In our past articles (here and here), we took a consistent position that feminism stems from ugly women feeling bad. Below is a cry of a woman who describes herself as ugly. We are not posting this to make fun of the ugly or to be cruel to them. The heart breaks reading this. But everyone – male and female – is judged in comparison to the rest of the gender. We are graded “on a curve” and therefore some of us will always be seen as prettier than others. When people are compared to one another for any quality, from sexual desirability to job skills, some people will wind up at the top, while others will be left in the misery of the bottom. This woman wound up on the very bottom.
I’m ugly. I know I’m ugly. I have known that I am ugly since I was twelve years old.
The world of an ugly woman is different to that of a beautiful woman in so many ways I could not begin to explain it all. I can, however, briefly sketch the strange differences I have observed between how society treats ugly women, and how society treats beautiful women.
My sister is beautiful. I have many beautiful friends. I live in the same world as beautiful women. I am not one of them. They are celebrated, remembered, asked after. People are good to beautiful women, even when beautiful women are indifferent, hostile or even cruel in return. People remember my sister’s name and instantly forget me. When we are introduced to new people together, nine times out of ten if I meet that person again they will immediately ask where my sister is, how she is, what she is doing. I am never asked about myself and she is never asked about me. My beautiful friends are photographed by friends and acquaintances. I am silently left out of the records of social events. I am erased from history because I am too ugly to be photographed. Strangers compliment my sister and my friends, strangers insult and ridicule me.
Notice that her tragedy stems from how important looks are to her as a woman. She desperately wants to be pretty. She admits “I know I am ugly. There is literally nothing I can do about it. I’m trying my best already!” The exclamation mark is there to show just how much she wants to pretty.
She wants men to notice her, an act that feminists describe as “objectification.” But she knows that men don’t want her. As we described before, she’s the one being treated like an object, a non-sexual object, while pretty women are “celebrated, remembered, asked after.”
Strangers feel free to insult and ridicule her because she’s an object. They can’t fathom to view her in a humanized way because humanization comes from sexualization. This is simple biology: living being have a drive to reproduce and their energy is best spent going after someone with whom they want to mix their genes, while brushing aside the non-desirables who are no more than objects to them.
Naturally, this woman then turns feminist:
Men might think that perhaps they live in the same world that I do, but they don’t. Even ugly men live in a different world to me. I have never seen, or heard of, a man experiencing the same level of public condemnation for their looks that I have faced. The most recent example I can think of is the man who stopped in the street last week to tell me that I shouldn’t be wearing tinsel on my head like my friends (we were going for Christmas drinks) because I was so ugly. This is not rare for me and this is not new. This has been my life since I was a young teenager. When I see discussions about catcalling I want to scream at the people who tell women that they should be complimented. What should I do when someone yells at me, unprovoked, that I am an ugly minger? I know I am ugly. There is literally nothing I can do about it. I’m trying my best already!
There is hope for ugly men in popular culture. We celebrate the story of the ugly, or at least not conventionally attractive male, who finally gets his, inevitably beautiful, female crush to realise how much he is worth on the inside and how worthy he is of her love. That story never happens in reverse. There are just no famous actresses that are anything other than conventionally beautiful.
Nobody writes books about ugly women. No one makes films or plays, or songs or art of any sort about ugly women. In fact, we’re not there at all. In popular culture, and culture stretching back as far as human memory goes, ugly women are not there. We don’t exist and nobody talks about us. Beautiful women are the only women we see or hear about, and most crushingly, the only women we remember. The ugly ones, no matter what they do, seem to be simply invisible. Invisible or evil and bad.
We shouldn’t be surprised by this, though, we tell children stories of the good, beautiful princess and the evil, ugly witch. We make this happen.
I am ugly. I will not be remembered. I will never be the protagonist of any story told. I hate being ugly. I hate myself. The end.
This is a standard canard of the ugly feminists. Men aren’t judged the same way as women, therefore, they aren’t judged at all. This is preposterous. Men are judged based on who’s a better man and who’s worse. Do looks matter as much? No, but qualities like confidence, leadership, decisiveness, financial success, charisma are all far more important to men than women.
A man who loses confidence drops to the bottom of the curve. These push-overs are ignored, harassed, insulted, ridiculous, robbed and even beaten. Women feel free to make them work for them and give them money by pretending that they may pay them any attention, then turn around and act shocked that the man ever thought that his efforts and spending will get him to so much as hold the woman’s hand.
The world of the very undesirable men is worse than that of the very undesirable women because women are rarely going to be robbed by men or beaten by fellow women just for their undesirability.
At the end of her cry, the woman finally latches on to the one hope that all the feminists have: we can change the society, she proclaims. We can force men to pay attention to the ugly, she hopes. But, of course, we cannot. As she admits, that this is how things have been “stretching back as far as human memory goes.” That’s because this is nature. Feminist lies about other societies notwithstanding not caring about female looks, those who are sexually undesirable – men and women – are treated horribly. Even if we all suddenly become nice to them, just the knowledge that nobody wants you is a monstrous burden to carry. We are made to reproduce. The world voting democratically and unanimously that you shouldn’t reproduce like all the living beings is the ultimate objectification.