The Only Men Worth Speaking To: Simps, Cucks and Soyboys
If the Manosphere hates you, women love you
I’m not above selling my underwear. I will absolutely send you an old bra if you drop £100 in the coffers. But whenever I do something for money, I ask myself, “would W.H.Auden do this?” and I seriously have my doubts Auden would flog his undies.
So how about I give you a new perspective on the world, you press this button, and then I pour some extra goodness into your life?
You! Yes you! Male person! Have you been called a simp, cuck or soyboy? You have?
Hello! It’s lovely to meet you. I’m a fan.
Let me congratulate you on avoiding the weapons-grade peer pressure of your late teens to consider all things deemed “girly” (including actual girls) inferior.
If you were raised in the 70s and 80s, perhaps it came easier: adverts showed girls in dungarees and normal (non-pink) Lego, male rockstars wore long hair, makeup and catsuits, and female ones shaved their heads, played guitar, and weren’t expected to perform in their underwear. Yes, sexism was rampant, but all the cool people knew in those couple of decades that no one’s value was decided by whether the flesh between their legs was an innie or an outie.
But if you were raised with an internet connection? You’ve done some hard swerving. You’ve avoided being poisoned by early incel forums on Reddit and 4Chan, and somehow avoided the dehumanising effects of the normalised hardcore that is internet porn.
Either way, cuck-a-luck, simp-ly fabulous chap, you held your ground, and continued to acknowledge/remember/know that women are people, not a lower caste created to serve the male of the species. Now — laden with the achievement medals of insulting nicknames from misinformed man-babies who can’t get laid, and are envious that you can — you’ve arrived in my words. This post is for you, and the women who appreciate you.
I want to illustrate how bad Gen Z women are having it right now. How very not-as-good-as-the-1980s, when we all marvelled at Melanie Griffith in Working Girl (1988) as she, with huge hair and genuine good-at-the-jobness, toppled her deceitful female boss, Sigourney Weaver.1 I was chatting to my daughter and her wife (22, 25) about the fact that three women attempted last year (sod the sisterhood) to topple me from a charity where I hold some sway. All three have now resigned or stepped back, and I mentioned that the coup failed largely because two men on the board hold me in high regard.
“They treat you like a man,” my daughter-in-law said.
I can’t tell you how much this shocked me.
“They treat me on my merits,” I said. “They treat me like a human being.”
But that, to my daughter-in-law, is being “treated like a man.”
I mean, fuck-a-duck. It is 2026. According to my childhood, we should all be wearing silver catsuits and living on the moon, or at least getting around on hoverboards. But instead abortion is being de-legalised, some men have stopped wiping their bumcracks,2 and being treated on your merits is being “treated like a man”?
Last week, I entertained you with the deeply shallow thoughts of Daniel Mancini. This week I’ve been inspired by the musings of another sad manosphere victim with a suitably masculine name, “Dave Atterman”. Atterman, Dave! Go get em!
Dave weighed in under a note by Jameela Jamil that rather summed up what is going on at the moment between men and women.
Jameela, known to many of us as Tahani from The Good Place, is currently recovering from the trauma induced by an attempted kidnapping.
This was coordinated, but not targeted. I just stumbled accidentally into the line of fire… where men take women and girls, for profit. Because we are not lives, stories and dreams. We are objects to be destroyed at the will of men.
…
After the attack, I was asked with frustration, why I had left my apartment alone at 6pm. SIX PM. As a 5 foot 10 inch forty year old, wearing outdoor winter layers… In a nice area, in a city I was reassured was safe.
Whether or not Dave knows this is irrelevant; Dave is one of those men who wants the kind of woman who doesn’t exist anymore. He possibly wouldn’t be averse to kidnapping a gorgeous woman to keep as a slave if he thought he could get away with it. Because when Jen Gordon responded to Jameela’s Note by saying her husband, a feminist ally, had said, “It’s all men until it’s NO men,” he felt compelled to say,
“Your husband is a cuck without a back bone (sic). Take away sex from him and he’ll show you his true colours.”
For Dave, sex is transactional. Only if women provide this service to a man can they be expected to be treated with any decency. He’s sure that men who treat women as equals are only pretending, and that if you withdraw sexual favours, he’ll turn on you like a wild dog who hasn’t been fed. Because that’s what he’d do, and the man-boys he hangs out with online: because women are appliances, designed to serve men with sandwiches and sex, and if they break down, you’ve got every right to kick them.
The ‘cuck’ insult — derived from cuckold — is consistently applied, in the manosphere, to men who genuinely like women. Oh, there are plenty of men who say they like women when in fact they only like what women can provide. But the men who really like women: who have them as friends, who will treat them — as my colleagues above did, in the words of my daughter-in-law — no different from men? Oh, they’re ‘cucks’.
Sad sex-starved boys poisoned by manosphere content have come to believe that women actually want to be dominated; and that once we meet a ‘real man’, we’ll be seduced into unfaithfulness because (they believe) women are naturally hypergamous: we naturally mate “up”. It’s one of many myths in the massive flying carpet of myths on which manosphere influencers take these sad boys for a ride, minimising their chances of ever finding love. For that reason, they think, our non-dominating partners are just asking to be cuckolded; along will come this gym-maxxed, Porsche-owning bellend and we’ll abandon the literal gentlemen who love us for a “real man”.
The truth, of course, is that when you find someone who loves for yourself, you have no reason to look elsewhere. Most men are exhausting. Men who think they’re superior to you, and expect you to run around meeting their needs are especially exhausting. Why would we leave a man who actually sees us as human, is a functioning adult who does his share around the house, who doesn’t get defensive if we have an opinion?
The men they call ‘cucks’ and ‘simps’ are the men modern women want. The men who are secure enough in their masculinity to know it doesn’t rest in their six-pack or their bank balance. Secure enough not to feel threatened when women are intelligent, capable and strong. Who don’t feel insulted when we say men are dangerous (because they know the statistics); who don’t feel emasculated by a woman who can beat them at chess, or snooker, or karate.
All this cuck/simp garbage just exposes their massive insecurity that they would be cuckolded (if they could ever get a girlfriend) if they didn’t control her through their moods, their threats, their endless haranguing, and tracking her phone. When you consider how unattractive this makes them to a whole population of women waking up — in the wake of Epstein, Pelicot, Andrew Tate, the Hampshire rape verdict, and much more besides — to the truth of how many see them, you have to wonder if it’s all a clever ruse by the Influencer class to take out the competition.
As Patri Steele puts it in “The Fuck Men Frenzy on Social”:
Whether men fully grasp it yet or not, the terms of straight marital partnership appear to be changing in real time as younger women grow increasingly unwilling to organize their lives around chronic male underfunctioning, emotional asymmetry, and the endless labor of relational management.
So, simps, cucks and soyboys — the last, I guess, eschewing the “manly” activity of slaughtering animals for food — I salute you. You’ve got the winning game, and it’s your sons and daughters who will inherit the earth. You are the Gold Standard of men.
Somehow, thanks to the appreciation and generosity of thousands of people, I am still here, still writing. If you’d like to help me stay that way — and keep the bank convinced I’m a viable remortgage risk — the buttons below are your friends. Not your only friends, obviously, but they will get you a new cool one with a lopsided smile and a penchant for wry humour.
Can I also namecheck the wonderful Mark Allan who made me laugh like crazy when he dropped me double the ‘NotAllMen’ fine so he could comment ‘Not all men’ on last week’s post. You are hereby certified One Of The Good Guys.
Paid peeps! We are getting together for a coffee and chat on Tuesday, 3pm BST. Put in in your calendars and I’ll drop you a link 3 hours ahead with your novel instalment.
Now. Every time I post a chapter of my fun-as-heck feminist pirate novel, a bunch of free subscribers dissolve into the ether. No one likes an inbox bombardment, not everyone reads fiction, I get it, so! I’ve stopped mailing Why I Stole Your Life to free subscribers. You can still read the latest chapter at this link (and I’ll include one in each Friday post), but I’m giving your inboxes some space before they take out a restraining order.
Paid subscribers, you will still get it every Tuesday BECAUSE YOU LOVE ME, yes? You have dug into your pockets to prove it, and believe me, your love is requited, and if you were in the vicinity, you would get a hug and a platonic smoochie 😍😘❤️ .
Also, if you missed this extra, and you’re in physical pain at the moment: ‘hAvE yOU tRieD noT bEing iN phYsicAl pAIn?’ Honestly, this works; it’s a paid subscriber perk. Carve out 40 minutes from your day and enjoy:
Until next week, my lovelies. Keep your shiny, perfectly wonderful peckers up! The world is in flux, but we are the world’s flux capacitors.
Rewatched this last night after writing this line and oh my Lord, how the film-makers absolutely effed up an otherwise top-grade comedy expose of 80s sexism by unnecessarily putting Melanie Griffith three times in her underwear!
This, of all of last week’s passing revelations, has caused the greatest horror, disbelief and consternation among my readers. I’m thinking of dedicating a stand-alone comedy post to this subject. What are we even doing, we who explore the whole human experience, if we swerve the daily necessities we’ve deemed taboo? Say ‘yes to poop post’ or ‘no to poop post’ in the comments.
I'm going to say no to the poop post. Call me a simp, but ick! Those of us who love our wives, daughters, and female friends as both people and women need to speak up more forcefully. Your essay encourages me to do so.
Ros, the point is that the number of boys who’ve avoided their horrific pornofication and online indoctrination is tiny.
That’s why boys legitimately feel under attack.
The reckoning is here. Boys love their moms and sisters but that was no defence during the vulgar wave.
We raised a legion of traumatized boys.
We continue to darvo them and condescend to them. The failures of a 25 year old man are the failing of our age cohort to let this run riot.