A few nights ago, I recorded a podcast with a few guys who are very into both the manosphere and the new genre of manosphere inspired underground literature that people seem to be excited by. Since I identity as being part of both emerging movements- movements that will only gain momentum in the coming decade- they had me on. We discussed the manosphere to underground literature pipeline.

As an ice-breaker, a question they almost assuredly thought was a throw-away; a softball; a little bit of brick-laying in order to get to other, more interesting questions... they asked if I thought red pill knowledge was a necessity; if, in order to be successful, men needed to be red pilled...

I didn't know how to answer.

I said to make art. To write shit that people find interesting; emotionally honest; intellectually resonating, that you should be red pilled on female nature. But the word successful hung in the air- silently taunting.

I didn't know how to answer. I thought about my life- where things are currently; where things went wrong; the trajectory of how I set things right. The manosphere was integral in that trajectory. I needed to understand the nature of how women love; learning that immunized myself from ever needing a woman to love me. I guess I can still appreciate it if it ever happens again.

My game was just fine before the manosphere- if anything, for a prolonged period of several years it had gotten worse; I got too in my head. I second guessed my reactions to things; my responses; my words. I became more of an asshole. This is not a problem for most people, but if you're already an asshole you'll likely end up overdoing it. I overdid it.

Then I thought about Nancy. I thought about Blair. I thought about turning forty, and I thought about the very last red pill I took... maybe one I didn't need. Maybe one red pill too many. Maybe the most important red pill:

Women buy what they can afford.

If you aren't a man who women are throwing themselves at to begin with.... and if you're here- if you had to learn game- you probably aren't... you may still get laid; you may still get a girlfriend; you may still do well, but you'll never be the one she really wants- you're the one she can afford.

If you're not the man she really wants, your relationship will be- to some extent- transactional. To some extent, you'll need to jump through hoops- be it with financial support, or gaining social status, or by performing the clown show called game. To some extent, your relationship will be inauthentic; to some extent she's your prostitute.

This red pill can rightfully be called the real red pill- and are men better off for taking it?

I don't know how to answer that.

I wrote an essay called "The King of Hell" upon first making this realization. That now, at forty, I can have fun fucking an infinite number of women who afford me as the best they can do- granted, for my age, I'm in excellent shape- I'm not a terrible version of the best anyone can do. There is satisfaction in fucking these women, but the other end of it is being aware of how it all works....

Society was structed in a way that men did not have to be red pilled. People married young and never looked back; divorce was difficult to obtain and there were strict social taboos on female promiscuity. A man a hundred years ago would likely have died believing his wife truly loved him- that they had a true love story- that it was all real, everything authentic. Hell, maybe she even thought so too- maybe she didn't know the difference. Maybe naivete all around is for the best.

That isn't a world that exists anymore. There is no returning. There will never be- without extreme hardship and pervasive violence. I don't want that either.

But, I think... what if I didn't know these things.... then what?

I don't have an answer for that.

Maybe things could have worked out, and I'd never know the difference. Maybe not knowing would have ruined me... maybe I'd have done the whole shebang- the wedding, the kids- and ran that relationship into the ground, like every relationship I'd had before being red pilled... maybe it's better to know the truth and write about it.

It's a question that I'll die thinking about.