Over a decade ago a young, clumsy college graduate named Roosh started DC Bachelor, a blog devoted to his attempts at meeting and dating women in Mordor-on-the-Potomac. His pursuit fit into a larger trend of “game theory,” an Internet subculture which, depending on whom you ask, is either a disgusting and worrisome current of misogynistic rape culture or a heroic grassroots information-sharing response to the sociological confusions that feminist tyranny generates.
Roosh approached his personal dating malfunctions single-mindedly. He had severe difficulty talking to women and approached this obstacle by regularly trudging out into the battlefields of night clubs and coffee shops, doing his best to approach and gain the interest of the women he saw, then trudging home to write plainly about what he experienced, down to the grittiest detail of stomach-churning failure.
“I think ego is a hindrance to realizing truth,” Roosh told me via email. “And the quickest way to demolish my ego is to broadcast all my personal failings. It’s hard to learn from experiences if there is an ego filter trying to shield you from emotional pain or discomfort. Lessons you end up learning will be weak and lacking real wisdom….I also think it’s ironic that the more you hide, in order to make yourself look accomplished, the less human you come across and the less trust you build with your readers.”
Instead of panicking when he eventually lost his anonymity, Roosh’s activity intensified. He made up his mind to turn freelance blogging, international travel, and picking up girls into a self-supporting lifestyle and career. He has succeeded. He has published at least thirteen books narrating his adventures from Argentina to Latvia and explaining to confused men the very basics of meeting women. His new website is Return of Kings, where Roosh and his most articulate readers help cultivate the peer-to-peer Internet renaissance of masculinity during its overall decline and disarray in the West.
His first trip through Eastern Europe was punctuated by his vicious exposure in national media outlets and open challenges from furious women, suspicious immigration authorities, and aggressive neo-Nazis. Yet after less than a month stateside he was ready to re-up for another tour. “Going to an American club or bar is torturous compared to these Eastern European venues where girls put out warm vibes without getting their rocks off on rejecting men.” Such is romance in a setting that is postindustrial yet pre-feminist.
He has toured at least twenty countries and “interviewed” hundreds of local women. He lays out his knowledge derived from trial-and-error experience. (“Estonian girls have the strongest English while Lithuanian girls have the weakest.” “Polish girls are shy about being affectionate in public.” “Icelandic girls have a very loose concept of fidelity, meaning she’ll definitely cheat on her Icelandic boyfriend for a guy she knows isn’t staying long.”)
He continues to publish raw and borderline-pornographic accounts of nightlife pursuits in various countries, often favoring smaller, cheaper second-tier cities over large cosmopolitan metropolises.
He reports his activities in high-definition detail. Equally stimulating are his mature, value-neutral reflections on the significance of his player mentality and his sturdy, serious discussions of great and interesting books. While such discussions are on the wane in prestigious colleges and universities, they thrive on the blog of a self-identified “sex tourist” whose literary tastes run increasingly in the classical direction. “After reading 100 or so modern books,” Roosh admits, “you hit a point of diminishing return where it’s hard to gain further wisdom. They’re derivative enough that you get feelings of déjà vu, like you’ve been exposed to the ideas before.”
It’s clear from his writing that when he began, he lacked an agenda outside of sex and wholesale honesty. But in the midst of pickup rejections and sex stories we discover Roosh’s ideological turnabouts. Taking the red pill—identifying and studying kernels of politically incorrect realism—is obviously incompatible with liberalism, he says, and red pills are his business and his pleasure. “But four years of liberal university education does take time to de-brainwash from its subjects. If you give me an impressionable young man, four years of time, and alliances with the government and media, I’m pretty certain I can give him a belief system which would likely remain with him for life, even if it strongly contradicts reality.”
Being too honest is what landed Roosh on a Southern Poverty Law Center list as a threatening captain of misogyny.
Being so targeted, Roosh notes, “has completely evaporated any vestigial liberal thoughts that I held from my university experience.” That evaporation was something he expected, but making the SPLC roster hastened the process.
He recently began to admit concern with Europe’s emerging demographic nightmare, but he maintains a loose grip and declines to seize the tar babies of shrill Internet extremism. He won’t lightly abandon the poolside party for the exhausting, routinized political fray.
Instead he indulges Scotch on the rocks (“Men shouldn’t drink their alcohol with juice”), heavy weights (“Men should do squats”), and of course girls (“Feminine, selfless, and thin. Hard to find in America, hilariously easy to find in Eastern Europe”).
Translation: Don’t look for Roosh on the front lines of political struggle until they outlaw travel and sex.
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