By David Futrelle
You may worry about your country descending into chaos, or turning into a fascist hellhole, or even a bit of both. But when incels imagine the future they have much more specific concerns. Oddly specific, you might say.
Over on Incels.me, one paranoid commenter conjures up what for him is evidently the most nightmarish future dystopia he can imagine: One in which women can use sonar technology to check out penis size at a distance.
In a thread titled, with typical incel melodrama, “[SuicideFuel] In 2030, it will be absolutely over for dicklets” — dudes with tiny dicks — a fellow called Cuckcel offers his dire warning.
Incel dudes, when women look at you the first thing that pops into their mind isn’t “small dick.” It’s “huge asshole,” because that’s what you are.
Oh how I wish they’d all just STFU forever.
“Big dick incels will be in gigantic demand”
Citation desperately needed, buddy.
Even more useful will be an app that sounds an alarm if anyone in the vicinity uses the word “foid” to refer to women.
“These dicks are small; those, are far away“
I’ve heard it said that dystopic fiction can be boiled down to “what if middle class white people had to live the way poor brown and black people have always had to live?”
I think this is the gendered version of that. See, if you’re woman or a not woman but AFAB person, you’ve already experienced this dystopic hellscape since puberty. It’s called having boobs.
If incels had a speck of self-awareness, they’d look at the post and start to gain a little understanding of what it’s like to constantly be evaluated based on a secondary sex characteristic that you have little or no control over. Alas, we all know they don’t.
More likely facial recognition software will just make it more likely that they can pull up your internet history. Which should scare them way more.
Anyway, wouldn’t it be easier just to train an actual bat?
I’ll never care about what they have. It’s apparent to anyone on this planet they *are* tiny dicks. Even if no one sees them, they know.
Women already know whether a man has a big dick or not. There are a lot of factors, but it’s not like we’re ever surprised, really. We know. Also, a lot of us aren’t looking for big dicks. And, we also know that if you don’t have a big dick, you are more likely to be a better lover because you know you can’t rely on your big dick alone (men with big dicks really don’t know how to do much else but thrust, more often than not, and are shocked, SHOCKED, I tell you, when any reciprocity of oral sex is expected; srsly, big dicked dudes ain’t all that). So honestly, once we settle down, it isn’t for the big dick. It’s for the entire set of behaviors in the bedroom. I have more conversations with my female friends about whether or not a man looks like he gives great oral sex than we do about dick size, frankly.
Also, if there were some kind of device like this, everyone knows that a flaccid penis has nothing to do with what it looks like erect, ffs.
So called “Incels”: If you want to get laid, be a good person. Not a person who does supposedly “nice” things in order to get laid, but genuinely being kind to your fellow human. And shower, keep yourself fairly kept up (though a certain amount of shambles is sexy, too), drink water instead of soda, get good sleep, cultivate interests that include people of all genders and socioeconomic backgrounds (this can be as simple as trying a new bar or coffee shop), and treat every person you encounter with kindness and respect. That’s the formula for getting laid. That’s it. It works for ugly people, fat people, dumb people, smart people. If you can’t get laid, it isn’t the world. It’s you. And you might need therapy to help you with that. What you don’t need are Reddit boards full of other people who are filled with hate. What you don’t need are “gurus” who fuel your anger. You are better than this.
And, there is more to life than sex. I have gone months, even up to a year and a half without having sex because I was stuck up my own ass with misery or whatever. And once you find a person you can really love and be comfortable with? Guess what. You kinda stop having sex, and IT’S TOTALLY OKAY. There are a hundred things in the world as great as sex. And most sex isn’t even that great!
If this system DID work as it does in the incels fever dreams, it would only increase the amount of sex that incels get. Incels are by definition not having any sex. (Yes yes there are plenty of “incels” who are in fact having sex but not the on-demand effortless sex with a virgin HB9+ sex slave that they believe they deserve, but I’m going to ignore those ones because they violate the “celibate” criteria in addition to the “involuntary” criteria that all incels violate.) The worst thing that will happen is that the small-dicked incels will continue to not have any sex (i.e. No change to existing conditions), while the big-dicked incels will have increased chances of getting laid.
Of course, that’s assuming that women seek out sex partners based entirely on penis size and not on any other criteria like, say, their partner actually treating them like a human being and not being filled with virulent and dangerous hatred for them.
@Alan Robertshaw
Father Ted for the win!
Shorter Cuckcel: Discuss this shit I just made up.
It’s just exhausting, trying to explain this, but I’ll have another go, because I want to help.
Most women don’t care about penis size. Some do, because they enjoy that, some do, because they really don’t. But most don’t, for two reasons. 1) Female sexual pleasure is rarely about penis size. And 2) Relationships are about more than just sexual pleasure.
Questions? Comments?
Might I suggest that incels turn any purported deficits (small dicks) into an asset by being creative. Back in the golden age of Hollywood there was allegedly a producer whose party trick was balancing three silver dollars on his erect penis. How he perfected this talent I have no idea but he was supposedly very popular on the party circuit and much in demand socially. So give it a try guys. U obviously have tons of time on your hands to obsess about things like women running around checking out your crotch with VR glasses. I await news of your progress!
OT & TW for cutting
This well-written piece by the frontwoman for Garbage will appear in tomorrow’s New York Times.
Shirley Manson: The First Time I Cut Myself
July 3, 2018
I didn’t know I was a cutter until the first time I chose to cut. I didn’t even know it was a “thing.”
I had never heard the phrase “self-harm” back then, in the mid-80s in Scotland. There were no support groups for people like me or any progressive, sympathetic op-ed pieces about the practice of cutting in my local newspaper. It was something I came to naturally, privately, covertly. I didn’t tell a soul about it.
It was a secret. A secret that was mine to keep.
I was in my late teens, darkly in love with someone who wasn’t in love with me. I was having sex with multiple partners, experimenting with drugs and drinking copious, alarming amounts of alcohol. I would often fall foul of crushing depression, struggling to get out of my bed before 4 in the afternoon. Having flunked out of school, I had no set future in mind.
I was holding down a mindless part-time job at a teen fashion store, playing keyboards in a band more or less on the weekends and generally feeling pretty miserable about my lot in life.
I met a strange, tightly wound boy one night at a club called the Hoochie Coochie. He was tall and handsome and harbored some serious, unresolved anger issues toward women. I should have run for the hills, but I didn’t.
He refused to wear a condom when we had sex. He didn’t care how I managed our protection. “I’m not the one who is going to get pregnant,” he sneered. I resentfully went on the pill.
I grew to loathe him for his selfish sexism, but I continued to sleep with him anyway.
He started seeing other girls behind my back. I knew this was going on because I wasn’t stupid. For some inexplicable reason, not quite clear to me even now, I tolerated this peculiar, joyless relationship. I smoked a cigarette, dropped an Ecstasy and said nothing more to anyone about any of it.
It was around this period that I became an ardent fan of the local Edinburgh band the Finitribe, whose members often used the symbol of a fish to identify themselves and their fans.
I tied a small silver penknife in the shape of a fish onto the laces of my Dr. Martens. I thought it was cool to tie a little knife to my shoe. Most people found it a little odd.
I wore my hair in a rockabilly quiff. Painted my lips bright red. Wore seamed stockings hooked to a suspender belt, tight pencil skirts and soft, brightly colored cashmere sweaters.
I was acutely aware of the attention I attracted, but I was entirely uninterested in anyone who was ever interested in me. I wanted someone I couldn’t have and was otherwise completely paralyzed. I had a desire to speak but could not find my voice. I wanted to change the world for girls like me, girls who didn’t fit in or want to conform, but I didn’t know how or where to start.
And all of it drove me mad with rage.
My fury was such that I knew intuitively if I directed it at any one person, I would more than likely land myself in jail. It was a natural, practical step to turn that rage inward, toward myself.
The first time I cut myself, I was sitting on the edge of a bed inside my boyfriend’s flat.
It was late. He and I had been arguing for some time, our voices gradually becoming more and more raised. I was concerned that we might wake his flat-mates, and in a moment of utter exasperation, I reached across for my little silver penknife, pulled it from the lace of my shoe and ran the tiny blade across the skin of one ankle.
It didn’t hurt.
I did it again.
And then I did it again.
I looked dispassionately at the three thin red lines I had made and watched as tiny little bubbles of my blood oozed to the surface.
My boyfriend snorted in disdain and called me some nasty, misogynistic names before turning his back and immediately falling asleep. I felt somewhat elated, as I imagine a scientist might while working on an experiment that suddenly, after much persistence, has yielded favorable results.
In that room at that moment, I felt untouchable and powerful. I was a woman in charge.
More than that, I felt a warm surge of comfort and relief. Relief from the rage. A relief from the powerlessness. Something had happened that didn’t feel right, and here were lines of my blood to bear witness to it and speak of it on my behalf.
My silver pen knife, now discarded on the floor, glimmered in the soft yellow glow from an old Edinburgh streetlight shining in from outside the window.
I suddenly felt I was part of something much bigger than this stupid situation I had found myself in. To my mind, my life had just immediately become more grand and expansive. I was salved. The connection to my little silver fish was forged.
I had an enemy. I had a knife. And the future was ours.
The problem of course with any practice of self-harm is that once you choose to indulge in it, you get better, more efficient, at it. I started to hurt myself more regularly. The cuts got deeper. I hid the scars under my stockings and never breathed a word about it to anyone.
Fortunately for me, the incredibly unhealthy relationship ran its inevitable course. I started dating a loving, respectful person who also happened to be an incredible communicator. The cutting abruptly stopped.
It wasn’t until much later in my life, in the middle of a European tour in support of the second Garbage album, “Version 2.0,” that I experienced the strong impulse to hurt myself again, and the pull was as compelling as it had ever been.
I was under immense physical and mental pressure. I was a media “it” girl, and as a result I was lucky enough to be invited to grace the covers of newspapers and fashion magazines all over the world. Perversely, the downside of attracting so much attention was that I began to develop a self-consciousness about myself, the intensity of which I hadn’t experienced since I was a young woman in the throes of puberty.
I was suffering from extreme “impostor syndrome,” constantly measuring myself against my peers, sincerely believing that they had gotten everything right and I had gotten everything so very wrong.
The mental anguish I was inflicting on myself was extreme and drove me half out of my mind. In hysterical, extreme moments, I thought if I could just get my hands upon a tiny little knife it would bring some relief and I would be able to handle the stress.
Mercifully, most likely because of the rigorous demands of touring and an understanding that cutting myself was not something I really wanted to get back into, I managed to resist the compulsion to harm myself again. I muscled my way through the frustrations, the sick, unhealthy comparisons and the peculiar, destructive feelings that drove me to believe I wasn’t enough.
Today I try to remain vigilant against these old thought patterns.
I vow to hold my ground. I choose to speak up. I attempt to be kind, not only to myself but also to other people. I surround myself with those who treat me well. I strive to be creative and determine to do things that make me happy. I believe it is not what we look like that is important, but who we are. It is how we choose to move through this bewildering world of ours that truly matters. And when I struggle with my sense of self, as I often do, I summon to mind “The Layers,” a poem by the great Stanley Kunitz:
no doubt the next chapter
in my book of transformations
is already written.
I am not done with my changes.
And then I force myself to breathe.
Breathe in. Breathe out. I breathe in. I breathe out.
I leave the knife where it is.
I breathe again.
Shirley Manson
The singer’s band, Garbage, has just released a reissue of its 1998 album, “Version 2.0.”
If you are self-harming, or anyone you know needs help, call the S.A.F.E. Alternatives information line at 1-800-DONTCUT or visit selfinjury.com for additional resources.
https://www.nytimes.com/2018/07/03/arts/music/shirley-manson-garbage-the-first-time-i-cut-myself.html
TBH, I discovered a mantra that made (some of) my anxiety about my body go away:
“Would you want to be with someone who would have a major hang-up about your body?”
My answer is no. Like, for a bunch of dudes that believe they will never get laid they sure do have a lot of dick fear.
[Citation needed]
I can generally tell when a dude IS a big dick. I have no idea how I would gauge the size of a dude’s genitals sight unseen, though. Maybe I missed that portion of my introductory seminar on being a woman.
Insecure dicks talking about their dicks.
“like in pokemon go”
Incel sounds like the worst pokemans.
It’s ironic that they finally get the technology of comic book X-ray Specs to work, but rebooted for girls.
How is this supposed to work, exactly? 37 phones ping and suddenly there’s a stampede towards the same bewildered man? Then what? Who gets first dibs? How do you even start a conversation? “Hi, according to my app you have a big dick”? How would that be anything but awkward?
No. No no no no no no. A guy whose only knowledge of how lovemaking works comes from visioning hundreds of extreme porn movies – and armed with a big dick? Never, ever. Go away.
It always fascinates me when they bring up routine infant circumcision – a legitimate men’s rights issue- but it’s only about getting laid, not genital autonomy. Way to delegitimize a real issue guys… meanwhile many real intactivists are also feminists.
That image will cheer me up for weeks. Wonderful!
But obviously, the highest numbered woman gets the big dick. You can’t expect a man with a big dick to slepp with anything less than a 9.
Well, considering that thanks to patriarchy, body image issues are more of a feature than a bug in the female population, if anyone is attracted to women and thinks body hang ups make someone an unsuitable partner, good luck finding someone.
Given the fetishization of big penes in mainstream porn, I can understand why men – particularly those who are sexually inexperienced – would be insecure about penis size. That’s not the thing that makes incels shitty. The misogyny is.
Okay obviously this is not data but in my lived experience, me personally and most of my friends anywhere on the gender spectrum who are sexually attracted to men and have a reasonably high amount of sexual experience can generally tell not exactly how big a man’s dick is but can give a reasonable estimate. Like it’s not like you meet a dude at a party, chill with him for a few hours and you’re like oh his dick is eight and a half inches long or his dick is 4 and 3/4 inches long, cuz that would be ridiculous LOL.
Personally, I would say I’ve been right with my speculation about 80% of the time and this is referring to about 30 men. Most of them I didn’t have full-blown intercourse with but we hooked up with to the point of me seeing their penis(usually oral sex, since I’m absolutely terrified of getting pregnant. I would never sleep with someone that I was not in a serious relationship with because I am a lapsed Catholic. I’m fully pro-choice but I don’t know if I could personally go through with an abortion. I don’t think it’s murder at all, but it is objectively killing something and I don’t even kill mice that are in my house. I catch them safely and set them free in the park. At least if I got pregnant with my primary partner he knows how I feel about this I can’t imagine discussing this with a stranger while already pregnant. Sorry for the tangent, everyone knows it’s a bad habit of mine)
So I would say the statement has some truth to it but it’s obviously a generality and I honestly could tell you a couple signs but it’s mostly subconscious for me personally, Plus if you’ve only hooked up with a few people then it doesn’t seem to work. Obviously these are only the people I know which is definitely not a typical sample space. I don’t like the word normal but my friends are not what most people would consider typical or average, so maybe you need a specific point of view or something. I honestly don’t know I’m just guessing at this point.🤗
I hope everyone in America has a lovely fourth of July. Yeah it’s associated with patriotism which most people probably aren’t going very much of right now in the circles most people here run in but it’s still a holiday and holidays are nice. Good night all!
I think that j meant that he wouldn’t want to be with a partner who has a major hang-up about HIS body, not about her own.
Insecurities are a lot more “forgivable” (not that being insecure is something that people need forgiveness for, but I can’t think of a better term at the moment) than being a jerk about someone else’s body. A partner should be someone who makes you feel better in your life, not worse.
Sort of a “well, someone who is going to be an ass about my body’s ‘flaws’ isn’t someone I would want to be in a relationship with anyway, so I may as well stop worrying about people not wanting me because of said ‘flaw’.” deal is how I interpreted it.
Ah, perhaps I misread. Apologies.
I’m a little on a hair trigger about this stuff. The conflicting messages of “you’re hideous if you aren’t a size two with perfect hair and skin. Here are all the expensive and time consuming things you need to do to be allowed to show your face in public” and “be confident because confidence is sexy!” sort of drive me up the wall.
“The Jews took your foreskin”? What?
I get that most intactivism is just thinly-veiled anti-Semitism, but bloody hell.
@ Kat, ambassador of the feminist government in exile
That was lovely. I shouldn’t have read it.
I will have to pick up that re-issue, though.
Hello.
Hmm, and he has probably missed the course about ultrasounds ? Maybe he confounds it with MRI ? I mean, ultrasounds can not allow you to detect something throught something else. So, unless in the future incel men decide to walk without clothes, an echolocation stuff will not be able to “size” the center of their life. Moreover, if there were so many echolocation devices, that would cause too much disturbance and make them far less reliable (and let us not speak of the serious damages it will cause to the wildlife).
Anyway, in their dystopian future, and due to their propensity to send dick pics, i was fearing they had imagined an app with only dick pics which women would (obviously) used to look for a date. At least, we have escaped this idea of elitist dating app…
Have a nice day.
What he’s forgetting is that this app will also measure wrist circumference, canthal tilt etc, and produce an overall SMV figure. So having a big dick won’t be enough.
Also… does he think that everyone who performs a circumcision is Jewish? Look, dude, if you’re worried about that, try sleeping in pyjamas made from bacon. That will repel the Jews who are trying to steal your foreskin.
There’s already been an augmented reality app (Blippar) which used facial recognition to overlay a person with details which they’ve made public. If ubiquitous AR becomes a thing (which I doubt), something like this seems more likely than dick-sonar, at least for people in the dating market. You’ll look at an incel and see a tag cloud, and immediately think “a Jordan Peterson fan who’s working on blockchain projects? No thanks”
I just don’t know how you would persuade a bat to care about the genital size of humans. I imagine you would be hot on the trail of some big-dicked incel, and then suddenly the bat is gorging itself on mosquitos, and you’re out of luck.
Then again, I’m somewhat staggered by the apparent assumption that women want an app that tells them when men with large penises are nearby. Like, you’re going to stop doing whatever you’re doing and go FIND this guy, who may be married, or gay, or trying to eat a pastrami sandwich in peace, and…what?
They really do think everyone but them is having sex randomly all over the place, don’t they?
Will there be an erection-projection-estimator add-on, or are people expected to naturally care about limp dick sizes ?
Off-topic, but of interest: Darwin Brazier just killed his ex-wife, her current husband, then himself. She begged for a permanent restraining order, but that didn’t work out. He had a history of threats of violence, but most of note were the likes on his FaceBook page: https://www.facebook.com/darwin.brazier/likes?collection_token=100000444422198%3A2409997254%3A96&next_cursor=MDpub3Rfc3RydWN0dXJlZDpBUUhSVFhwazZyMGlTdE83REcyZ2tLYnJkdlc1U1QyYzZzWVVXQXlBZVVBTE5nYWRXYmQ5ZXZsUjc5bGNnX2xIU0JOTFNvT3hHaC1yNW1PM19jQ2tQT3d6VEE%3D (OK, I need to learn how to make links better.)
So this latest post-divorce domestic violence murderer ‘liked’ the pages of Donald Trump, Duck Dynasty, Ted Nugent, “Americans Against Maxine Waters”, “Hillary Clinton Sucks”, and a WHOLE LOTTA Fathers’ Rights pages. Although his timeline just shows photos of him and his kids (which is rather sweet), his ‘likes’ show a nasty man who hates women. I hope someone who knows what they’re doing shines light on the connection between so-called Fathers’ Rightsers and post-relationship violence.
I’m amused, since locally “bat” is a slang term for lesbian. (totally coincidental to Batgirl being lesbian, which is also amusing in this context)
Anyway, if women were that much size obsessed, they’d likely just use a baseball bat.
I’m asexual, aromantic and never had sex in my life.
But from what I have heard other people say I gather that circumference matters more than length.
And that technique is way more important than size…
So, having a humiliation fetish of this nature is surprisingly common, and writing sci fi about your sexual fantasies is not wrong in itself. Just like fantasies of being cuckolded, or dominated by cruel and mocking women, or financially dominated, or having one’s sperm treasured as liquid gold.
But why, oh, why must the sadlings of the manosphere insist on
1. Believing their own wank fantasies are the foundation of all female psychology?
2. Constructing elaborate and contradictory political ideologies from said fantasies?
3. Hating actual women because the women in their fantasies behave in a way that turns them on?
Why can’t Mr Cuckcel just post his little story on a forum where men who get off on being humiliated over their (allegedly) small genitalia congregate, for the pleasure of his fellows?
@Moggie:
You think there’s something wrong with working on blockchain projects?
@Podkayne Lives:
Consider that these are the sorts of men who respond to big boobs by stopping doing whatever they’re doing, going to this woman, who may be married, or gay, or trying to eat a pastrami sandwich in peace, and then pestering her … or worse.
@Alan
Oh god, I must have seen those 15 seconds 110 times and it still makes me laugh
Posters: when are you going to realise that men care about penis size a hell of a lot more than most women??
I do not give one shit how big a guy is. I care about whether I’m attracted to him.
@Alan
<3
Father Ted is one of the few series I can think of that still makes me laugh even after seeing many of the episodes several times. The gem-to-notGem ratio is high.
ETA and in the case of these specific dicks, of course, the farther away the better …
@Alan Robertshaw, Weatherwax et al.: Disappointing how Father Ted writer/producer Graham Linehan has gone full TERF, though.
I would rather fuck twenty insecure dudes with tiny dicks than a single smug guy with a big one. Sex involving large penises has mostly been a painful experience for me. As have smug men.
I wouldn’t fuck twenty dudes, no hetero, but if I had to choose.
Quoted for truth. Maybe these incels are walking around with permanent boners – this wouldn’t surprise me, actually – but with most men under most circumstances the data would be literally meaningless.
I’m entirely averagely endowed and tend to favour partners who are pretty experienced and sexually outspoken, and not once has any of them even so much as mentioned it as an issue. (I’m pretty sure I’d have remembered if they had, and most likely quite vividly.) But two of them have reminisced about trying to have sex with someone who was very generously proportioned, and neither of them seems to have enjoyed the experience much – because like many men with massive schlongs, they’d been conditioned to think that that was all that was necessary, and to hell with actual technique.
@Citerior Motive
Yeah, I’ve been following that particular trainwreck on Twitter (at a distance, mostly). Ew.
@Kat
@Vucodlak
That Shirley Manson article … wow. The unseen sorrows and pains of other people 🙁
I’ll also be getting that re-issue. I love Garbage.
An average sized dick is average for a reason – it works best in tandem with the average vagina in straight sex. Giant dicks, in my experience, hurt far too much to want to go seeking one out.
I think everyone is missing the most important implication of this post. There’s apparently a huge untapped market of dudes who are afraid that women will be able to x-ray vision their schlong size at 50 paces. Mark up some athletic cups and claim that they have special lining that makes them impervious to scanning technology (or, if you’re more inclined to put more effort in, make some kind of dick cover designed to make the dick look bigger during the “scanning”), and you can make a killing!
This tech will really help that one troll from a ways back who was very, very into the idea of a penis-hierarchy.
Ok I was a real slut in my youth and I’ve seen my fair share of penises. And in my experience… size usually doesn’t vary that much? Or what do any other slutty lady or gay/bi man in here think? I mean, sure, size varies a bit, but not as much as a lot of men seem to think? I think maybe there’s greater variation when they’re flaccid and it evens out a little bit when they go erect, and so straight dudes who mostly see other penises in the shower at the gym therefore gets the idea that there’s more variance than there is.
But yeah, some people are outliers and like some other people in this thread I’ve also had the experience of sleeping with a guy who had a way larger than average one… And we had good sex, we did, but it’s still not optimal with a really large one. Because although a vagina is stretchy, it’s not a freaking Tardis! There’s actually a limit to how much space there is down there.