The Gamma's Lament

This is how you end up without a woman in your life

I think we can say that I called it quite accurately when it comes to Miles Mathis’s SSH rank:

In social situations I am generally shut down, ignored, or talked over, and always have been. Women have never been eager to pick my brain, as the saying goes. Sometimes they say they are, but they never get around to it. I would say they are surprised I have a brain, then disappointed that I do. They have less than no interest in learning anything from me, and why would they since they are taught they are complete beings of perfect intuition and that men are only in need of a good lecturing.

Men are lucky to be tolerated, given all they have done in the past and all they are conspiring to do in their borderline-criminal little minds. This is the woman's time, after all, whether she has earned it or not, and it is her time to speak, though she has nothing to say, and her time to shine, though she be as dull as dishwater. The woman is given every benefit of the doubt while the man is given all possible demerits from hello, which—with great and constant effort—he may be able to erase given enough decades. He certainly will not erase them by asserting himself or expecting to be heard.

There is, of course, more. There is a lot more. Keep in mind that this is inspired by reminiscences of a woman he dated more than 15 years ago, and whose eventual rejection he considers to have been both short-sighted and unjust.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I like Miles. I like his painting and his conspiracy theories. But he’s a poster boy for the way no amount of talent and even youthful good looks are sufficient to compensate for the dysattractive state of being a Gamma male.

The great irony is that low-ranking men think far more of women, and far more about women, than high-ranking men do. I’m extremely accustomed to women ignoring, moving past, and talking over me in social situations and it doesn’t bother me in the least. They have no interest in the things that interest me, and vice-versa. There’s no need to get upset about it, anymore than one gets upset over a pair of people from the same school, or the same family, who want to talk about people from their past that no one else knows.

As long as I am not going to be quizzed on the material, and no one has a problem when I extricate myself from what I consider to be the morass of aural tedium, there is no reason to object to their lack of interest in the real reason for the ban on flying over the Antarctic, whether sheepskin is sufficiently strong enough to utilize for a particular line of books, or if the word Ross used to denote his martial arts philosophy on Friends was actually the Japanese word for “eel”.

This, I think, is a good philosophy for dealing with other people: never expect anyone to show any more interest in you, your interests, or your opinions than you have in theirs.