Saturday, February 17, 2018

You're expected to contextualize yourself

Something that troubled me for a long time, but in a vague way where I couldn't put my finger on it, is the pressure that society exerts on people to insert themselves into a specific context. It took into my late 20s before the rough outlines of the problem took shape. Society, it turns out, demands that you define yourself as a bunch of things. You're supposed to be a gender, a race, a religion, a political affialiation, etc.

When I was a teenager, one of the biggest difficulties I faced is that I didn't define myself as anything in particular. I was smart, but I definitely knew I didn't want to be one of the smart kids. If you have any experience of American society, you know that the smart kids are not the place to be. Being a smart kid carries with it a certain aspiration. You're supposed to want to achieve some list of upper middle class things that matter. Good grades. Good college. Good job. Good life.

None of that really rung true for me. I've never enjoyed doing things from a list. I bore too easily for that to work.

I also completely whiffed on the importance of carving out an identity, contextualizing myself. I mean, it literally never crossed my mind that I was supposed to be defining myself when I was growing up. Even now, with an understanding of the idea, it feels very alien to me.

Not just socially alien. I mean, alien in the sense that you would feel extremely fucking stupid if everyone expected you to glue a fake third arm to your torso and use it because that's what they do. It wouldn't matter whether you glued the arm or not. Glue it on, and you'll feel like a fucking idiot because you don't need a third arm, so fuck that. Don't glue it on, and you'll still live with the weird realization that everyone glues on a fake third arm they don't need.

I've never been someone to put on a performance for others. I don't mean that in the sense that people do when they say, "I'm keepin shit real." Keepin it real is just a performance focused on conspicuous authenticity. It's still a performance conducted for the benefit of others in understand how you contextualize yourself in the tribe. You're the realest motherfucker who ever realed. Basically, modern hipsterism.

What always confused me when I was younger, though, was the anger that comes back when you refuse to perform for others. I'm not talking the nee-neener stuff that's typical of dumb human bullying. I'm talking the sub-psychotic rage that people feel when you don't give them an opening to get what they want.

The Contract of Mutual Performance

Part of the implied contract of the great human circlejerk is that I'll perform for you, and you'll perform for me. If I do all the steps to the dance, then I'll get the reward I want.

It's astonishing how embedded this is. You see it when you fail to perform your half of the dance, and that ultimately leads to them being denied the reward they seek. I've seen people literally go into blue screen of death mode. I've seen a lot more of them blow up to try to instigate shit.

The assumption baked into all human interactions is that everyone is involved in a game. If you fail to give someone their reward for playing the game, it's a judgment upon them. Shit doesn't just happen. The net effect is that people get pissed when they don't get theirs, even if you've displayed zero interest in doing the dance with them. It's your job, as a member of a society, to play the game.

What's funny is that human beings don't react by assuming you're an alien to their society. Again, shit doesn't just happen. You've devalidated them, and that triggers a rush of angry emotions.

People will do one of two things:

1) They will try to explain you away, but within a context that suits them.

2) They will get angry.

The funny thing about explaining you away is that the context still has to fit their cultural norms. For example, the guy who doesn't want to fuck the young chick who's offering herself up must be gay. It's not a point up for debate, because the alternative answer is that she isn't as hawt as she thinks herself to be. And . . . well . . . all the guys who've dry humped her leg stand as testament to her hawtness, so . . . fuck that.

As a human being, you're never allowed to exist outside a context. You're supposed to be actively fostering an identity that allows others to trade with you in order to get what they want. It's also understood that you're supposed to be trying to maximize your returns. It's not enough that you might want pussy. You're also expected to maximize the amount and/or quality of pussy you get.

I never understood that as a teenager. Or as a college student. I really only had a vague outline of the idea by my late 20s. It was only in my 30s that I figured it out.

Even when i arrived at a full realization, it was simply a piece of information. I didn't suddenly say, "Huzzah! Now I can slay the pussy!" I definitely understood the implication, and I did act on it when it suited me. I just didn't see it as something that necessarily defined me.

I still don't see anything as defining me, but lack of self-definition isn't acceptable. Again, you're job in contextualizing yourself is to facilitate trade. That includes the trade of your companionship and your seed. You're supposed to leverage whatever you can achieve with your status to breed to the best of your ability. If you don't do that, then you're either gay or . . . well, there isn't another option.

The funny thing with the fixation that people have with assuming a person is gay because of their non-responsiveness is that it still assumes you're open to trade. In other words, the underpinning logic is that the rejected woman simply failed to bring the right goods for trade. If she had the right goods for trade, then you would've activated and sex would've ensued.

FTR, I say from personal experience that it takes a while to fully exhaust this logic. I can remember being out in a very seedy underground nightclub a little over a year ago, and I just wasn't feeling it. A lot of time I just get out to get out. Sometimes the best cure to the blahs is to just go do anything, even if you're not going out with intent.

This guy who I kinda half-recognized from being around the same scene a few times decided to chat me up. To be clear, he was what I can only politely call obviously gay. I'm arrogant enough that just because I'm not gonna fuck you doesn't mean I won't drop a little aloof game on you just for the joy of emotional sadism.

I told him upfront I was straight, because there's really nothing that amps the feeling of emotional sadism up like watching a person bash their head against the wall against all reason. Don't get me wrong; I get why he thought it was worth a try. I wasn't feeling it in a dark room full of barely clothed women who were writhing all night. It's hard for me to ever put my finger on what precisely clicks for me with a chick. I just know when it happens.

I can't particularly remember the guy's sales pitch, except for some sort of creepy guy game he dropped in the form of "You know you're a very good-looking person." Like I'm supposed to be just so flattered that suddenly I'm going to fuck him after ignoring his advances. He eventually gets tired of failing and leaves well enough alone. By most standards, a slightly sad-for-him but whatever ending. He took his shot, so yay champ.

Therein lies my point. It always takes a long time for people to just give up and leave me be.

I cannot for the life of me tell you why sometimes the switch just trips on. I just know that the bulk of the time that it doesn't switch on, no matter how much futile social dancing you do to induce me to trade. The irony here being that physical dancing very much improves your odds. It's worth a try.

What depresses me a bit about human existence is knowing that I'll be subjected to anger for not wanting to contextualize myself in a way that facilitates sex. If I'm lucky, I might be subjected to being asked if I'm asexual. I'm not, but I at least respect the rare person who can be bothered to think outside the box.

In truth, I'm just so very bored. An occasional woman comes along who's exciting enough to cut through that boredom, and there's a good chance I might fuck her. Most people, though, are dreadfully boring, and I get far more entertainment out of watching them contort themselves trying to get my attention.

12 comments:

  1. Reading this post reminds me a lot of the book "Games People Play" by psychologist Eric Berne, who posits that socializing is essentially a set of transactions with payoffs (mostly attention). He also lists antitheses, or ways to deny payoff and get out of playing, to some of the games.

    I suspect you've already read it given how eerily similar your post is to the book's theme, but if you haven't it's an interesting read (surprising given how much creepy shit psychologists write).

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    1. I have not read it. One could argue, though, that independent confirmation is the bedrock of science, so . . .

      I'll have to give it a read. (I'm a quick read, so it's not much of an imposition.)

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    1. I'm not the best person to ask. Cashiers, service people, etc tend to end up in my hall of horrors.

      I recall this one cashier at a convenience store I used to stop at after I was done jogging. Rather than honestly opening her, I just sort of casually talked to her and quickly went away every time I came in. Drove her off the deep end.

      The girl was doing everything to signal me the approach. Opening conversation, hair pulls, leaning in, trying to not let conversations die, ignoring strange shit, laughing at dumb jokes. One day she did her level best to signal her interest -- remember, lots of women simply will not force the issue -- coming around the counter and talking. I brush it off, and she scowls, stomps her foot, and turns to go back to the register.

      If, however, you want to take advice about openers from an emotional sadist (I wouldn't recommend it), I'd suggest "Hello".

      If you're feeling tepid, try working with what you got. If she's in a story, just say "excuse me" and ask a question. See how she responds. Flash her a small smile, and then check for the obvious tell (hair pull, look away, etc).

      It's prudent to not be too much of an asshole when you're at her job. That's someone else's time that's being paid for. If she shows some IOIs, hooray. If not, make an excuse and try again several days later.

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    1. I can't recall a single instance of a woman telling me about who she was fucking at the moment.

      The closest I ever came was a chick who once bragged about fucking a professional football (American-style) player back in her heyday. That I brushed off by telling her that fucking the punter doesn't count.

      If a woman you're not fucking is telling you about a guy she is fucking, I'd guess that can't be a good sign.

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    2. Indeed, I stopped meeting with her after that statement, although we were supposed to.

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  4. Can't get enough of these stories (cashier girl). Part of the reason I love it is because I do a bit of this myself, although I'm not at your level of attractiveness. I have a decent face (but also short and skinny) which seems to get me enough interest that I try to test chicks to see how far they're willing to go to get my attention.

    I've had at least 4 women lose weight to get me to make a move. I guess I love watching them because most men remain completely clueless about how they operate.

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    1. If they're losing weight, your relative attractiveness is more than enough to do the job.

      I do take some joy in seeing the difference between me and other guys. Once I took ownership of my personality, and really stopped sweating what other people think of the distant behavior, it just became a hoot.

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  5. https://www.girlschase.com/content/women-want-your-attention

    This article is somewhat related to your post.
    Basically it sums up to two points

    1. Women who are not providing value to my life / have no real capacity to provide value to my life must be ignored, and

    2. Women who have the capacity to provide value to my life must provide it if they want the attention from me they seek

    If you feel like the pussy ain't worth it then sure you can continue to be aloof.

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  6. I speak to men as humans(e.g. I ask about their hobbies and talk about things like technology and current affairs). I genuinely like good conversation and hearing different perspectives. I notice hints but don't like playing games- if something seems to be happening I'll ask him directly. I came to this blog because I know quite a few guys like you. I couldn't understand how they got a kick out of playing the game but were such loyal friends to me. Now I sort of get it. Thanks!

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