Power Balance

A reader sends me a link to this article discussing sex and consent in the modern era. The author is making the case that the sexual revolution has been a failure for women and, in their own words, made them less safe. It’s an interesting hypothesis, but undermined considerably by this statement:

Most importantly, we have learned that men almost always hold power in sexual situations with women and the subsequent narratives about those situations.

Anyone who thinks women don’t hold power in sexual situations probably shouldn’t be writing on the subject.

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Sex and the City didn’t air on Discovery

I often remark on here that rather too many women thought Sex and the City was a documentary. I’ve now found an article that shows I wasn’t exaggerating:

When the last episode of “Sex and the City” aired in February 2004, I hosted a viewing party for 200 guests. It was my swan song as well: Eight months later, I would move to New York, where, armed with my “Sex and the City” DVDs, my transformation really began.

Based on what I knew from “SATC,” I expected the city to sweep me off my feet. I envisioned nonstop brunching and shopping.

What always surprises me about these stories is the lack of friends and family who try to talk some sense into them.

I lived on food bought for me on dates and the occasional bodega tuna sandwich. For clothes, it was wrap dresses from Diane von Furstenberg sample sales combined with loans from designers who took pity on me — like Betsey Johnson, whom I’d interviewed at Fashion Week. Different men I dated gave me YSL shoes and status purses, just like Big did for Carrie on “SATC.”

She’s relying on “dates” for food and clothes. Yay for female empowerment!

I also subscribed to Carrie’s ethos when it came to men. There was no such thing as a bad date — only a good date or a good brunch story. In my writing, I gave my boyfriends nicknames (one was “Prom King”) just like Carrie and her friends did.

I went out with a prince: Lorenzo Borghese from “The Bachelor.” I even dated the British ex-boyfriend of “Sex and the City” creator Candace Bushnell — the original Carrie. He was one of a few men who comprised the composite character Mr. Big.

A common feature among women who spent a decade sleeping around is their belief that anyone is in the slightest bit interested in their exploits. Seriously, does anyone care who she was shagging in New York a decade ago? She didn’t even manage to screw a household name.

Between 2004 and 2011, I filmed nine TV pilots — many of which were reality shows, and all of which were a derivation of some kind of “SATC” role for me. I was always the Carrie. In one pilot, I hosted for Animal Planet; the premise was that your dog would choose whom you’d go out with.

One can’t honestly say at this point that getting the dog’s input is a bad idea.

Their core complaint about me was that I was a quote-unquote “fame whore.”

I suspect many of your female contemporaries thought that description contained one word too many.

Finally, I cut my ties to New York and moved to San Francisco full-time in 2013. I tried being a tech columnist and writing a personal-growth book called “Experiments in Happiness.”

Which sits on my shelf beside Paul Gascoigne’s book “Experiments in Sobriety”.

These days I work as a change activist, mounting summits for world leaders and serving as an adviser to startups and entrepreneurs looking to better the planet.

So she’s found religion. Sadly she’s not locked herself away in a convent.

I’m finally living a life of integrity, and I’m attuned to my values. I never heard about values on “Sex and the City.”

Well, no.

I dated a woman for a while, a beautiful entrepreneur who was also jilted by New York — that’s definitely not something you saw Carrie do.

How edgy. No sign of mental disorder here at all, oh no.

But dating is not front and center in my life anymore, although it was all I talked about in my 20s. That’s pretty one-dimensional.

You think?

Last year, I ended a two-year relationship with a man who ultimately couldn’t commit and wanted to be polyamorous.

Heh! I suspect he could commit, only not with someone who spent a decade shagging random men in New York in return for food and clothes. And why wait two years? Desperation much?

Again, “SATC” and the “lessons” it taught me is the culprit.

It wasn’t supposed to be a lifestyle manual. And as Daniel Ream often points out, the book was far more realistic in its portrayal of single life in New York than the TV series was, and ought to have served as a warning.

The show wasn’t a rubric on how to find a lifelong partnership.

You don’t say!

If I was more grounded and had honestly assessed whether this man was a good partner for me, I don’t think we ever would have dated.

So it’s the fault of a TV show which concluded in her early twenties that she dated an unsuitable man in her mid-thirties? For all the talk of female empowerment, a lot of these modern women don’t seem to have quite grasped the whole personal responsibility thing, have they? Nor do they seem to understand that the choices you make in your twenties stay with you for life.

Crushed and needing to regroup, I took a sabbatical and lived in Bali for eight months on a healing journey.

Heh.

I was also celibate during my time there.

Much to the disappointment of knuckle-dragging Australian youths in beer singlets.

I do wonder what my life would have looked like if “Sex and the City” had never come across my consciousness.

I don’t know, but I’m confident if you got lost in the Arctic wilderness you’d blame Ice Road Truckers.

Perhaps I’d be married with children now?

Given your appalling judgement, immaturity, and lack of impulse control I’d say that’s highly unlikely.

Who knows, but I can say for sure that, as clever and aesthetically pleasing as the show was — and, as much as I agree with its value of female friendships — it showed too much consumerism and fear of intimacy disguised as empowerment.

Modern feminism is rather good at disguising all manner of vices and self-destructive behaviour as empowerment.

Whom you’re dating, what you’re wearing, or how good you look at that premiere — none of that s–t matters unless you genuinely love yourself. Solid relationships are what really matter.

Who knew?

Truth be told, I wish I had never heard of “SATC.” I’m sure there are worse role models but, for me, it did permanent and measurable damage to my psyche that I’m still cleaning up.

As useful a description of the effects of modern feminism as you’re likely to find.

Two months ago, I started seeing someone I never would have dated 10 years earlier.

A whole two months? How long to you think she can hide the disgust?

Back then, I wasn’t looking to get married or seek a lifelong partner, and that was a mistake. This man is a very reasonable choice, and I’m at a place in my life where reasonable is very sexy.

Two. Months.

Now, I feel like genuine me — I’m no longer a Carrie Bradshaw knockoff.

No, you’re now Samantha. Congratulations!

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More Progressive Sex Pests

I’ve written several posts (1, 2, 3, 4) on the subject of how sex pests hide among the ranks of progressive movements, and how supposed feminists either unwittingly or deliberately provide cover for their misbehaviour.

So you can imagine I wasn’t tremendously surprised by this story last week:

During [Clay] Johnson’s first job in politics, on Howard Dean’s 2004 presidential campaign, Schacht and a fellow campaign worker separately accused Johnson of sexual assault. Word of both women’s complaints reached several of Dean’s top deputies. But Johnson kept his job, and his work on the campaign became his ticket to a high-profile career.

He went on to co-found a pathbreaking political consulting firm. Powerful groups and people sought his thoughts on the future of tech in politics; his Twitter banner shows him cracking a joke to a roomful of government officials including President Barack Obama. Despite Schacht’s warning about his behavior, the Sunlight Foundation chose him to head its flagship technology division. He left amid a staff insurrection over his lewd and menacing behavior. And still, he rose higher.

His reputation seemed to be an open secret.

Like Harvey Weinstein, everyone knew he was a sex pest but because he was a good progressive type, the feminists didn’t mind. Then yesterday I read this story:

New York Attorney General Eric Schneiderman has resigned following allegations of assault by four women.

The New Yorker magazine published a report quoting the women, two of them ex-girlfriends, who accused Mr Schneiderman, 63, of hitting them.

Mr Schneiderman has been a vocal supporter of the #MeToo movement against sexual harassment and a fierce opponent of President Donald Trump.

Now there’s a surprise, eh? But let’s don pussyhats and protest Mike Pence’s misogyny because he doesn’t eat dinner alone with any woman other than his wife.

This is what happens when politics are used as the sole judge of one’s character, and people turn a blind eye to bad behavior provided the perpetrator has the correct politics. If lefty women want to reduce the rate at which they’re being sexually assaulted, they could perhaps try avoiding lefty men claiming to be feminists. It’s starting to become a clear warning sign.

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Incels: a lot like modern feminists

In the past week or so a new term has entered into the mainstream lexicon: incel, which is an abbreviation of involuntarily celibate. It is the word used to describe angry young men who can’t get laid and then go onto commit acts of violence, often describing their lack of success with women as motivation for their crimes. The term has come to prominence because someone fitting this description drove a van into a bunch of people in Toronto, killing 10.

There is no doubt that the Toronto van driver and others like him display deep-rooted misogyny and hate women, but nevertheless it’s worth trying to understand how and why they became so alienated. However, feminist Twitter is having none of it, believing social ostracism and mental illness is something to be disregarded entirely insofar as men are concerned. As usual, feminist bellwether Natalia Antonova provides a neat example:

Firstly, allow me to mention the irony that a journalist and playwright is seemingly unaware of the term “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned”.

Secondly, what else is the third-wave feminist movement but a planet-sized temper tantrum that the sexual revolution didn’t deliver as promised in terms of power, prestige – and romantic partners? It sure as hell isn’t about rights, given the movement’s roots in American academia and its proponents overwhelmingly coming from coastal, metropolitan liberal arts circles where women enjoy more rights than at any point in human history. Modern, western feminism is largely about self-entitled, privileged, middle-class women demanding nice things in life they are not prepared to earn, preferring to believe it’s the unreasonableness of men that is preventing them attaining what they so richly deserve.

In terms of dealing with rejection – something all of us must face throughout our lives – feminists are no better than incels. True, they don’t go around murdering people with vans but their effect on society has been equally if not more destructive. And say what you like about deranged, homicidal incels but they at least refrain from giving self-righteous lectures about how virtuous they are when the full extent of the carnage is known. The feminist reaction to incels is that of a self-declared victim group protecting its turf and ensuring they have a monopoly on gender-based suffering; any and all sympathy or understanding for those confused, angry, and ostracised by the opposite sex must go to feminists and nobody else. Either that, or they’re simply upset because, amid all the hysterical screeching and yelling, some men are trying to get a word in edgeways.

Whatever the case, there’s not a whole lot of difference that I can see between lunatic incels and deranged, third-wave feminists.

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A Product of Modern Feminism

What is it with modern women living in New York (it’s always New York) boasting about having meaningless, indiscriminate sex with strangers? Do they think it makes them sound edgy and cool, or do they think people might find it interesting? Here’s the latest that came to my attention by somebody going by the name of Mandy Stadtmiller:

I met two hot Italian pilots on the street, bummed a cigarette, and took them home for a night of sex, debauchery, and, well, the opposite of a marriage proposal.

Things spiraled out of control after that.

When I was at my most self-destructive, I was hooking up with drug dealers and answering ads on the Craigslist’s Casual Encounters section posted by strange men looking for “snow bunnies” (girls who did cocaine). All told, I fooled around in some form with a dozen men from the site. All told sexually, my number is not too far off from other New York women I’ve met — under 100, over 50 — but it wasn’t so much about quantity and more about total lack of quality.

One time, I posted online that I was looking for something akin to a sugar daddy. The first few guys that responded — before the ad was taken down because it probably sounded like blatant prostitution — all sounded like cops, and I chickened out. Another night I considered taking “100 roses” from a sad little man who posted that he was “looking for a girl to show off.” (One rose is code on Craigslist for one dollar.) I didn’t take the money he had laid out. Instead, we sat uncomfortably on the couch together watching “Apollo 13.” Before I got up to leave, I asked if he’d tell me his real name. He refused. What if someone found out?

A friend of mine, the notorious and often shocking comedian Jim Norton, once listened to me patiently as I described a night of doing coke and fooling around with an S&M couple before later meeting and sleeping with another stranger at 5 in the morning who had responded to my incredibly subtle posting on Craigslist entitled: “Need to get f–ked right now.”

Of course, modern feminism compels its adherents to not show the slightest bit of shame over this. For all men’s supposed promiscuity and penchant for endless one-night stands, how many over 30 ever talk about their past conquests, let alone write about them? They grow up and move on, but certain women carry their sexual history around like a badge of honour, only bizarrely the more shameful it is the more proud they are of it. And the point to this woman’s story?

I met a man at a comedy club who caught my eye. He looked like a private detective wearing a trim gray suit and a scowl.

At the very start of our date, I handed him a piece of paper with a list detailing all of my “Relationship Expectations.” I spelled out what I wanted, really forcing myself to think about it: I didn’t want to be cheated on. I didn’t want to be insulted. I wanted to be treasured and loved.

I expected the date to last two minutes because he was being given a list of emotional demands right away — like, before we even ordered. Instead, he read it over carefully and quietly while I sat in the coffee shop sweating bullets.

“I don’t know,” he said, and then a smile broke through, “this all seems fairly reasonable.”

A stand-up comic (of course), my husband Pat Dixon proposed to me in under seven months. I got engaged on the last day of my thirties on the steps of Times Square.
This unlikely redemption tale is what led me to write the most difficult story of my life — my memoir, “Unwifeable” — as a tribute to anyone who feels trapped: in their past or the present, as the hero or the villain, as the wifeable or the unwifeable.

She found some omega male to marry her, and now she’s happy. That’s it. That’s the story, and she now thinks she’s in a position to give advice. The title of the post is:

My epic bender of drugs, booze and sex led to a happy marriage

Only she says her husband proposed in September 2015. This means she’s been married less than 2 1/2 years, a rather short time for someone who considers herself an authority on the subject, especially considering:

My first marriage in 2000 at the age of 25 ended in a messy divorce in 2005 (weeks before starting at The Post). And a lot of my self-hatred (and subsequent addiction) came from trying to suppress myself for other people.

What are the odds on another divorce and a subsequent relapse? What’s particularly weird is this woman isn’t some millennial, brainwashed by people who know only dating apps and online porn; she’s around 43, which is older than me. Something’s gone badly wrong somewhere, hasn’t it?

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Train Wrecked, Woman Blames Brain

A reader alerts me to this Daily Mail article which asks the following question:

I’m single at 50. Why?

The author, one Kate Mulvey, believes it’s because:

Men hate me being brainier than them

Which may be true. However, I suspect there are other factors at play which will become apparent as the article goes on. Let’s take a look.

Three months ago I went to Italy with my then boyfriend, Philip. As we were checking into the hotel, I struck up a conversation with the receptionist in Italian (just one of the five languages I speak). But while I was enjoying myself, chatting away, it became clear that Philip most certainly was not.

Well, were you having a quick chat with a local or showing off? I know the difference because I regularly do both, and if I’m doing the latter I need to make sure I’m impressing the person I’m with, not pissing them off.

He shuffled from foot to foot, muttered something under his breath and rolled his eyes like a stroppy teenager.

Then in the lift he turned on me. ‘I was wondering when you were going to let me join your conversation,’ he snapped. I tried to laugh it off but I knew this was the beginning of yet another argument.

It sounds as though you were showing off, Philip knew it, and didn’t like it.

‘You always have to be the star of the show,’ he continued in our bedroom, as he began to systematically work his way through the mini-bar. Apparently I was argumentative, a know-all and an intellectual snob.

I’m only a few paragraphs in, but I’m already thinking Phil might have been onto something.

What had I done? It should be depressingly obvious. I had dared to dent his fragile male ego. By speaking in a language Philip didn’t know, I had managed to make him – a successful writer, ten years my senior – feel small. How selfish of me to embarrass him in public with my linguistic prowess!

Well, yes. Most sensible men could appreciate the difference between having a quick chat with a local and showing off. I wasn’t there but Philip was, and the body-language would have said it all. It sounds to me as though this woman knows it makes him uncomfortable but went ahead and did it anyway, then made sneering remarks about his “fragile male ego”. Well, we all have an ego and we all have our insecurities. What if Philip had engaged in a lengthy conversation with the hot young waitress with the nice ass, complete with little jokes that made her laugh? Could he complain about Kate’s “fragile female ego” or would he stand accused of being pretty damned rude?

Like so many of the men I’ve dated, it was clear he expected me to play second fiddle to him at all times. It wasn’t the first time we had rowed about such things. One night, we ended up arguing over a BBC4 documentary on the origins of jazz. When he became annoyed that his attempts to outsmart my knowledge on the subject failed, he started singing loudly, to drown me out altogether.

This is a slightly separate issue, but related to the other. The truth is, most men couldn’t care less about a woman’s intellect provided she’s not dumb as a box of rocks. They’d rather date a pretty young waitress than a haggard old professor. The other truth is that women are attracted to a man’s intelligence, very much so. This is why the men of equal intelligence to Kate Marvey were married off long ago, leaving her scraping the metaphorical barrel of relative dumbasses. Not that I think Phil’s a dumbass:

But the pointless fight over the receptionist was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Needless to say, our year-long romance didn’t last long beyond the flight home.

Wise move, Phil.

I was reminded of our contretemps last week, when research in the APA Journal of Personality and Social Psychology confirmed what I’d always suspected – that men simply can’t handle it if a woman outshines them. According to the study, rather than bask in the reflected glory of a partner’s success, men feel worse about themselves.

Yes, which is why it is not a good idea for women to upstage their male partner in public.

‘A lot of men feel threatened if a woman outshines them,’ says Professor Sandi Mann, psychologist and author of Hiding What We Feel and Saying What We Don’t Feel. ‘It harks back to cavemen days, when men had to provide the resources. If a woman is too intelligent, a man subconsciously thinks she’s taking over his role.’

Yes, it’s a normal, natural way to feel – just as women feel threatened by younger, more attractive women.

For me, this is stating the blindingly obvious. I’ve lost count of the times men have rejected or insulted me simply because I was brighter, wittier or cleverer than they are.

So it’s blindingly obvious, yet you put your partner in an uncomfortable position in Italy knowing full well how it would make him feel? That was nice of you.

They have called me ‘intimidating’, ‘scary’, ‘difficult’ and ‘opinionated’. Translated, that means: ‘You are too clever and I don’t like it.’

I expect they also find you rather unpleasant. Not all men mind being with a more intelligent woman, especially if the man is pretty smart himself. Possibly the cleverest person I ever met was a female engineer in the year below me at university, and we dated for about 6 months. She didn’t intimidate me partly because I was perfectly happy with how smart I was, but more importantly she didn’t make the difference an issue in our relationship. If she’d gone out of her way to demonstrate her superior intellect every five minutes, going so far as to embarrass me in public, we’d have split up pretty quickly. Being smart, she knew not to. What excuse this Mulvey woman?

An older male friend – supposedly tired of me dominating dinner-party conversation – even wagged his podgy finger and told me I would never get married because I was too confident and demanding.

And he was right, although I’d bet he never used the word “confident”.

Then there was my dalliance with the criminal lawyer who, whenever we went to a party, criticised my hair, weight and choice of outfit before we set off. He was so terrified I might outshine him socially, he made sure I felt as bad as possible before I’d even got out of the door.

You sound made for each other.

I’m convinced that the reason I’m still booking a table for one instead of settling down with a significant other is not because I’m a year off turning 50, but because men are so threatened by my intelligence.

It’s mainly because you’re turning 50. It’s also because you are quite likely an awful person to be around. Those who are put off solely by your intelligence are robust fellows indeed.

I might have a successful career as an author and broadcaster, but I have never been engaged, let alone married, and my longest relationship lasted just seven years.

She was in a 7-year relationship but never got engaged or married? So much for her being a confident, assertive type. Women with half her IQ points would have told the man to put a ring on it or pack his things within 2 years, tops.

Sometimes I wonder if isn’t all my father’s fault

Aaaaand here come the Daddy Issues.

ever since I could talk, he encouraged me to hold my own in an argument. But little did he know, as he exhorted me to ‘get a good degree’ or add yet another language to my repertoire, he was reducing my chances of getting hitched altogether.

Okay, go on.

As a child, I went to one of Britain’s most academic girls’ schools, Godolphin & Latymer, where I got three top A-levels, then breezed through an Italian and French degree at the University of Kent, getting a 2:1, while keeping up conversational German on the side.

If you’re going to hold up your father’s advice to “get a good degree” as the reason for your lifelong failings with the opposite sex, I’d expect something a bit better than a 2:1 in Italian and French from the University of Kent. I’d also have expected more impressive credentials from someone who thinks their entire problem is being too clever.

I grew into a bright and confident young woman, keen to flex my intellectual muscles and to never let a man get the last word just because of his sex.

So you deliberately set out to put men off?

My bedside table has always buckled beneath the weight of substantial, intellectually challenging books. I devour cultural documentaries and love nothing more than taking another evening class (Spanish, the most recent; philosophy set to be the next).

Which is great, but none of this is the slightest bit interesting to men. It’s the equivalent of a man citing his love of football in a screed about why he’s single.

The backlash against my brainpower began in earnest in my 20s, when I was a struggling writer going out with Sebastian, a high-flying City trader. Initially he loved dating a writer – even (or, perhaps, particularly) a constantly broke one, and he had to rescue me by paying for everything. But as my career and social life suddenly took off, his affection turned to resentment.

My career entailed a round of seminars, high-profile dinners and exciting parties. Sebastian might have made million-pound deals but he couldn’t handle being my ‘plus one’. After three years he told me he’d met someone who ‘needed’ him.

This might be true. Alternatively, he might have found your success made you awfully big-headed and a pain to be around. It might come as a surprise to Ms Mulvey, but not all successful women are hopeless, lonely wrecks.

One boyfriend told my father he hated the way I never used short words, when a lengthy one would do.

So he found you so pretentious he felt the need to mention it to your father?

My boyfriends would speak over me at dinner parties, put me down in public, tell me my books – of which I have published eight – were just stocking-fillers,

This is unfair, given she’s written such weighty tomes as “How to Date a Younger Man: The Cougar’s Guide to Cubhunting” and “1920s Style: How to Get the Look of the Decade”.

In my late 30s, I decided this would be easily remedied by dating older men.

Heh! Yeah, I’m sure the men your own age and younger were just queuing up, weren’t they?

Surely, I thought, an ageing alpha male, secure in his achievements, would not be jealous of his girlfriend’s accomplishments? Sadly, I couldn’t have been more wrong.

Julian, a handsome 61-year-old lawyer, was a case in point. One night he invited me to meet some of his old friends in Geneva. As I sat there tucking into fondue bourguignonne and making jokes in French, he lashed out, jealous at not being the one getting the laughs.

I find it rather hard to believe this 61-year old alpha-male lawyer was angered by her intelligence.

We broke up soon after and he went on to marry an unthreatening woman with tidy hair and the personality of a wet rag.

I’m glad she’s not bitter. Here’s the photo of her in 2000, aged 31:

Now looks aren’t everything, but if you don’t have ’em, your personality better make up for it.

And that’s the thing. When it comes to love and marriage, I have watched with depressing regularity so many brilliant men choose beautiful but dull women.

Who says they’re dull? You? Because they can’t dominate a dinner table conversation with “the finer points of Ed Miliband taking on the trade unions”?

As a friend of mine said the other week: ‘Kate, you are far more likely to get ahead romantically if you push your cleavage, rather than your opinions, in a man’s face.’

Perhaps she is right. But it’s too late for me to change.

It’s too late for you to be pushing cleavage in their face, too. By about 25 years.

Unlike the canny girls who learnt how to flirt with men from an early age, the brainy ones, like me, were too busy with their books to master the art of flattery. Instead we challenge rather than charm, we control rather than compromise. No wonder men find it hard to like us.

I like the causal assumption that clever women cannot be charming and are incapable of compromise. If you’re a controlling woman who cannot compromise, no man will like you period, and it has nothing to do with your supposed intellect.

I tell myself I shouldn’t have to dumb down my intelligence or omit to mention my achievements just to make myself more attractive.

Maybe try being a bit nicer, and more considerate of the other person? I know a few couples where the woman is smarter than the man, and it works out fine because the woman is, well, nice.

But as I watch a lot of clever women morph into Stepford wives at the merest whiff of testosterone, I wonder whether, by refusing to show any chinks in my intellectual armour, I’m the one who is losing out.

She’s gonna cling to this “I’m too clever for everyone” right until the end, isn’t she?

I was sorely tempted to join the giggly man-pleasers last week as I watched a friend of mine, a 48-year-old, highly educated PR executive, swipe a potential suitor from under my nose with a ‘dumb blonde’ act. While I ribbed and joshed with him, engaging in a battle of equals, she batted her eyelids and told him in a breathy voice how young and attractive he looked. She ended up with a glass of champagne and an invitation to dinner. I stood there glumly nursing an empty glass.

I’m struggling to imagine a sadder scene than two aged women fighting over some bloke who’s probably looking for no more than a quick shag, one playing the slapper and the other desperately trying to show how clever she is.

I reassured myself that I had preserved my dignity. But I couldn’t help but wonder if, once again, my brain might have done too brilliant a job of protecting my heart.

Self-awareness is rarely a strong point among women featured in the Daily Mail, but I think this one breaks all records. She actually has a book out called “Flirting with the Barman: The Big Girl’s Guide to Growing Old Disgracefully”. Yes, really.

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A hunt for a tall, handsome Welshman

This shouldn’t be difficult:

A mother who cannot remember the name of her daughter’s father is trying to track him down 15 years after their one night stand. Terri Reid says that all she knows is that he was tall, dark and handsome, and Welsh.

This narrows it down to, what? A dozen blokes? Half a dozen? Now if she’d said he was short, squat, and looked as though he’d played over a hundred first-grade matches at the front of the scrum then admittedly the options would number in the millions. But tall, dark, and handsome? You sure he wasn’t Italian?

They met in 2003 in a nightclub in Blackpool, but their union that night in a friend’s flat above a Chinese takeaway led to her giving birth to Channell who now wants to know who her dad is.

Like school on a Saturday.*

The morning after their rendezvous above the restaurant they went their separate ways.

Terri, 32, still lives in Blackpool but cannot remember the name of the nightclub they met in as it has since been knocked down.

I’m not sure that would help in any case. And this is a nice touch:

If you think you are Channell’s father, get in touch

adam.smith@metro.co.uk.

If a little optimistic. Any Welshman who was tall, dark, and handsome and having unprotected sex with strangers in 2003 has likely fathered an entire rugby team by now. My advice is to go and watch a few colts games, try to spot any player that looks like you or him, and see who’s cheering him the loudest from the sidelines.

(* No class)

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Have Roof, Want Sex

From the BBC:

“All I’m asking for is sex in exchange, yeah?”

It’s a Friday evening in central London and I’m sat across the table from a 25-year-old man who is offering to share his east London bedroom with me, rent-free. The catch? I’ll have to have regular sex with him if I want to keep a roof over my head.

He is not the only man offering rent for sex. When I log on to a popular classified adverts website, almost immediately I find dozens of ads offering rooms in exchange for “adult arrangements”.

Isn’t this pretty much a marriage, minus the white dress and expensive ceremony? Oh wait:

“It’ll be fun,” he says. “Trust me.”

Not a marriage, then.

I arrange to meet a number of landlords – and am stunned by the diversity of people I meet. One is just 24 years old, another is offering up his daughter’s bedroom now that she’s at university, and a third says I can stay in a log cabin he built in his back garden – if I’m willing to have sex with him in return. Most of the landlords I meet live alone, but one says he has tenants, and then there’s the guy who lives in a London house share who wants to tell his housemates I’m his girlfriend.

Man provides woman with basic material needs in return for sex. A Pulizter beckons.

The 24-year-old landlord, who I meet in Scotland, says he’s looking for “sex every second day or something” and tells me he is “taking the human aspect out” of sex. “I’m treating it as a business transaction,” he says.

Millenials are so bone idle even Tinder is too much effort.

I’ve portrayed myself to these men as a vulnerable young woman who is struggling financially and has nowhere to go. I’m struck by how nonchalant these landlords appear while asking me to sleep with them in order to keep a roof over my head. They don’t seem to consider how I might be affected by what they’re asking of me.

Why should they? Firstly, you’re a complete stranger selling them a sob-story. Secondly, you can always say no. Thirdly, whatever happened to strong, independent women taking on the world as it is?

In fact, most of the landlords don’t seem to feel they’re doing anything wrong – but Rent For Sex adverts could be illegal. Offering a room in a house in exchange for sex might be classified as incitement into prostitution, which carries a prison sentence of up to seven years in England and Wales.

This assumes any woman accepting accommodation in return for sex is a prostitute. Or, presumably, any woman entering into a mutually beneficial arrangement where she gets material comforts and the man gets sex. We’re back to marriage again, aren’t we?

In fact, when I wrote to the landlords after our meetings to reveal the investigation and ask for their response, only two replied. One said he was looking for a consensual sexual agreement and had done nothing wrong…

A reasonable answer, I think.

But the reality is that the people responding to these adverts are likely to be broke, vulnerable and have nowhere else to go.

So they expect to be accommodated for free by a complete stranger? And supposing some are quite happy to put out in return for three squares a day and a warm bed, even if it is in a log cabin out the back? What business is it of a middle-class SJW? Who made her matron?

I met a young woman who had entered a ‘Rent For Sex’ arrangement when she was 20.

And I wrote an entire book about a young woman who entered a “Passport for Sex” arrangement when she was 21. It’s a handy route to US citizenship, apparently. There’s even a TV show based around the same premise. This isn’t something new.

She didn’t realise what the arrangement was until she moved into the property and realised she’d be sharing a bed with the landlord. She told him she didn’t want to sleep with him, but he would consistently try to touch her. “He didn’t force himself on me, so I am grateful for that.”

She didn’t go to the property during the day and ask “Where’s my room?”

She was homeless before meeting him, and stayed there a long time despite the harassment for fear of becoming homeless again.

Again, what did she expect? Free accommodation?

When I asked the landlord about it, he said he believed the fact she had stayed meant she was not unhappy. He claimed he never asked for or had sexual intercourse with her.

This seems broadly consistent with the girl’s account, does it not? He sounds less like a sexual predator than some sad, lonely old bastard who thought doing a homeless stray a favour would mean she’d sleep with him. Other than pathetically pawing her in the night, he doesn’t seem to have done her much harm.

I confronted a middle-aged landlord who was offering a Rent For Sex arrangement at the Newcastle flat he lives in, alone. Initially, he stormed out of the café where we’d met, but he eventually agreed to talk. He told me he was looking for “companionship”, saying, “it wasn’t just about the sex”.

So the guy is looking for a girlfriend, albeit going about it in a cack-handed way probably because he’s desperate. Is this so bad?

He told me he “didn’t know he was doing anything wrong”. When we explained that a woman staying with him might have felt obliged to have sex, even if she didn’t want to, in order to avoid homelessness, he said he understood that this is a grey area for consent.

Apparently it’s now wrong to do anything for a woman that might make them feel obliged to have sex, even if she’s not in the mood? Married men are in more trouble than I thought.

The landlords I met did not seem to grasp that what they are doing is wrong.

Well, yes. Not everyone shares the values of a chippy middle-class feminist. Sure, some of these men sound like scumbags or weirdos, but you can’t expect the entire world to be handing out free accommodation to waifs who’ve fallen on hard times.

“In our society, it seems acceptable for people to wield their power over the vulnerable in order to get what they want, no questions asked,” explains Ellen Moran of Acorn, a tenants union and anti-poverty group.

Because attractive young women never wield power over men in order to get what they want. Yes, it’s always the men doing the exploiting, isn’t it?

“That power is entrenched and such actions are ignored by law enforcers.”

This woman wants the police to monitor consensual sexual relations.

Her organisation is now campaigning for a change in legislation to make Rent for Sex specifically illegal – possibly under modern slavery laws – so that landlords can be prosecuted.

There are going to be a lot of men in prison if providing accommodation in return for occasional sex becomes a criminal offence. And will women who enter into any such arrangement be charged with prostitution?

Sometimes, though, this happens because people are alienated in their society to such an extent that they crave physical affection without knowing considerate ways to get it. Sometimes it is a mixture of those two things.”

So sad, lonely bastards offer homeless women a roof and a hot shower in return for companionship and, possibly, sex. Unless there is assault or rape going on, what the hell is the problem here? Any man entering into such an arrangement is likely to end up with a far bigger headache than the woman.

“The authorities need to publicly recognise that it is a crime and act on that by prosecuting in order to dissuade perpetrators,” says Moran.

“We need real change in order to solve this problem.”

And here we are, back to the morality of modern feminism: women should utilise their sexual freedoms for any purpose and without restraint, but men should be prosecuted just for trying to exercise their own.

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White-Knights and Prostitutes

*This post has been updated*

A month or so back some people I follow on Twitter who are Russian-focused recommended someone’s writing, so I followed her. Thus far I’ve not seen much to justify the recommendation (her latest piece is a lame satire of Trump, as if there’s a shortage of that sort of thing) but following such people can nevertheless throw up some interesting discussion points. Last night the lady in question, a Ukrainian-American, took to Twitter to complain about how men stereotype her. Here’s how I responded to one of her tweets:

Bear in mind she started the topic with “Let’s talk about stereotypes of Slavic women”, and that she purports to be a professional writer and journalist; in my naivety I thought maybe she actually wanted a discussion. It turned out she didn’t, but I see no reason why I shouldn’t have one here.

Russian women do get stereotyped and it can be unpleasant for a normal woman when its assumed she’s a whore. But, as I point out in my tweet, there’s a reason for this. My Turkish friend, for example, takes a very dim view of Russian women because in her home country they are synonymous with the thousands of prostitutes who turned up to ply their trade, many of whom were at the very low end of the business having unprotected sex with truck drivers which spread disease and broke up families. It might be a view that’s unfair to Russian women, but my friend hasn’t had the pleasure of meeting ordinary Russians and so she’s going on what she knows. And there is no denying that there are a lot of Russian, Ukrainian, and Polish prostitutes working in European cities – more than Turkish, Egyptian, and Portuguese, for instance.

If I walk into a bar in Thailand, or even down the street, the locals assume I’m interested in a prostitute. If I found myself in Pat’s Bar in Lagos after the rugby had finished, most people in there would think I was after a prostitute. If I went into the York International Hotel in Dubai in 2004, most people would assume I was there for the hookers. Similarly, when Brits turn up in certain Mediterranean holiday resorts, the locals expect trouble. If the England soccer team are playing away, the local police flip the safety catch off the water cannon before they’ve even cleared immigration. Any discussion on stereotypes and assumptions made about you based on your nationality must take into account the origins of those stereotypes. So in the case of this lady above, she ought to at least acknowledge that, for many people – especially the Arabs and South Asians she mentions specifically – the only Russian or Ukrainian women they’ve ever encountered have been prostitutes, and that many of her compatriots are prostitutes.

Ah, but this is Twitter and I should have known better. Within minutes of posting the white-knights appeared.

And:

Alas, this is pretty standard on Twitter: a vaguely attractive woman posts something and you get a handful of men falling over themselves to agree with her. If you say something remotely contradictory, they all pile in. This is why I am so fond of this pic (origin unknown):

Naturally, the original poster didn’t respond, but was content to like the responses to me. But that’s by the by. What i found ironic is the assumption that these tens of thousands of Russian and Ukrainian women who worked as prostitutes had no choice (note the usual lefty debating trick of deliberately conflating “most”, “many”, and “all”).

There’s a habit of western men when they first meet a bunch of developing-world prostitutes to assume they’re all bright young things down on their luck whom life has dealt a miserable hand and they’re in need of saving by someone just like them. Anyone who’s spent more than five minutes with a bunch of third-world prostitutes will know they’re ruthless bitches who have lied so many times they barely remember their real name. When it comes to Russian prostitutes, they became adept at telling gullible men they were well-educated and wanted to work in a normal job but had no choice but to become prostitutes in Dubai and Bangkok because of the economic hardships at home. I used to hear this back in 2003-4, then I worked out these women were not well-educated, they came from broken homes with seriously fucked-up childhoods, and simply made the choice to make some good money quickly. Again this is fair enough, but one should never forget that for every woman who chose to become  a prostitute, there are plenty who faced the same hardships but chose differently.

Now there might have been some women from Russia and Ukraine forced into prostitution, by which I mean they’re in chains and controlled by gangsters, but I I’m not convinced more than a negligible number work abroad in such conditions. Certainly this was the case when I lived in Dubai, because the girls would have talked about it. They were bound to their sponsors once they got there (as are many legitimate workers) but nobody forced them to come, or hoodwinked them. Long-time readers may remember I actually witnessed one girl being recruited for the job when I made that trip to Nizhnekamsk in 2004 in the company of another girl who knew the process rather well and, without batting an eyelid, told me everything about how it works. And as has been discussed in the comments at Tim Worstall’s on several occasions, trafficking Eastern European women for the purposes of prostitution makes absolutely no sense whatsoever: all major cities are awash with young women working voluntarily and prepared to do pretty much anything for a couple of hundred quid. Where’s the economic sense in kidnapping a woman, chaining her to a bed, and risking a lengthy jail term for people-trafficking in such a market?

What the white-knights are doing is assuming these poor Russians and Ukrainians had no choice but to become prostitutes, thereby implying any Russian or Ukrainian will turn to prostitution should the right economic conditions arise. Given these remarks appear in a thread in support of a Ukrainian woman complaining men often presume she’s a hooker, it’s rather ironic. Even more ironic is she approves of these remarks. It’s a funny place, Twitter.

UPDATE

The whole thing turned into a big pile-on yesterday afternoon. One person in particular took objection to being called a white-knight:

A man on the internet leaping to the defence of a woman who is “a personal friend” after incorrectly believing someone insulted her, followed by an attempt to look tough, is pretty much the textbook definition of a white-knight. Does this guy not realise he’s so deep in the friend zone that he could tweet his little fingers off all day long and still not get anywhere? His threats didn’t stop there, however:

I’m trembling so much my knees are knocking.

Some others were simply dim, chief among them this woman:

She’d give Cathy Newman a run for her money. Then white-knight pops up again:

According to Twitter, the reputation Russian and Ukrainian women have in the Middle East and elsewhere stems from women who were trafficked there, forced into prostitution against their will. If you follow the thread, we learn none of them have actually met any of these women – but from their offices in the US and Canada they have read reports and studied papers which show they have been trafficked and few are there voluntarily. How so many are free to take boyfriends and get married remains a mystery. Perhaps their pimps are the romantic sort?

Finally, given this started out with various women complaining men treat them like prostitutes, allow me to pass on some advice to my female readership. If you find men are routinely presuming you to be a prostitute, I recommend you:

1. Look at the places you are hanging out in.

2. Look at the men you are hanging out with.

3. Look at your own behaviour.

I know many women, and many Russian and Ukrainian women; very few have told me they get mistaken for a prostitute. If it’s a problem for women, it doesn’t appear to be universal.

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Are the giant overseas charities another Hollywood?

Two things. Here’s the first:

Mark Goldring, the chief executive, claimed critics motivated by an anti-aid agenda were “gunning” for Oxfam leaving the charity “savaged”.

In an interview with The Guardian, he said: “The intensity and ferocity of the attack makes you wonder, what did we do? We murdered babies in their cots?

The second:

The husband of the murdered MP Jo Cox has resigned from the two charities he set up in her memory after being publicly accused of sexual assault.

Together they made me come up with a theory.

The revelations that Oxfam was running orgies in disaster areas confirmed my long-held suspension that these giant do-gooder organisations are run by people who don’t consider themselves accountable to anyone, probably because they genuinely see themselves as modern day saints. Goldring’s comments are the words of man who thinks he operates on a higher plane than us lowly plebs, and lives in a world completely detached from the man on the street. The news about Brandon Cox being a sex pest only surprised me because I had no idea who he was until his wife was murdered, but those who knew of him before aren’t surprised in the least.

So here we have an industry whose leaders virtue-signal for a profession yet appear to tolerate gross and blatant sexual misconduct and turn a blind eye to sex pests. We’ve been here before, haven’t we? Could it be that what we saw with Harvey Weinstein and Hollywood is replicated across the charitable sector? All the signs are there. We have a closed industry protected by powerful politicians and the media where older men hold considerable sway with a steady stream of young, impressionable men and women turning up to help out in any way they can. How do you think the assignments are doled out among the volunteers? Who gets to stay in which hotel, ride in which vehicle, sleep in which tent? In whose lap do the plum jobs land, and who makes the decision? A lot of these people are volunteers so there’s no question of the organisations recruiting and paying for marketable skills like a commercial business does. If a pretty young thing shows up in the developing world for volunteer work in an organisation which doesn’t think twice about decking out Haitian waifs in company t-shirts and shagging them in front of everybody in a penthouse apartment, do you think nobody is going to make a move on her? Nobody is going to invite her up to the hotel room for a drink or two, and make promises of promotion in return for her nocturnal company?

There’s also the fact that these do-gooder organisations are very left wing, and as I’ve written before, many young left wing women tend to make themselves extremely vulnerable by judging a man’s character solely by his political opinions. Provided the man is spouting the right progressive mantra, dim lefty women seem quite unable to spot he’s a sex pest. And because he is spouting the right progressive mantra, those with power will defend him, and destroy her, when she complains. Like the protest groups and polyamorist circles, these organisations are ripe for sexual predators to come in, flatter the people in charge with a few well-placed lines of boilerplate progressivism, and help themselves to any fucked-up young men or women who come their way.

So here’s my prediction. In the next few days, weeks, or months we’re going to hear of quite startling revelations of sexual assaults on volunteers working for the big charities or environmental groups which would make Harvey Weinstein wish he’d answered that request to make a documentary with one of them after all. We’ll hear of a class of untouchable senior managers who openly boast of taking their pick of the prettiest staff, make blatant approaches towards underlings during parties and drinking sessions in the hotel bars, and all of this will be common knowledge among anyone involved with the group. Complaints would have been lodged and either ignored or the complainant hounded out of town, and national news reporters would have received dozens of stories but declined to run them through fear of upsetting their friends and political allies. Now The Times has broken ranks and published the Oxfam revelations, and stories are pouring in of similar happenings in other charities, I reckon they’ll be a new #metoo movement springing up before we know it. I find it highly unlikely, set up and staffed as they are, that such incidents are not commonplace in the big overseas charities and environmental groups.

You read it here first.

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