Fat Chicks in Daisy Dukes is Why Pickup Failed

There used to be a heyday of pickup in the west.

For around a decade, hoards of previously unfuckable men nerded out on “dating” skills, and many forked out big bucks to get shepherded through the club world by man-boys who had only months before sort of learned these skills for themselves.

It was one of the earliest internet bubbles, and it made many, many men rich and, despite being roundly culturally mocked (of course it had to be), got a surprisingly large minority of its adherents laid. And minority though it may have been, the hard number of male lives improved has to be considered to be extraordinary. Though without further training beyond the lay (as the present author advocates) many, many backslid into cuckoldry and worse once they were saddled on a horse they had no idea how to actually ride.

The boom brought forth the unlikeliest of gurus from Roosh to Owen Cook and even David DeAngelo, and for a while, it was going gangbusters as the post Girls Gone Wild culturally enforced sluttiness stoked the thirsts of nouveau riche tech dorks to previously unimaginable heights. It was a perfect storm.

And fwiw, I missed it.

But I read those texts and studied those practices, as the phenomenon waned, and integrated what I was able to into my otherwise stoic personality. And I am genuinely grateful for the many that came before me (heh), who bedded throngs of thongs and unworthies so I didn’t have to. Their data and insights will have changed the game forever.

But like all good things, it came to an end. And mostly a crashing down kind of end, as women rebelled and rebelled hard, not so much at being leveraged into sex (which they didn’t mind at all) but at being leveraged into sex by men they would, upon waking, realize where abject losers.

And as the 2.0 version of the pickup movement (i.e. the Red Pill movement) will be quick to declaim, women have a primary instinctive fear of having their male screening mechanism tricked into carrying the seed (actual or potential) of men they deem to be beneath them.

This is a very real thing (the essence of much of date/regret rape fantasy), and the early PUAs were wholly unprepared for it.

Non-marital access to pussy was a cultural triumph that liberal nerds have been dreaming about for centuries. FINALLY, women won’t feel slut shamed into chastity and will be able to fuck whomever they want!

Which has largely turned out to be true.

The part that did *not* turn out to be true is that women would actually want to start fucking the nerds. Turns out that women, when they can fuck anybody they want, still want to fuck hot guys and are still repulsed by normies or worse. The fact that it is technically “NSA” does not matter.

This wrinkle did not occur to the early pickup nerds. And many of them, hoping their feminism would open the flood gates of pussy, have been rudely awakened to the fact that the rules of the game have not changed for millennia, and that social engineering won’t do much either but for a tiny blip on the timeline, just long enough for women to readjust.

And boy have they.

Having woken up besides scores of nerds in chad clothing (with their wild styles, magic tricks, and storytelling mastery), women’s biology began to revolt. The culture collectively started shitting mercilessly on pickup people, showering them with scorn, ridicule, and shame in the hopes of stuffing the genie back into the bottle. And it actually worked, at least with the men women were worried about being sexually tainted by.

On the personal level, women battened down the snatches and upped their game 10 fold to even more effectively filter out the imposters who would (in their hindbrain) saddle them with the draining away of the fruits of their boobies to feed the offspring of inferior men. No greater tragedy can befall a woman than this, which, unfortunately would also be the greatest triumph of horny loser men everywhere.

Life can be complicated.

And this adjustment hasn’t all been doom and gloom. Because women had their own fuck fest renaissance, the likes of which has never been seen before outside cultures of arranged marriage. Just as fundamentally unattractive men learned “tricks” (and yes they were tricks) to artificially stimulate the hard wired female desire centers, unattractive women undertook their own studies on how to get men who, just a few years earlier, would have been completely out of their league.

Women started building their own artificial confidence, just like the men had. They aggressively “kinoed" (i.e. touched) their prospects, thus softening up the terrain for the future plunge into sexual intimacy. They learned to hold eye contact, to escalate, and eventually to land lays with men who may have hated themselves when they sobered up in the morning (or even earlier than that!), but nonetheless fell prey to their own hind brain synapses being artificially stimulated to involuntary reflexes of horniness they could not control.

And especially in the case of offers of bareback sex, these men may have woken up with a lot more than self-loathing. Because the full weight of the state came down in many of these cases to shackle the unsuspecting sperm donors to a lifetime of indentured servitude to the woman’s primal need for offspring provisioning. This sort of thing has happened a lot throughout history, but in recent times, normally unfuckable women have created a science out of it.

And the collective didn’t just enforce female will through paternity suits. By relentlessly elevating phat-assery into a public virtue, “thicc" women became the unlikeliest of commodities for undiscerning, culturally programmable men who would otherwise not have given these women a second look, much less the gift of their seed.

The total backlash on wide-eyed pickup artists who thought they had unlocked the doors to eternal bliss and boundless pussy was swift and severe, bitch-slapping them back to the monastery by the counterrevolution. The surface level victory for women seems to have been total.

And that brings us to today, when the sexual marketplace has never been tighter, weirder, and less fulfilling. So much so that women are starting to vocally advocate for better treatment of men as MGTOW starts to hit critical mass. And as bizarre as the red pilled woman is in theory, in practice, there aren’t enough men outside the unlikable manosphere gurus to even start to rebalance the scales, so women are stepping up to fill the niche.

But what’s all this got to do with fat chicks in Daisy Dukes, as the gloriously well-written title of this piece promises?

Well, I think for some men it’s hard to comprehend what motivated the seething pickup revolt and why women responded so viscerally to it.

Now men will never fight back against poor partner choices as ferociously as women (at least in pre-divorce/financial rape cultures). Their biology tells them that there’s plenty more where that came from, so one or two ill conceived (heh) squirts won’t spoil the barrel. But for women the calculation is far graver with their limited egg supply and ravages of child birth (to say nothing of rearing) that nearly destroys their future potential as chad-bedding mates.

But even so, men can still feel the pangs of queasy that quietly festered in PUA-prey women for the better part of the aforementioned glory days. And it can be seen and felt in the genius that modern, unattractive women have invested in sending “I am hot” signals, while the reality of their be-dimpled fatness screams impotently otherwise.

For me, there is no better encapsulation of this than fat chicks in Daisy Dukes. All men long for the dick hardening view of slender, leggy blondes draping their butt creases below the fold of their cut-off jean shorts. It is one of the most perfect arousers of male libido the world has ever devised.

And fat chicks know this.

So just as early day PUA types were trained to emulate the cool, seductive behaviors of naturally dominant men, so too have modern women learned to emulate the attraction triggers of hotter women. They overlay the signals without changing the reality.

In the end, once you take off those sexy shorts, you are fucking a cellulite-laden, red rash from chafing, non-thigh gap having, amorphous, overly-squeezable ass, completely devoid of structure and “give” that is the proper “al dente” expression of femininity yielding to a man’s touch. To boot (heh!), she will invariably have a horrible personality that, if she gets her claws deep enough into you - or your sperm deep enough into her - will be yours for life with little respite.

But your brain was fooled by the shorts and the just-the-right-amount-of exposed crease below the panty line. Your boner fought back against what your gaze was telling you, and your boner lost. You forced your imagination of what could be onto what was, and that’s how you got into this mess.

There were of course many other tricks of the betrayal when it came to dress, from whale tails to Lululemon ass sculpting leggings, to frankly, leggings themselves which at the time had been mainly the provenance of women whose asses were worth gazing upon and not the go to for deformed-ass supermoms who had simply given up on sexiness for comfort and the pretense that she was one of those top shelf hot chicks once.

But for our purposes, any of these examples of mate and switch should suffice. We make ourselves ill at ease when we think of this. We don’t like to be fooled and have our own instincts used against us. We don’t like the cognitive dissonance of feeling one thing but knowing another. It threatens to undo us and make us question our very essence (tranny culture, btw can have the same crippling effect on a man’s faith in his own loins). It is treachery pure and simple and men rightfully rebel against it.

But so do women.

With biological consequences far worse than an errant spew, women’s feelings of betrayal - when their brain signals and reality collide - are total, and they will go scorched earth to never be misled again - even to the point of virtually shutting down sexual culture entirely, which is nearly where we are now.

So men who groan about how unfair the current dating market is would do well to spend some time reflecting. We had our moment (or at least some of you did), but we deluded ourselves into thinking there could be a zig without a zag. We disturbed The Force, and The Force disturbed back. It can not otherwise be so.

For those of us cumming up in this era, it is daunting, depressing, and confusing. So let this little history lesson at least be a salve to your understanding even if it doesn’t satisfy your erection. The next zig will arrive soon enough, whether it be in the metaverse (sigh) or when Voight-Kampff is finally bested by female sex robots (NB: hat tip to Heartiste for calling this nearly 2 decades ago).

So be patient (as men, you have time) and keep perspective, young and horny men. Life will always ebb and flow as your pent up frustration becomes the fuel for the next cultural revolution a few years hence. Take heart. Your time will cum.