Sex isn’t the Incel problem
An incel tried to shame me once. I ate his liver with fava beans and a nice chianti. In case an incel turns up with a missing liver, I’m just kidding. No cannibalism here. Nervous laugh.
But seriously, incels troll me sometimes. For what? My sex jokes. Which imply that I’ve had sex. And to some, a woman having sex constitutes an unforgivable offense.
Unless you’re having sex with them. Then it’s all good.
How much sex have I had, you ask?
Like maybe a thousand rumbles in the sheets. Or just five hundred? I don’t know. You lose count at some point.
Plus, I’m bad at math.
Anyway, I’m a lightweight compared to some of my friends.
Slut shaming happens on a fairly regular basis. Trolls. Hate mail. Cums with the territory. Still, I can try my best to somehow empathize with the central problem. The absence of sex.
Nobody wants to fuck them.
Yeah, I get how that could suck. Beneath all the misogyny, most incels suffer from the same basic problem — self loathing. They consider themselves ugly, charmless, or otherwise disqualified from the dating pool.
We don’t need to redistribute sexual income. And we don’t need to turn sex workers into slaves.
Incels just need to stop hating themselves.
They also need to stop consuming bullshit that defines human worth in terms of sexual prowess and core strength.
I’m a hundred percent behind the invention of sexbots. But the most advanced sexbot in the world can’t cure self hate. Look around. There’s some truly miserable motherfuckers out there with trophy wives.
Sex isn’t the problem.
Self hate drives all kinds of unhealthy behaviors. Over the last year, I’ve learned something huge about myself. My worst days stem from a deep, ingrained belief that I don’t measure up. When I feel the urge to lash out at someone, I know better now.
Sex doesn’t magically make you happy. That’s like treating a gunshot wound with vitamins. Sure, sex is good for you. But it’s not a panacea.
Incels lament the dearth of babes in their lives. They complain about the shallowness and superficiality of American culture. They blame women for doting on cute guys with big salaries. And ignoring nerds.
Consider how much time and energy a pretty girl spends on her appearance. Dieting. Exercise. Skin care. Makeup. Fashion. On the inside, a babe is just an incel who conformed to a bunch of fucked-up expectations.
Take away all of that, and you have a real person. The exact opposite of what an incel wants.
If a babe gained five pounds and stopped wearing makeup, I’m pretty sure an incel wouldn’t want to fuck her anymore.
Maybe that’s the answer. Instead of sex redistribution, we should just ban makeup, hair products, and diets.
Make everyone eat three meals a day at McDonald’s. Pass a law requiring everyone under 30 to move back in with their parents. And sign up for a Steam account.
Then nobody would want to fuck anyone anymore. And the human race could finally fulfill its destiny of extinction.
World peace, at last.
And we wonder why they’re so unhappy. Go figure. Their brains are all jumbled. Incels have no idea what they want. They’re just confused. Frustrated. And angry.
Not a great combination.
Here’s the truth that eludes many incels. (And other people.) Yeah, some girls are shallow. Some play games. But so do some guys.
Let shallow girls and guys have each other.
Another truth. I’d wager that many incels could clean up pretty well. They’ve just spent too long in the cave of despair. Yeah, dating is hard. Finding the right person is hard. So hard that you feel tempted by the dark side.
We all see things we want that we can’t have. Part of life is accepting that you can have some things, and not others.
Look at me. I really think I deserve someone like James Franco or Chris Hemsworth. But they never returned my calls. So I dated up and down the block until finding someone who could put up with my weirdness.
A call to action for incels: Go out into the real world and observe couples. They’re basically everywhere. You might notice that lots of normal looking people (aka not supermodels) have sex.
Who gives a fuck if you can’t nail a super model? Stop drooling over the Victoria’s Secret catalog. Start getting to know actual girls in your area. Sign off Tinder, and PornHub, and consider actually talking to one.
Yeah, like with your actual mouth.
You might also think about making friends with girls. Emphasis on the word friends. Even ones you might not consider attractive. At first glance.
Realize that some girls have other things to offer than a bikini bod. Like conversation. Insights. Ideas.
Also realize that you have other things to offer.
Stop thinking of women as contestants in your own personal beauty pageant. Don’t make this change for feminism. Or social justice. Do it for you. For your own mental health.
You, too, can become one of us. People who just be. It might take a ton of self-help and therapy. But you can get there.