“People told me he was trouble, but I really thought he was too evolved and sensitive to hurt me the way he did,†Katherine said.
Katherine’s director was an Homme Fataleâ€â€a genre of man that New York women have come to know well. Often the creative type, he projects a deceptive vulnerability, while maintaining an appealing confidence. He’s usually not the best-looking guy in the room, but he is the smartest; he turns these traits to his advantage, playing up the contrast with the typical hot guy or womanizer (physical inferiority, emotional evolvement). His courtship begins with a rushed sense of intimacy and, yet, a disarming lack of forward physical advances; a first date might involve a game of Scrabble or perhaps a cup of tea; his target usually leaves wondering if in fact it was a date at all. And yet the story always has the same endingâ€â€he grows distant, stops calling and eventually disappears with little explanation, if any.
“Hommes fatales” resort to therapy, having unwittingly victimized themselves. This newly identified “species” is in fact merely a subspecies of weasel, a creature that has infested the masculosphere forevah!
That has to be satire.
Oh lord. Sounds to me like this women can’t accept the fact that it just didn’t work out. Certainly it wasn’t simply that the man thought they were a match, and then changed his mind. No, he must be a psychopath or something, right?
Honestly, don’t they call what these “hommes fatales” are doing “Dating?”
He hurt me! The little cretin-bitch-man!
Thank heaven there are many in that city who could not care less about these epics that are, as Carin aptly states, dating.
Heh…they used to call this “Being afraid of commitment”, but these weenie, whiney women who got dumped had to give it a “buzz word”.
What about us schlubs who have been victims of women who dump us after only a month or two? We’re told “Man-up, Nancy”!
Get over it, he wasn’t that special and neither are you! Grow up, people! You’re an adult, for Chrissake!
I also think these (beautiful!) women need to somehow justify the fact that they were dumped by someone of not their “attractiveness” equivalent. How dare HE dump ME?!?
As for being afraid of commitment; short story. I have a (New York City) friend who has been dating a guy for 15 years. Began dating, and living together before the age of 25. 40 now (this blog has no math.) They got kind of engaged a few years back, but no date set. The guy is very successful, so much so that he needs to find other challenges to keep life interesting. Swimming across the English Channel. Pilot license was his newest thing.
Is it just me, or is it fucking BLINDINGLY obvious this guy is gonna dump my friend w/in 5 years. She’ll be out of her fertile years … starting to show wear around the edges. He’ll play around for another 5 years, and at the age of 50 will settle down with a 27 y/o, get married, and have kids.
“People told me he was trouble, but I really thought he was too evolved and sensitive to hurt me the way he did,â€Â
Sounds like what we’re starting to hear from Obama voters (e.g., the Rick Warren thing).
Jenga is way better than Scrabble. You get to show the woman how dexterous you are, and then leave her.
Fwiw, me and the other HF guys like to talk about how hotted up we get these NY chicks while we’re taking a schvitz, just before we shower off and start teabagging each other.
Like B. Moe said, this is satire, right?
Wow, is there no therapy for those high maintenance egos that can’t move on after an unsuccessful relationship. Must not be fashionable. Which woman’s magazine has those questionaires that quantify your mates level of attachment? Oh yeah, all of them!
Carin@5,
I think that you’re on to something here about these babes needing to rationalize being dumped…
And, your friend is being taken for a collosal ride; most likely the scenario will play out as you say…
I’ve been on the other side of the engagement with no set date ploy; it’s always an excuse to put off the emotional agony ’til later, and in all the examples I’ve seen it never goes well…
Having said all tat, as Dan notes this is just a new twist on the classical weasel. Thyis latest permutation is simply an adaptation to the radical femimist dogma that these men were fed during their formative years in public schools. They’re simply demonstrating their ability to game the system regardless of the ground rules…
There are some on the fringe in thos country that won’t be satisfied until all traditional pair bonding is passe; and realtionships devolve into sperm providers, “eff” buddies, and friends with benefits…
I think after reading this that it’s good to be married (40yrs), be a hick in flyover country, and be the antithesis of what’s called the “modern person”.
But that’s just me.
When will Hommes Fatales marriage become legal?
I mean, You nail the word “juxtaposition” on a “triple word score” and all of a sudden you’re alone with no health insurance and unable to inherit your HF’s wealth after you have him offed. That’s not equality.
In my job, I have to deal frequently with women in NYC and occasionally we discuss what life is like here in the Midwest where I am. Many of them seem genuinely shocked that we have theatre, symphonies, gay people what live in the open without being tarred and feathered, and restaurants without pictures on the menu. The few exceptions I’ve found are people that moved to NYC after living here or visited here.
One woman I spoke with daily over the course of two weeks eventually got around to asking me how my wife “got me to marry her”. She seemed not to grasp that Mrs. Darth and I were both looking for “marriageable” partners when we met, and there wasn’t any “persuasion” involved; it was a joint decision that we discussed over the better part of a year. The fog started to lift when she said, “You mean, you really wanted to get married?!?”
With stories like this I can’t decide if I’m disgusted by the weasels more than I pity the women.
Hmmm.
Tit … tat.
OK, my French is a little rusty, but doesn’t “Hommes Fatales” mean “Deadly Potato”?
That’s right, ladies. You wanted sensitive, caring guys. You wanted guys who related to you more like another woman, instead of those cartoonish thugs who just changed the oil and didn’t really pay much attention to whether their wardrobe matched, and sometimes insensitively rolled their eyes when you went on a royal bitchfest instead of sitting down over chai and talking about their innermost feelings.
Enjoy your purchase.
Regards,
The bad boy you didn’t take home.
OK, my French is a little rusty, but doesn’t “Hommes Fatales†mean “Deadly Potato�
Boy does that remind me of one of my favorite French riddles:
Q: Hey, who has two thumbs, speaks French, and loves blow jobs?
A: (points thumbs at self in Fonzie-esque manner) Moi!!
pommes de terre = apples of the earth = potatoes. Franch.
My only hope is that those women feel as much emotional pain as I have over the years. Men, like myself, with champagne tastes (and lets face it, who doesn’t have those?) but beer looks and financial means, going all the way back to high school, are all too familiar with rejection, though one never quite gets used to it, does one?
I have a nice life with a dog, video games,a 60 inch flat screen, and no one to help me spend my money or my time.
I can do what I want, when I want, all the time. You don’t get that with a woman in your life.
Women generally have all the best of it, and when they pick the good looking, rich lying bastards, rather than the decent chaps, they have only themselves to blame. Fuck ’em.
Or, my favorite line from 30 Rock, by a drunken Liz Lemon (Tina Fey): “What has two thumbs, speaks limited French, and didn’t cry once today? This moi!”
“Les Pommes de Ma Douche” are a French jazz combo. I believe that translates to “The Apples of my Douche.”
Many of them seem genuinely shocked that we have theatre, symphonies, gay people what live in the open without being tarred and feathered, and restaurants without pictures on the menu. The few exceptions I’ve found are people that moved to NYC after living here or visited here.
I dunno. My friend lived in the MW for 21 years before she moved to NYC. While she understands that we are not total Neanderthals in the fly-over states, we definitely are missing (in her estimation) that edge. When her friends started having babies ( a project I began about 5 years before same-age friends of hers in the city), she was regaling me with their “new ideas” and whatnot. It was actually kind of funny when she showed me a picture of a Meya wrap ( for carrying a baby) her one friend used and how cool it was. Funny, because I’d USED my wrap years before when I was WITH HER to nurse my baby in public. She was shocked (SHOCKED) that I’d even heard of ’em.
It’s too bad that there is no way to convey information, ideas, music and culture to the unenlightened?!? If only we could interact with people from all over the world in a vast exchange of ideas and opinios. You know, what with a touch of our fingers …
Sigh. A gal can dream.
Ok, those Christmas cookies ain’t gonna cook themselves.
Haha! Assholes in Nice Guys’ clothing.
What is particularly delicious is the women’s incredulity at the notion that a man who acts like a woman would use women’s patented, stultifying relationship-ending jui-jitsu on them. “He just . . . stopped . . . calling!?!â€Â
I bet if they look back on the relationship, there was a brief period right before the calls stopped when everything she did was just – somehow – wrong. See “Why do you always back into parking spaces? Hrmph.â€Â
Jack, that cuts both ways.
A family friend never could find a girl he was interested in. His sisters were always setting him up, and he was never interested. He wanted the drop-dead gorgeous gal. “Cute” wasn’t even good enough.
We attended his wedding last fall, and – no exaggeration – his wife was pushing three bills.
Hopefully, it was for love. But, I’m wondering if he just was soo picky, for so long … he just kinda became like the stale bread on the shelf.
Ok, last one. I dated a guy in college who had womanish tendencies. That grew old at the one-year mark. He wasn’t a dick like the guy in the article (well, he was extremely jealous, and that was sorta dickish and ultimately made me dump him), but I found that whole dealo boring. If I wanted a womanly-man, I’d just date a woman, right?
They guy would even clean my dorm room.
Most NYC’ers believe that they live on an island of high class and culture. Kinda like that New Yorker cartoon showing the earth from the perspective of a New Yorker.
Having lived in NYC, I would say that I will take having to wait for the travelling version of the broadway plays and really crappy pizza than, live in a shoe box, be triple taxed, and be forced to pay 5th and Park avenue prices for “regular stuff”.
I like having a car and a backyard. And there is no way I would ever dream of raising a kid in Manhattan.
Shit. I like having a Lowes and Home Depot 5 minutes from my house.
Edge. Yes, they have that. But its a lot of rip-off to pay for that mantle.
meh.
“Most NYC’ers believe that they live on an island of high class and culture.”
I think this is found on Manhattan, and most often exhibited by people from backwaters who moved to NYC as a substitute for a personality.
I had college roomates from Queens and Staten Island, and neither had the above affliction.
Wait a minute, these women live, work, and play in Manhattan, which is filled all the way to the penthouses with flaky, shallow, artsy-fartsy, trendy people. There is every kind of creativity and entertainment to be found, but it is not exactly the place you’d look for a family oriented, respectful, nuturing, God fearing man.
So they end up with these loser kind of guys and they are shocked. SHOCKED! How could he possibly have been such a flake?
It seems these women have a poor grasp of the obvious.
You mean Sex and the City isn’t reality TV? Who knew?
“So they end up with these loser kind of guys and they are shocked.”
It’s more sinister than this. The women are such narcissists, they think “the game” that they play with men ends the second they become emotionally involved. In truth, they’re on the receiving end of what they consistently dish out to men, and can’t make heads nor tails of it.
“Most NYC’ers believe that they live on an island of high class and culture.â€Â
Alec – Growing up out there I gotta agree with the above and disagree with you.
Crazy people don’t know they’re crazy. These high maintenance New Yorkers have no self knowledge relative to the rest of the world.
These crazy bitches don’t even pause to think, “he’s just not that into you,” and instead overanalyze the situation to death and in fact create names for the fucking syndrome to make themselves feel better.
Professional Homme Fatale has a nice ring to it. I’m going to brush up on my Uno skills.
“I think this is found on Manhattan, and most often exhibited by people from backwaters who moved to NYC as a substitute for a personality.”
I have to second this notion. Those people were insecure douchebags before moving to NY city. I’ve known a few.
“Professional Homme Fatale”
Well, then you’re going to have to work on a more complicated Starbucks order than “Coffee, black.”
Professor Homme Fatale: “I must admit that you have shown a curious and yet intriguing sense of elan in the almost disinterested way that you declare ‘Uno.’ I find it both captivating and troubling. More Merlot?”
My advise to the womyns: If faced with such a conversation, shoot to kill without hesitation.
BJTex, that means they’d have to have a gun like that icky chillbilly Sarah Palin. Can’t have that. Instead, they should stick one of those pointy shoes through his eye.
“…his wife was pushing three bills.” ?Huh?
Thanks for asking JohnAA, I didn’t get it either.
Well, then you’re going to have to work on a more complicated Starbucks order than “Coffee, black.â€Â
How’s this?
“This morning it seemed like the weight of everything that is wrong in the world was bearing down on my shoulders so I just sat on the edge of my bed and wept. It was very cleansing, but my eyes are still a little puffy. You don’t mind going in and ordering something for me, do you? Surprise me.”
3 hundo, as in plus-size.
“She’s pushing three bills and the seismic center in Colorado Springs keeps calling.”
If you’d seen the way the coffee-bartender person looked at me, you’d realize there is nothing more complicated to order at Starbucks than “coffee, black.”
“You don’t mind going in and ordering something for me, do you? Surprise me.â€Â
No, no, no! If you’re hypersensitive, you must find otherwise imperceptible flaws in everything, and your coffee drink must be just-so, or else you suffer a bout of ennui. Remember, your hypersensitivity, even if feigned, is a symptom of your narcissism. How could Starbucks have something on their menu amenable to your exquisitely refined tastes? How could this woman, who is attracted to the abyss of your complicated inner life, comprehend you to the point of successfully ordering for you? You must order something with skim panda breast milk, taste the drink, and refuse it because the panda was obviously fed on farmed bamboo, rather than wild. Bletch!
And yet the story always has the same endingâ€â€he grows distant, stops calling and eventually disappears with little explanation, if any.
Maybe he found you boring.
And yet the story always has the same endingâ€â€he grows distant, stops calling and eventually disappears with little explanation, if any.
Maybe he found you boring.
Maybe he found you ugly.
Face it, NYC womyns do not hold a candle to coeds from say … Clemson, or Aurburn, or Fla-Gainsville, LSU, – take your pick.
Flip side: I’m the kinda girl who enjoys cooking for a guy (or anyone), would love to set him up on Football Days withe beer, snacks, and the understanding I will be playing on the computer while he yells at the ref, and don’t in general want a girl-boy. So the mens, they’re looking for a broad with massive kachangas, blonde hair, and a dim wit…
Will women who have studied and understood the evolutionary theory of sexual selection begin to alter their personal, possibly unwitting behaviors in partner selection in the light of those theories in order to determine a separable notion of a fit outcome in their progeny, thus — they may hope — to eventually obtain or merely have a hand in the obtaining of the future (far future?) more properly courtly men of their dreams, only to have their distant offspring discover (too late) that there are fatal unintended consequences in these unknown and unknowable cascading events?
Or in the alternative, that the selections of their ancestor mothers have already determined what they’ve got now?
The skim panda breast milk only goes with coffee that has, before roasting, first passed through the digestive tract of a small mammal.
“So the mens, they’re looking for a broad with massive kachangas, blonde hair, and a dim wit…”
Oh Gawd, no! Did that once – was fun for two weeks. Pleasant kachangas, any color hair outside of “artificial”, but must HAVE a respectable wit.
“…his wife was pushing three bills.†?Huh?
I usually refer to it as reaching “three balloons”. Any snarky slang for three hundred pounds will do.
“The skim panda breast milk only goes with coffee that has, before roasting, first passed through the digestive tract of a small mammal.”
I had thought that might go without saying . . .
Preferably an endangered small mammal.
I have never chosen a girlfriend based on the size of her kachangas. My last one didn’t have too much in that department. She was, however, intelligent.
“Preferably an endangered small mammal.’
Yes, the rarest of poop coffees!
What a woman really needs is a good sense of humor and to not take herself too seriously. I think the women in question in the article lack both of these qualities.
I’m now, unwillingly, contemplating how one milks a panda.
Pandas are milked in a completely green, eco-friendly way.
Child slave labor.
“Pandas are milked in a completely green, eco-friendly way.”
Feh. Proper Hommes Fatales drink only fair trade panda milk.
Somehow, when i was living and dating in NYC, I managed to avoid this clique. While I went to school with women like this, i wasn’t wealthy enough, or of sufficient pedigree, to date them. Thankfully.
I met my wife in June, was engaged in December, married the following October (her family wanted a big wedding) and son born the following summer. I went from single to fatherhood within two years.
“People told me he was trouble, but I really thought he was too evolved and sensitive to hurt me the way he did,†Katherine said.
Maybe he just loved you too much.
She really doesn’t get it, does she?
And aren’t womyn nowadays supposed to be “too evolved” to be bothered by men who don’t return phone calls?
Funniest thing about the Sex and the City gals is that they’re way better than all this – which is why they always end up in tears over their panda breast milk lattes.
Apologies panther girl but I haven’t a clue as to the Sex and the City girls save possibly being able to recognize the actresses’ faces in a lineup. The warping meaning of “too evolved” in the context of actual evolutionary science is of some interest to me though. Did the S&tC girls go on at any length about evolved-dom in men?
I admit Sdferr that my knowledge of the S&TC girls is somewhat limited as well, though I have seen a number of episodes. I was always “amused” at their “I’m a big modern girl in the city who can f#@k just like men do because women are not biologically different from men in those ways” but always ended up alone and distraught about their aloneness. Not sure if they ever had the “evolved” conversation but they did seem to think that male “evolution” was a matter of men just “learning what we want”, with no thought at all to the biological patterns that were clearly at play. It also seems (they fit the stereotype anyhow) that men need to “evolve” but women are perfect the way Gaia made us.
I agree though Sdferr – if this is what you’re saying – that many folks who use the term “evolved” have little to no appreciation for its meaning (in terms of true evolutionary forces). I find this especially to be the case with “Women’s Center” types.
The Waitresses had an almost perfect handle on the subject a couple of decades ago, I think.
Can you say homme du closet or metrosexual? Sounds more on target than homme fatale.
Old Texas Turkey: “Face it, NYC womyns do not hold a candle to coeds from say … Clemson, or Aurburn, or Fla-Gainsville, LSU, – take your pick.”
Nah, ould son — Ole Miss.
You’ll note the absolute necessity that the Hommes Fatales be completely lacking of any least trace of masculinity.
You get what you pay for, I guess.
Yeah, these guys aren’t new, they’re the poetry spewing, guitar playing, folk song singing clove-smoking sunken-chest loser that’s always been around sniping at the edges for dimwitted women. They’ve just been mainstreamed by PC idiots and women who try to convince themselves that pointy shoes, a man-purse, and men wearing panty hose are masculine because of how it shocks the squares in Jesusland.
There’s always Shop Erotic.
Oh my gosh – are these the same peacenik ex-hippy guys (or younger versions of such) who are always trying to stop the war with posterboard because actually defending the country would cut into their time having intellectual discussions at the local trendy organic java shop?
Word. (Which is to not even to get into the parasitic nature of urbanite wealth redistributionists to whom the word production can only mean Broadway.)
Or as we wiser-than-we-used-to-be oldish bastards term it, They’re Simply Not People™. Someone should make a movie.
There is every kind of creativity and entertainment to be found,
No, not really. Certainly there’s a LOT of different kinds of entertainment, but every kind is a stretch. I’m guessing NY types look down their long noses at lots of stuff as insufficiently sophisticated for their fine city.
Um, these guys are actually closeted gay men who don’t realize that their overtures of friendship are being misread by the woman.
At first. Then when they figure out what she’s thinking, they go all cold and distant.
Trust me on this…
Um, these guys are actually closeted gay men who don’t realize that their overtures of friendship are being misread by the woman.
That was my thought, too. As the saying goes, so far in the closet that they’re in Narnia.
massive kachangas, blonde hair, and a dim wit
Tony Romo, call your office…
Great ribs at that place!
[…] Dan Collins says there’s nothing new here. So how does this relate to “himbos” and hyper-masculine bloggers? […]
If you really want to impress the kind of woman like the writer of that article, pull a pone of cornbread out of your Dee Cee bib overall pocket and start dunking it in your Starbucks. That get ’em every time.
“…..game of Scrabble or perhaps a cup of tea…”? If he doesn’t give it up on the first date, I dump HIM.
Hommes fatale, my ass.
I have one bit of advice for women living with a man while not being married . . . Don’t get fat
I love visiting New York, but there’s no way in hell, if I were a single girl again, that I’d live there. Philly wasn’t much better as far as the dating scene went (too many greedy women desperate to live on the Main Line competing for the college-educated men), but at least Philly guys tended to have the genuine blue-collar influence that made them more masculine and less likely to try to pull off the emo-weasel attitude. If a Philly guy was interested, he’d call when he said he was going to call (and he’d bore you to tears talking about sports).
Actors, English Lit. PhD candidates, assistants in the music industry, etc. We are talking serious people here folks. Let’s not dismiss their lamentations out of hand.
This is hilarious. I just finished reading “Why You Should Read Kafka Before You Waste Your Life,” and he fits the profile. Ardent, out there, then pulls back. At heart, Kafka was a New York emo boy, when he wasn’t a beetle.
Kafka was PrimEmo? I did not know that.
New York = Nutcase. Geez, get a life.
ushie, well do I remember a late night conversation way back in college (late 80s). A group of restaurant workers were sitting around drinking the boss’s beer when one co-ed asked the two older male grad students (I was a lot older) what “men like you guys” look for in women. [I.e. we were serious hard-working guys who talked to women as peers, were polite, kept our promises, etc.] I looked at Jim and he looked at me and almost simultaneously said, “intelligence!”
When asked why, Jim said, “Well, sooner or later you have to talk to at least some of them.”
I think a reasonable (you don’t have to like fart jokes or The Three Stooges) goes without saying. In fact, I refuse to believe anyone without a sense of humor is intelligent.
So, you (ushie)sound like a good date to me.
;->=
Ooops!!
I think a reasonable (you don’t have to like fart jokes or The Three Stooges) *SENSE OF HUMOR* goes without saying. In fact, I refuse to believe anyone without a sense of humor is intelligent.
“If a Philly guy was interested . . . he’d bore you to tears talking about sports.”
I resemble that remark. (Philadelphia born and bred, and the sports thing) Spectator sports are men’s drama, wherein we find human interaction, the dynamics of different personalities, etc. interesting, wrapped in a minor substitute for war. See the Romo-Owens-Witten love/hate triangle thingie.
This is a great comment thread. I’ve had more fun reading the comments than the original article. Nice to see some genuine humorists (as well as genuine people) are still around.
I liked Linbaughs word for these guys better: the new castrati. They have high soft voices, they act more feminine, they say “whatever” a lot.
And unlike Wush Wimbaugh words, they make significant contributions to our society.
“And unlike Wush Wimbaugh words, they make significant contributions to our society.”
Be. More. Entertaining.
I do think that the appellation ‘Hommes Fatales’ is a newer iteration of the more classic term ‘Head Fuck’.
Having daughters, and believing strongly in the duty of a mother to school her female progeny in the gentle arts, I have made it a point to familiarize them with the term and its definitions.
Has it kept them away from the aforementioned ‘HF’s’? No, not actually. I think that it is the particular curse of women to have to learn the hard way which specimens of (questionable and unquestionable) manhood to stay away from. Probably guys learn the hard way too, but that’s just a guess… Actually maybe not, as my sons paired off and settled down quite rapidly – with suitable females.
*Speaking of ‘questionable manhood’, I have also acquainted dear daughters with the species ‘Limp Dick’ (usually in the context of bitching myself about the most recent encounter with a man of insufficient testosterone). I believe the ‘Head Fuck’ species has some overlap with the ‘Limp Dick’ species. And no, neither one is at all ‘light in the loafers’…
P.S., Being 19 and 21 respectively, the daughters are old enough to hear forthright terms (as every woman should be) without blanching or becoming faint. I have raised them to be stout of heart.
Ah, the duties of modern motherhood……
I have also acquainted dear daughters with the species ‘Limp Dick’
“Well, is it in yet?”
“Everything but the head.”
Yes, alpuccino, it would be funny, if it wasn’t. Especially in the non-literal(‘performance’)sense… i.e., a man who is not only incapable of desiring a woman (and going after her and taking her) fully, but is incapable of desiring and going after any aspect of their lives completely… whether mental, physical or sexual… Gawd.
Isn’t there some sort of boner test you can do before things go to far? Is there some sort of radar?
Pardon my French btw.
[…] I wonder, wonder who, who-oo-ooh, who (Who screwed the Bag Of Douche?) […]
“Being 19 and 21 respectively, the daughters”
Say no more. Shave them, and bring them to my palace chambers at once!
“”””””””This newly identified “species†is in fact merely a subspecies of weasel, a creature that has infested the masculosphere forevah!””””””””
Well, not quite “forevah.” The type evolved after humans left their caves for farmsteads. Prior to that, would-be weasels were eaten by predators in infancy.
See, I’m laughing at Alec Leamas’ joke. SOme emo would be all offended on behalf of some unknown “feminist.”
Phew! Got through that without typing JorgXMcKie, because the last time
“SOme emo would be all offended on behalf of some unknown “feminist.—
I think the flavor of that discussion would have him/it accuse me of some pathology for enjoying the denuded female pudenda, Patriarchy, yadda-yadda.
BTW, I was channeling Robert Shaw’s Henry VIII from the film adaptation of ‘A Man for All Seasons.’ Could ya tell?
The pricess kissed a frog.
The frog didn’t turn into a prince.
“How dare he!”, exclaimed the princess.
[…] “I do think that the appellation ‘Hommes Fatales’ is a newer iteration of the more classic term
Yet Another Way For Women To Feel Vic-timized? Indeed, Feminism is such a scorching success. now ALL women are unhappy, and the Men created by that culture are unable to satisfy them, having become so feminised, they use tricks once the territory of women.
How do you measure success? ’cause feminism V2.0 is failing you.