For months, I harbored an infatuation with a woman I encountered online briefly, someone I convinced myself was different. With nothing but a single selfie, my mind constructed an idealized version of her: pure, principled, untouched by the degeneracy that plagues modern women. Despite my blackpilled convictions, a part of me resisted AWALT, clinging to the faint hope that she might be the exception.
Yesterday, curiosity got the better of me. Through some digital sleuthing, I uncovered her social media presence on Instagram. What I found was a sobering reminder of reality.
Gone was the demure, down-to-earth illusion. In its place: bikini shots in Southern Portugal, a carefully curated feed of hedonism, and the unmistakable aura of another attention-seeking 'living her best life' archetype Hundreds of followers, thousands followed, the standard fare of a woman who measures her worth in likes and male orbiters.
The blackpill spared me the devastation a lesser mind might have suffered. No rage, no despair, just cold acknowledgment. AWALT is not a bitter mantra but an empirical truth. Even the ones who seem reserved, who project an air of modesty, are merely playing a different angle in the same game.
The lesson? Idealization is self-deception. Women are not monoliths of virtue waiting to be discovered; they are products of their environment, conditioned by the same hypergamous impulses. The sooner you accept it, the fewer illusions you’ll lose.
Yesterday, curiosity got the better of me. Through some digital sleuthing, I uncovered her social media presence on Instagram. What I found was a sobering reminder of reality.
Gone was the demure, down-to-earth illusion. In its place: bikini shots in Southern Portugal, a carefully curated feed of hedonism, and the unmistakable aura of another attention-seeking 'living her best life' archetype Hundreds of followers, thousands followed, the standard fare of a woman who measures her worth in likes and male orbiters.
The blackpill spared me the devastation a lesser mind might have suffered. No rage, no despair, just cold acknowledgment. AWALT is not a bitter mantra but an empirical truth. Even the ones who seem reserved, who project an air of modesty, are merely playing a different angle in the same game.
The lesson? Idealization is self-deception. Women are not monoliths of virtue waiting to be discovered; they are products of their environment, conditioned by the same hypergamous impulses. The sooner you accept it, the fewer illusions you’ll lose.
