated over from the British Isles. Thankfully, we did Shakespeare in 10th grade at my school, so he managed to be quarantined from the shit mess of terrible English lit that followed him. Seriously, folks, once men stopped wearing bloomers, writing in Britain went to hell.
Two is that I'm not an insulting guy at all. I'm just distant and difficult and more than a tad inaccessible. When I read Mr. Darcy, I just don't see much of myself there. He's an overtly offensive human being and very direct in his rejections. That's not me. I just leave everything in a very information-poor environment, where a chick is never going to really know anything of whether I may or may not like her.
I have, however, gotten the Mr. Darcy comment (compliment?) often enough that I know that it's salient at least to those women who dig that. Probably the biggest kick I ever got out of it was when a chick who was a couple years younger than me (I'm 36 these days . . . fuck I'm old) made the Mr. Darcy comment and really acted like she had simply said the most novel thing that anyone had ever uttered. She crashed down pretty hard when I told her that lots of women said it, and that first chick I recalled saying it to me was just out high school. (For reference, the Mr. Darcy remark didn't start appearing until I learned some game in my 30s.)
Mr. Darcy has classic push-pull jerkboy game going for him. I suspect that he's someone who'd be considered autistic spectrum these days. He has socioeconomic status, treats everyone at parties like shit . . . UNTIL!!! . . . after having been criticized by Lizzy he decides to play nice for no readily apparent fucking reason. Of course, despite having repeatedly called Lizzy the most worthless pig that ever stuck her snout in a trough to hog down some slops, Mr. Darcy slowly takes an interest in Lizzy.
Yup . . . Pride and Prejudice is basically the worst form of girl porn possible. It's the core "I'm so worthless but somehow a handsome stranger with some bank suddenly takes an interest in me despite my clear and present worthlessness" fantasy that pervades all good pussy-wetting novels. Total bullshit, of course. I mean, a guy can be a bit bit distant and perhaps take an interest you. I know that from personal experience. And a guy can warm up to you. But, if he's treating you like dogshit from day one and clearly stating that he wouldn't fuck you with a ten-foot pole, then there's no hope.
What Mr. Darcy really teaches us, from a game perspective, is the importance of engagement. Women don't care what vile shit you say to them. They just care that you're interested and present. In fact, constantly trashing them while remaining engaged is an intoxicating mix.
Not Being Mr. Darcy
As I mentioned, I don't see myself as Mr. Darcy. My approach to women is to never give them anything to hang their hopes on, good or bad. I like to watch women swing helpless in the wind, hoping that I'll somehow wake up from my disinterest. I'm typically friendly enough that they don't feel hated, but I'm also unengaged enough that they don't feel like they're the object of any of my fantasies.
The worst part about me is that I can like a chick and then completely forget about her. I can remember this one girl who worked at the grocery store deli that I regularly go to. Pretty girl but with a lot of slightly off features that certainly could feed into a low sense of self-esteem, especially in girl world. Small-chested, skinny, a bit lanky and awkward, a bit of an over-bite, a bit drowsy-eyed . . . but a very pretty girl. In fact, the type that modern modeling agencies love to find. She was always very enthusiastic when she saw saw me. I liked her, but the impression never stuck with me. Every time I saw her I was kind of taken aback, because I always managed to completely forget about her.
The one day I managed to run into her at the deli on an off-day. She was there as a customer. And I could see her instantly go into "oh-shit-oh-shit, dammit, play it cool" mode when she spotted me.
A normal and sane person would of course take this as his opportunity to pipe up. And she was giving every indicate of interest. Looking then looking away. Play with her hair. Adjusting her outfit. For her, this was clearly game time. The barrier of the counter was removed. The limitations of talk to a customer were removed. I could easily tell that she thought that this was her big chance.
I am of course not a sane or stable person. Watching a woman squirm and start to hate herself because I don't engage her the way she wants is precisely what gets me off. I have a weird gift for timing things well across long distances to ensure that I extract maximum torture value out of ignoring a chick. In that spirit, I managed to run into her again at the check out line, and she set to trying to show interest again. I, of course, once again ignored her.
Needless to say, the next time I saw her at the deli counter, she was less-than-enthused.
Perhaps I'm a covert Mr. Darcy
The one thing I will say is that it rarely matters what you do or do not say to a woman. What matters is how you make her feel. In that regard, perhaps the Mr. Darcy tag applies better than I'd like to admit. I'm very good at making a woman feel like dogshit. I just do it in a much more subtle fashion.
It's a very weird form of passive aggression. Trust me, I get that. The thing is, if you really want a woman to feel like dirt, you can't mistreat her. That just doesn't work, as Mr. Darcy proves in Pride and Prejudice. Women are typically submissive and emotionally enslaved by nature, and they'll take whatever scraps of attention they can get from a guy if he finds them attractive. You'll watch women kiss a guy's ass no matter how filthy he treats -- you can break a woman's eye socket and she'll love you simply because of how powerful your feelings are. Your raw anger makes her feel better about herself, even if you leave her looking like she went through a car wreck.
What really drags a woman down is nothing. Just pure nothing. Nothing good. Nothing bad. Just fucking nothing. Nothing to latch onto. Nothing to hang her hopes on. No hatred. No love. No interest. Not even on the radar screen. Treat her like a complete non-entity.
It occurs to me that the Mr. Darcy characterization is an attempt to rehabilitate me from being Captain Nothing. It's like doing auto body work on a really rusted out panel. If you had any goddamned sense, you'd just replace it, but . . . instead you put a mesh over it, apply filler and make it work. Build it up, prime it, paint it, wax it and make that fucker look like new.
That's what I think women are trying to do with me when they drop the Mr. Darcy remark on me. They're using the jerkboy template to fill the big, rusty gap between what I want (to kill their souls by keeping them tethered to a hopeless attraction to a guy who gives them nothing) and what they want. They jam Mr. Darcy in there because it gives them something to hang their hopes on. After all, that's what the Mr. Darcy archetype is all about -- the sexiness of just hoping and willing an attractive man of means into fucking you.
I probably should just learn to take it as a compliment, but it just runs so fucking counter to what impels me.