Somebody call the CDC. There’s an epidemic of Player Burnout in the air. Edward Thatch, YouSoWould, and Roosh are all contenders for patient zero. I myself recently took a month-long vacation from The Game, and I don’t feel like I missed much.
Could it be, fellow gentlemen of ill repute, that our pride- and lust-fueled romp through the wreckage of western civilization is an insufficient means of slaking our manly thirst for purpose in this life? Could there be more to life than the pursuit of our next notch? How often do we even consider the question?
A hungry man cannot imagine a higher purpose than his next meal. The sex and love-starved young men of America cannot imagine a greater goal than woman. But gorge a man on either food or sex, and he will start to see the base and biochemical nature of the pleasure they offer. Roosh spent a decade honing his social skills and traveling the world in search of nubile young babes. He lived the literal dreams of so many men. Still, he returns to us and tweets: “I’m bored of women.”
Edward Hatch describes the emptiness of the modern dating scene thusly:
“The bottom line is that what I learned from banging 5 girls in 7 days is that I don’t give a shit if I bang 5 girls in 7 days ever again. It’s too much work, there’s zero return on investment outside of an hour or two of carnal pleasure, and the moment I bust a nut, I can’t stand the sound of her voice or having her in my personal space. The sad thing is that the vast majority of them are actually pretty nice gals, but once they start in on me with the “OMG I never ever do this!” talk, a portion of what little bit of soul I have left dies.”
After a while, they all start to blend together: Come up for just a minute, gorgeous. I’ll show you my bar. Have a seat. Care for a glass of wine? Of course you would. Let me put on some music, smooth jazz classics. I’ll tell you the story behind some strategically-placed pieces of art and furniture in my apartment. At some point I’ll mention that my roommate isn’t home, whether he is or not. These pictures on the table? I just got them developed, let’s have a look at them. Oh why yes I suppose I have traveled quite a bit, now that you mention it. Soon, we’ll be in my room and the door will be closed and I’ll be lighting candles and after between five and one hundred and twenty minutes of pretending that you’re a nice girl who hardly ever does this, we’ll be laying in a fetid marsh of sweat and sex and I’ll be wondering how long until you leave without my having to ask, and if you were worth the load of laundry I’ll have to do in your wake.
Another night, another notch. Rinse and repeat. Player burnout. To unwind, you might want to do some ice skating using skates.com/collections/mens-ice-skates.
The origin of player burnout, and any other negative emotion really, is incongruity between what we truly desire and the actions we’re taking in life. There are many factors that can lead us to act against our best interest – peer pressure, laziness, bad information – and our emotions exist to guide us back on our true path when we stray from it. This all sounds like hippie drivel, but the motivated reader can rephrase this basic idea in terms of evolutionary psychology or Christian theology, depending on his preference.
Player Burnout is a real medical crisis. It will afflict one in four American men at some point in their lifetime. I’m tempted to start a crimson ribbon campaign to show our support and raise awareness. Until that catches on, here’s my theory on the primary cause of this tragic disease.
Player burnout occurs when a man is pursuing sex and fresh women, to the detriment of his core self
There are a few reasons why a man might do this.
Social pressure, for one. Our culture – and by this I mean ‘our’ culture, the Manosphere – prizes the prolific man over the staid. Eschewing the next one-night stand for the sake of a monogamous long-term relationship, or god forbid marriage, or god forbid celibacy, is viewed as weak. I assume it took some degree of courage for Roosh to confess to his readers, and perhaps even himself, that the pursuit of fresh notches – a pursuit that has defined most of his adult life – is of waning appeal. In the great culture war, even this outpost of reaction and conservatism is infected with the worship of r-selected behaviour.
Pride is another. This is a truth I happened upon with much help from several thick caps of chewy fungal introspection, but perhaps you can get there with a few minutes of meditation: How much of your desire to bed new women is based on lust, versus the desire to prove yourself as a man? Variety is a wonderful thing. But is it better than looking in the mirror and seeing a man who has a girl for every day of the week? How many men would rather date a six who turned into a nine when you were alone with her, then the other way around? Be honest.
The internet pick-up community attracts a certain sort of man: Intelligent, introspective, analytical. Men such as these are not wired to derive satisfaction from emotionally detached relationships. The Manosphere is telling these men to cast off their ideals of love and commitment, and trade them for the deracinated and solitary life of the perpetual bachelor.
As YouSoWould put it, possibly referring to this post of mine:
“Just the other day I read an article trumpeting the benefits of being a father as if it was some kind of fucking revelatory information – are people around here really so maladjusted? I may not want kids at this stage in my life, but when I do, I have no doubt what a rewarding experience it will be, the opportunity to pass on my lifetime of experience, and to provide a safe, stable family unit with a strong masculine presence for them to develop in. Does this really need pointing out to people? Really?”
How many of the men who read this blog – the vast majority of whom are 120+ IQ, analytically-minded introverts – can honestly say that they don’t want love and a family? I am a Sociopath by any clinical definition, but I know this: I want those things. I crave them. If you do not, then your heart is even harder than mine, which is hard indeed. The sort of men who spend their hours reading blogs such as this have too much depth to be satisfied with such a simple, base life. They will crave some combination of family, wisdom, purpose, and closeness to God. Defining a life on the practice of running around and fucking every hole in sight is the prerogative of a chimpanzee, not a Man.
The world perceives a stereotype of the seduction community. We’re a bunch of cold, soulless, degenerates, doing whatever needs to be done to get the lay. We hate women. We’re men of singular mind and purpose. But this is not the reality I’ve seen, in the half-decade or so I’ve been immersed in the community. It takes a certain degree of intelligence and capacity for analytical thought to truly grok the seduction community, and those traits tend to correlate with a craving for real emotional bonds. Many of us have repressed those cravings, because we’ve been hurt, because it’s easier to wear the armour of emotional invulnerability, or because it is what this subculture demands of us.
The symptoms of Player Burnout present when the heart of the pick-up artist cries out for something more. It is a yearning for something greater. If you cannot find satisfaction from sex, drugs and rock ‘n roll alone, be grateful for that.
