Back when misogyny was more so associated with objectifying women, the Becky could embrace a countering modesty in the form of aesthetic fringe; in goth; in scene; in quirky creepypasta fanfiction. This was the turf of dark sensitive creatures dwelling in crevices; outcasts imagine its feminine archetype to themselves as: the girl who gets it; in a world of sunny smiles, rare earthy cynicism and a capacity to all the obscure culture nobody else likes; to the anti-normie, a gem in its rarity.
Accordingly, to an introvert, the assurance that a love-interest not fuck all your friends in a frolicking free love mindset means something, and would be preferable to someone who really does just want to meet a person like them.
Such a bond renders standard an existential territorial-ism from other men. They can have the populars on top of their iceberg, there’s literally millions of them. In snub to sociable optimism, the creed of the historical Becky was to embrace obscure things generic populars wouldn’t touch, the stuff hidden beneath, content dark and carnal, but overall stylized and weird.
Of pheromonal draw this interest is primordial; danger is daring and power; it’s adolescent archetypes are in mid 2000s innocence: Jeff the Killer, heath ledger’s joker and maybe some anime boys.
This instinct of the feminine, even weeb-ified is one towards rugged power of the masculine. It is less chad, less conventional than Captain Thor saving the day, but if you are of it, it is yours, in a world which hates you. And no matter what, at least they can’t take from you your counter culture…
Around 2016, the normies adopted the turf of the outcast, and with it, its territories and customs. They already had their charms in mass media; I don’t know why they had to take what little we had. Of this conquest, the capacity of the Becky to dark and introverted weirdness was slipped from attraction to carnal masculine dominance, and standardized into a general embrace of the hentai culture men were perpetuating at the time.
This was the rise of the quirky girl. The gravitation in spirit is towards optimism, sleek, joyous and conventional.
The upper layer of the iceberg descended upon fringe turf, and with it reaped the fruits of its mistress. Worship of the feminine, and of tactile intimacy was a product of the crevice dweller in intricate sensation. This irking for flesh known by introverts was discovered and promptly adapted to serve those prior accustomed to industrial pornography. The fabric of the adolescent crush was corrected to fit the general image of this predominant criteria. Of the "girl who gets it," what could not be grasped in cerebral appreciation became excess, what was left of her levelled to the ideal preferences of Pornhub’s demographic: Tik-Tok filters, florescent milkshakes, everything the normies sucked on.
Reviewing the creed of fringe’s old native inhabitance, the illusive golden middle of women lies between quirky as a cope for undesirability, and quirky as a fashion for thots. The constant value of this elusive archetype is a rare mix of subversive cynicism and integrity of beauty—the cynicism in question stems from an appreciation for values trampled by the domineering preference of the majority. The archetype bears the integrity a thot lacks, and the nobility of mind a shallow 5 lacks. Of the feminine, the price of cynical intelligence is promiscuity; the price of loyalty is simplicity. Then, to consider one who isn’t just akin of mind to the outcast, but beautiful in spark; then, exclusively interested in him. It is an archetype present in early millennial media, and revered if ever to so rarely materialize in reality. To the Soundcloud rapper, this archetype’s interpretation is different. For them, that cynicism so rare of the feminine is a preferential snag, one to what, should a woman meet the ideal criteria of mass sex appeal be a prolific smile. Where the outcast of old sees a rare balance too good to be true, those who adopted his culture see insufficiency in distance from pornographic standards, those matchable by any jovial product-woman recruited by the industry. To those who adopted the loners customs, the insufficiency of the classical Becky would be: prude-ness, loyalty and reluctance to intimacy beyond you, or not having tits sagging like the girls in their anime memes.
The illusive gem, the agent of long awaited compatibility is now the dream of one who isn’t prude enough to not have an OnlyFans. Now it’s “i’m not like other girls, I like all that hentai the boys watch”. All of a sudden the female counterpart to the doomer meme isn’t: the lass who gets it, but a fashion aesthetic, a fucking fashion aesthetic E Girls use sometimes.
There was a slim demographic for people with a capacity to the cerebral; today this fringe would be thots to the Nth degree, and goth chicks are associated more with mall whores then deep “not like other” girls in the mid 2000s. That beauty was a thing of contemplated quality and not mass; to the usurper this beauty is excess material as she is interpreted in relation to standard of the porn-star.
Only a surf of retards within the nerd camp would take a symbolic manifestation of their own archetype (Introverted) and glorify its subjugation to an archetype more prolific and happy-go-lucky. The dividing line between Daria and Stacy was never popularity or fringe; it's spite—the former are just accidental results.
This spite is what divides the mentally fewer from those numerous, but it comes ultimately from a resentment for the rape of charms cherished.
Weird culture, a safe haven for the less numerous was occupied by the numerous. For the numerous to adopt the mantel of fringe, those fringe from whom they took it would become displaced of an identifying color; driven from the only territory they had ever known and made nameless. The new colors with which this diverted and culturally unofficial percentage will align by have yet to materialize, but they will be dark.
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