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Trouble on Fantasy Island
Twentieth Century Fox sought out an isolated tropical beach in Thailand. Then they put Leonardo DiCaprio on it. And then created a vision of wilderness despoiled by a tale of wilderness despoiled. Out of which unfolds a media fable with real-life consequences in a world haunted by travelers' dreams of paradise.
John Tayman
And how does Leo arrive on the beach? Is his route tangled, governed by mere chance, like all things that land on Maya Beach? Has he been pushed by winds swirling counterclockwise from the Indian Ocean? Ridden along on the easterly swells of the Andaman Sea? Spun up into the Phangnga Bay and squeezed between the high limestone faces of the twin islands Phi Phi Don and Phi Phi Lay? Did he move with the gentle current across the shallow bowl of Maya Bay, ten pulses each minute, and then wash aground on the narrow half-crescent of fine white sand? That is how things find themselves on the beach, after all, driven there through fluke and serendipity and fleeting human whim. And such forces apply universally, even to Leonardo DiCaprio.
But start earlier: Open on Phi Phi Lay, a curling slip of an isle in the Hat Noppharat Thara National Park, 400 miles south of Bangkok. Pure chance has covered Phi Phi Lay in dark green casuarinas, bamboo, pandani, and palms. It brought red jellyfish and leopard sharks and angry green crabs into the bay, and set upon these creatures the inevitable predators: hungry macaques and hornbills and Andaman kites. Decades ago chance led the chao náam—small bands of Thai nomads—to Maya Beach, only to chase them away again when a random discovery on the island yielded a bounty of fragile swiftlet nests. Boiled and served as soup, the birds' nests are worth their weight in gold to Chinese gourmands. So off were shooed the chao náam settlers, and in 1983 Phi Phi Lay was declared officially uninhabited, no overnighters—yet another law for the island, immutable as the natural ones, and enforced by park rangers policing the shoreline in belching longboats, lest a swiftlet grow disturbed in its nesting by an errant human.
The ephemeral influence of fiction first came to Maya Beach in the form of a popular novel, The Beach, written in 1997 by a 25-year-old Englishman named Alex Garland. His book tells the story of a young backpacker who by luck and chance locates a paradisiacal Thai beach, befriends its blissed-out occupants, and then unwittingly brings the Eden to a bloody and cinematic ruin. The best-selling novel—which is glib and fast and possessed of icy dark undercurrents—reads like a screenplay.
Thus, inevitably, one drizzly morning in the middle of 1998 a location scout for Twentieth Century Fox motored into Maya Bay, looked around, and declared it fine. For two weeks in January of last year, a full production crew—200 bodies led by director Danny Boyle, who had explored Scotland's underbelly in the film Trainspotting—made its long way to Phi Phi Lay. Eager to spin Garland's novel into celluloid gold, they brought with them Leonardo DiCaprio, who had contracted for a reported $20 million to play the backpacker, known only as Richard. When the luxury yacht carrying the actor glided into the shadows of the island, DiCaprio hopped off, followed a boardwalk overland, and emerged from the canopy of trees onto the gentle slope of the perfect beach.
Now one more scene, several months later: The commercial harbor in Phuket, Thailand, a scrim of fog cloaking the rusting trawlers and tankers. A charter boat pulls from the dock with 40 Taiwanese tourists aboard, 20 young couples on a pilgrimage to the location of a movie they have not yet seen, based on a book they have not yet read, and starring an American actor they know mostly from Titanic, a film that still plays in theaters in Taiwan. Call it chance that I was on the same boat.
"You are going to Leo Island?" a member of the tour, a young Taiwanese woman, asks.
You mean Phi Phi Lay?
"Yes, Phi Phi Leo," she answers. It is an hour past dawn, already hot, the Andaman Sea shiny-calm except in patches where schools of fish foam, feeding at the surface. Like the other passengers, the woman wears a name tag and has dressed to match her date, in black cargo shorts and a black-and-white-striped shirt. Every few minutes a couple leaves the gently rocking deck and clutches along toward the bow, laughing. Curious, I follow.
When I reach the front the boy in the striped shirt hands me his video camera. "Would you film us?"
He and his girlfriend step their way to the bowsprit and, after signaling me to begin filming, strike a pose: the woman's arms thrown wide like wings, the boy encircling her waist, the two of them leaning face-first into the wind. The scene from Titanic. A second pair of young Taiwanese wait patiently off-camera, clapping. When the first couple finishes, the next two hand me their camera, move into position, and assume the pose. So it goes much of the morning, Leo after Leo, Kate after Kate, while the signature cliffs of Phi Phi Don and Phi Phi Lay gather shape on the gray horizon and a woman behind me, for the benefit of the video sound track, sings Titanic's theme song in a not-bad voice.
Here, here I am, in Dyersville, Iowa, on the baseball diamond from Field of Dreams; that's me at the Timberline Lodge in Oregon, the one from The Shining; and that's me in Austria, outside Leopoldskron Palace, which was the Trapps' home in The Sound of Music. There I am in Tuscany, in the town from Stealing Beauty; and that's me in Istanbul, in the bazaar from Midnight Express; and here's me in Rockville, Maryland, the town called Burkittsville in The Blair Witch Project. Now those are the stairs from the Exorcist, and that's the crater from Starman, and that was the town from The Last Picture Show, which wasn't really a town but is now, sort of, because of all the tourists. You saw those movies, didn't you? Because then you'd recognize these places…
The clerk at Hello Internet Café glanced over my shoulder to see if the computer was working, and then wandered away. It was early in Bangkok, a weekday, and the place was quiet. An albino Thai boy loitered near the front of the open-air café, moving only to glide past my table and flash a palm of hash at me. The attendant watched uninterestedly; drugs were common on Khao San Road. Last night they'd been offered by the taxi driver who ferried me through the city's monsoon-flooded streets, and again by a disheveled woman in the lobby of the New Joe guest house, where I took a sagging bed. At breakfast a German backpacker mimed a heady drag, pointed, and nodded, Yes?
Backpackers come to this strip from all over the world for the dope or the prostitutes, or to make cut-rate arrangements to get somewhere else. Scrubby guest houses and cheap massage parlors cram the place, and narrow alleys spike off this road, where discount travel booths peddle no-fuss arrangements to Angkor Wat and Kathmandu and Phnom Penh—perennial must-sees on the backpacker circuit. Among the trips for hire along Khao San are a Good Morning, Vietnam tour (the movie was filmed in Bangkok and on the island of Phuket) and several Emmanuelle tours, featuring the French soft-core classic acted for real in Bangkok's infamous Patpong district. The film allusions allow for a type of sellers' shorthand, sketching the experience and lending richer visuals than a crude brochure.
Shortly before I arrived on Khao San Road, a small travel company called Sunshine Travel began offering a Beach tour. It was simply a trip to the remote but somewhat well known island of Phi Phi Lay, no different from the one offered last season or the season before that. But Hollywood had altered the worth of the small island, and increased its marketability.
What is there to see? I had asked the girl in the Sunshine booth, which was no more than a cart wheeled onto the puddle-clogged lane, two wheezing dogs slumbering underneath.
"Very nice beach, bird's nest cave, good snorkeling," she answered. She was about 19 years old and had long and wickedly curved fingernails on her left hand only, painted gold.
And the movie?
"Oh, yes, very good movie," she said, as if she had seen it already. We talked money, even though I wasn't planning to use a tour to get to the island, and I thanked her and left.
Next morning, under the bright sun, the street seemed less exotic and far shabbier. The tang of the city came in a rush, a mix of rot and sweet and smog that burned my nose. Before I headed south to the islands, I wanted to gauge the heat of an ongoing controversy surrounding the filming of The Beach, so I spent the morning at the Hello Internet Café, reading back issues of the Bangkok Post and the South China Post and the various Web sites that had sprung up to either flack the film or claim outrage at the destruction it had allegedly caused on Phi Phi Lay.
One activist, a 39-year-old Bangkok-based filmmaker named Ing Kanjanavanit, appeared frequently, frantic about the way Twentieth Century Fox was mistreating her country. Fox was, for instance, planting 60 additional palm trees on Maya Beach for the benefit of the cameras, and bulldozing sand to widen the strip, and temporarily uprooting native spider lilies and grasses. More than once she burst into tears of frustration before the reporters, her sobs placed into the record as she wailed about the ineffectualness of her efforts and the thickening corruption of her nation.
"Everything in this country is for sale," she told one reporter, suggesting that the $100,000 fee that Fox was paying to film on the island was pure payoff. "This affair of The Beach is like a mirror. It shows me what sort of country I'm living in." In the preceding months Ing and her allies had petitioned the U.S. Department of Justice to halt the filming, citing the Foreign Corrupt Practices Act, and she oversaw the marshaling of 39 Thai law professors in a petition to the Thai government, which successfully called for Fox to post a larger security bond prior to filming.
On the Web, small factions of pro-film and anti-film advocates did battle, the latter calling for boycotts of the movie and public rallies and heated debate on the serious environmental issues, while the former relied heavily on the yumminess of Leonardo DiCaprio for its ammunition. And in fact, had the extraordinarily popular DiCaprio not been involved in The Beach, it's likely the production would have passed through Thailand with barely a ripple. Phi Phi Lay, after all, was not even a cinematic virgin: Cutthroat Island, an unfortunate film starring Geena Davis and Matthew Modine as pirates, was filmed on Maya Beach in 1995; not a protester was to be found. But as any agent can tell you, Matthew Modine is not Leonardo DiCaprio.
From the computer at the Hello Internet Café I noted the charges leveled by environmentalists and the defenses offered by Fox and the film's director and DiCaprio himself. ("I would never be part of any project that did anything to harm nature," the star declared in a statement last January.) The sites were entertaining. There were photos of a serenely desolate Maya Beach in the weeks before the production, and blurred telephoto shots of the actors at work, and plenty of good gossip: Leo passes out from jellyfish bites; Leo impregnates his teenage costar; Leo requires a $45,000 mobile home to be shipped in from Britain; Leo looks fat.
The movie was re-creating a journey from a novel that I also was attempting to re-create, in part because I wanted to see what became of places that happened to slip, usually by chance, into popular culture. In his novel, Alex Garland has Richard start his journey on the Khao San Road. There he meets a Scottish backpacker who, prior to killing himself, gives Richard a map showing a necklace of small islands far to the south of Bangkok, near the popular tourist destination of Ko Samui on the eastern side of the long Thai peninsula. Rumors of a beach—unspoiled, idyllic, peopled with a small and happy community of expats—had been buzzing along the backpacking circuit, and Richard decides that this map is evidence of such a place. Armed with the map, Richard and a young French couple he has met (she: slender brunette, winning eyes, partial to toplessness; he: undeserving) set off to find the beach. The three move from Bangkok to Ko Samui, and from there to a smaller island, and finally to a smaller island still, where they find the beach. Richard and friends are accepted into this beach society, and several pleasant months follow—the expat islanders fishing and gardening for sustenance, smoking dope and playing soccer for recreation. But Garland infects Richard with Vietnam War fantasies, and these, coupled with the presence of armed Thai marijuana farmers on the island, slowly ratchet up the tension until the place erupts in an orgy of bloodletting, triggered by the arrival of several more backpackers on the beach—a not altogether subtle suggestion of the effects of tourism.
As it happens, Phi Phi Lay, which is located on the western side of the Thai peninsula, is never mentioned in the book. Garland based his fictional island on one he knew from the Philippines and then sited it in Thailand's Phangnga Bay. But this is a distinction that will soon be lost, since the film effectively trumps Garland's novel. The Beach is forever now on Phi Phi Lay.
There, there, that's me at Devil's Tower, in Wyoming, the butte from Close Encounters of the Third Kind, and me on the Chattooga River in Georgia, the one from Deliverance, and that's me with Blue Lagoon Cruises in Fiji on Nanuia Lailai Island, next to where they filmed The Blue Lagoon, which is Turtle Island, and you can visit that too…
Up close, the limestone cliffs of Phi Phi Don and Phi Phi Lay appear melted, as if a massive blowtorch passed up and down the five-story-tall faces, bubbling the stone and causing great long rivulets to run to the sea. But from a distance, say on a charter boat coming from Phuket, the whitened cliffs catch the sun and shine like spinnakers in a yachting regatta, locked side by side in a never-moving race.
For the past week, before heading for the Phi Phi islands, I had traveled a path defined by Garland's book, from Bangkok to Surat Thani to Ko Samui and Ko Phangan and the other islands in the Ang Thong Archipelago. It was the tail of the season, a week before the monsoons would begin in the southern portion of Thailand; they had already begun up north.
What remained on the islands were mostly backpackers, young Europeans and a few Americans and Asians—people Garland certainly would have recognized, budget travelers who skittered around Asia looking for the unspoiled place even as they herded together in picturesque backpacker ghettos such as Ko Samui. Garland had in fact been one of them, as he had explained to me over the phone. "I'd been backpacking since I was 17, and I started out as a vicarious-thrill kind of backpacker who treated Southeast Asia as an adventure playground," he said. "I think later I started querying aspects of that, and that's what started the ball rolling with the book."
On a straight reading The Beach seems to cast backpackers into two types, divided by a shorthand ideology. The first is the sort Garland admits he once was, a thrill-seeker who looked on the native culture as an exotic treat and who charted his travels by the Lonely Planet guidebooks. The second type is the sort who feels outrage at the presence of other backpackers and who is ever seeking virgin spots yet unsullied by them. The character Richard falls into this category.
While the novel can read like a critique of the noisy, boorish, carefree vagabonds who swarm places like Khao San Road and Ko Samui, it's actually far more damning to pious travelers like Richard, who often muck up the pristine places they're so keen to discover. Unfortunately, this critical nuance can sail, untouched, over the dreadlocked heads of most of the young Western travelers hopping the jeweled islands of southern Thailand. Concurrent with the paperback publication of The Beach was its adoption as a sacred text for backpackers, and it was impossible to walk on a Thai beach without spotting a young foreigner sprawled on the sand with the novel, beach towel littered with postcards and cigarettes. More than one person told me they wished they could find a beach just like the one Richard finds. "I hear wildly different accounts from backpackers on what, exactly, the book means," Garland said to me. "And I accept that I misjudged and failed to represent some things in the way I wanted to represent them, and that I left them open to interpretation. But what was I going to do? I was 25 years old; I'd never written a book before. I got some things wrong."
As the tour boat made its way to the Phi Phi islands, it began to rain, a short squall which soon died away, the sky clearing to a milky white. At Phi Phi Don we moored beside several ferries carrying organized tour groups and a dozen speedboats that had brought backpackers and divers to the island. A few hundred yards up the beach ran a small line of shops and food shacks, and the tourists made for them. At the beach's opposite end grew a copse of curving palms, where the backpackers sprawled in the dark beneath. Thai girls in thin sarongs attended to them, massaging necks and legs while the scruffy young men reclined in satisfaction, some with drinks in their hands: a postcard of languid sensuality. I walked to an empty spot of sand between the shops and the shaded hollow, settled in, and dug a copy of The Beach out of my bag.
Beneath the entertainment of the novel's plot, Garland parries with the different ways in which to wander the world—with the notion that there are tourists and there are travelers and the breeds are distinct. "I had ambiguous feelings about the differences between tourists and travelers—the problem being that the more I traveled, the smaller the differences became," muses Richard in The Beach. "But the one difference I could still latch onto was that tourists went on holidays while travelers did something else. They traveled."
Richard is echoing a point made four decades ago by the historian Daniel Boorstin, who argued that in the middle of the last century—just at the time the word "tourist" first came into use—the character of foreign travel began to change. "It was the decline of the traveler and the rise of the tourist," Boorstin wrote in 1961. "The traveler…was working at something; the tourist was a pleasure-seeker. The traveler was active; he went strenuously in search of people, of adventure, of experience. The tourist is passive; he expects interesting things to happen to him."
It was peculiar, lazing in the sun within swimming distance of Phi Phi Lay and thinking about these twin islands passing from the hands of travelers and fully into the hands of tourists. In the early 1970s the few visitors who happened onto Phi Phi Don came for the unusually fine diving and snorkeling, or to climb the two islands' high cliffs and tally the exotic bird life. They were destinations with no amenities, and accommodation was a mesh hammock or a woven mat smoothed flat on the sand. But word gets out, as Garland's Richard laments, and greater numbers followed. Several bungalow hotels sprang up on Phi Phi Don, and a pizza joint or two, and then several bars serving hamburgers and tacos and warm Mr. Pibb. Even Lonely Planet grieved, and without irony, in the 1997 edition of its Thailand guide: "Bay packed with boats…new hotels building by the pier…endless rows of dreary, crowded bungalows," it laments. "Where's the nature? No one harvests nuts anymore and no one fishes. Why bother when you can ferry farangs around the coral reefs?"
Off on the horizon were even more foreign tourists, more farangs. The Thai government was counting on it. "This is the perfect commercial for the [marine] park, and for Thailand," Thai Forestry Director-General Plodprasop Suraswadi, whose agency issued the filming permit, said last March. "You couldn't buy better publicity for a tourist destination." The film's producer, Andrew Macdonald, joined in the boosterism: "Thailand will become famous as a country where paradise is possible."
Whether it does to the degree the bureaucrats hope is now mainly dependent on the filmmakers' skill, and following them, the critics. After all, the movie might stink. Early screenings suggested as much, or suggested trouble at least, as preview audiences found the film too dark and violent, all in all too un-Leo. Fox elected to shoot new scenes and re-edit the film, pushing the release date from a Titanic-like Christmas 1999 opening into the non-blockbuster precinct of mid-February 2000. And should the fixes not take hold and the movie flop, well then a pilgrimage is a hard sell, as Richard Bangs, founder of the tour company Mountain TravelSobek, discovered. "We saw no shortage of interest in Kenya after Out of Africa," Bangs told me. "So in 1992 we put together a trip called At Play in the Fields of the Lord, to northern Brazil. But the movie completely bombed, and there was no interest in the tour. It just died." Of course, the star of At Play in the Fields of the Lord was the actor Tom Berenger, and as any agent can also tell you, Tom Berenger is no Leonardo DiCaprio.
See, see, there's me on the Na Pali Coast on Kauai, where they filmed part of Jurassic Park; and that's Fripp Island in South Carolina, where Forrest Gump was made; and Squam Lake, New Hampshire, which is the real On Golden Pond; and that's the town in Finland where they shot Doctor Zhivago, except it looks so much like Russia that when tourists come to Saint Petersburg and want to know where the movie was, the Russians have to lie to them about it…
Phi Phi Don had grown quiet in the muggy afternoon. The shade beneath the palms no longer held a Gauguin tableau, and the day-tourists had vanished as well. I began to consider how I would get to Maya Beach. For a moment I thought about swimming the mile of open water, as Richard does in The Beach, but then I remembered that I'm a lousy swimmer. Hiring one of the boats that gave tours of the bay wouldn't work, because they are required to keep close watch on the visitors they bring to Phi Phi Lay. What I intended to do was spend the night on the beach. I had originally hoped to see if I would recognize the signature landmarks from both the novel and the movie: the lagoon completely enclosed by cliffs, or the soaring waterfall from which a terrified Richard leaps to gain access to the beach. Before I even got to the island, though, I learned that no waterfall marked the entrance to the beach—DiCaprio's stuntman made his leap over the Haew Suwat Falls in the Khao Yai National Park, 120 miles north of Bangkok. And the lagoon was digitally enclosed by the Computer Film Company.
I also wanted to get a sense of the beach itself: to find out if there existed an untouched feel to the place, or if both the novel and the movie were projecting onto the island a character it did not naturally possess. Overnight stays on the beach are not allowed, but I'd traveled far enough to believe that I needed to have at least one evening on the island, absent all souls.
Along the beach, local fishermen had spread woven nets and monofilament line and were knotting and smoothing and coiling to prepare for the evening's work. Maybe I could hire a fisherman to drop me on the beach and then pay him enough not to return until the next day. I knew money had tightened in the weeks since the film production left. The flush crowds everyone expected to descend on the two islands wouldn't arrive until after the release of The Beach, at least. Until then it was mostly a fishing life again for the locals, a hard life, and one that they were apparently eager to leave.
In the early stages of the protests against Fox, environmental activists argued that the filming should be forbidden because it would disrupt the economy of the local workers. But when protesters staged a sit-in on Maya Beach during pre-production, they were booted off Phi Phi Lay not by Thai police or Fox security, but by furious locals from Phi Phi Don. "It was a very exciting day," Andrew Macdonald, the film's producer, recalled with enthusiasm in an interview with Time. "These ten wimpy greens from Bangkok facing off against 60 to 100 angry locals." For most of the remaining weeks of filming, the fishermen—now on the Fox payroll—formed a floating blockade of longboats across the mouth of Maya Bay, keeping protesters and paparazzi away.
On Phi Phi Don, the issues of the mainland and foreign activists gained no traction. Everyone knew Maya Beach wasn't unspoiled; foreign travelers had been going there for years. Trash could be found on the beach, and the coral in the bay was dying or dead from the props of fishing boats. In fact the efforts of the production actually seemed to benefit Phi Phi Lay, an opinion set forth by, among others, a committee of environmental experts appointed by the Thai Forestry Department who visited the set and deemed the island in fine condition. The environmental watchdog group EcoLert also gave a positive report, as did the independent organization Reef Watch, which noted that the coral in Maya Bay actually appeared healthier than it had prior to the filming.
Far down the line of brightly painted longboats I saw a fisherman who owned just one net, which he had draped on a tepee of bamboo stalks to dry in the sun. It took only a moment to reach an agreement. A few minutes later we were moving across the channel to Phi Phi Lay, the water going from pale blue to emerald with increasing depth. Hugging the island, the boatman stayed close to the limestone walls that overhung the sea. At the base they had been cut by years of sea action, and as we neared the gap into Maya Bay he steered the noisy craft beneath the roof of stone and smiled at the hollow echo.
I was the only one. I walked up and down the sand, and when the sand ran out I walked into the bay, running my hand along the craggy boulders that ended the beach. The rocks continued for a while and then gave way to sand again. I waded around them and back onto land, and then turned away from the water and toward the island itself.
Rising through the forest was a faint trail, a curving line of pale green between the dense green of the trees. I followed it up, careful with my footing on the steep slope, stopping only to clear cobwebs from my eyes. The heaviness of the jungle hung in the air, as fecund as a hothouse. I was on the cliffs that cupped the bay like a giant's hand.
As the trail ascended it leveled out, gradually becoming no more challenging than a flight of stairs. I pushed at the branches that clogged my path. Air ferns spilled like unkempt hair across the branches and large black beetles clung to the strands, swinging in the breeze. Near the top the trees cleared out, and suddenly I was standing on a knob of rock high above the bay.
Over the wall of cliffs I could watch the Andaman Sea and the lumps of trawlers backlit on the horizon, but there was nothing on the water within several hours of me. Behind my head the jungle moved with birds and insects and things I could not see. The moon was already in the sky, though the sun had a few hours left to go.
I found the trail that returned to the bay, emerging at a spot far down the grinning curve of the beach. The tide had lifted all the footprints from the sand, including most of mine. What few remained had been discovered by crabs, which hurried from one depression to the next and then hunkered down until their eyes were level with the sand. I watched them until the sky grew orange and the bats came out, and I watched the bats feed until Maya Bay filled with moonlight.
I had brought a bag with fruit and bread and several Thai beers, and I put my dinner together before it grew too dark. I had brought a small candle lantern with me as well, but I wasn't sure I wanted to use it. I certainly wasn't going to build a fire and signal to the evening patrol that I was on the beach.
After some time I lay back on the sand and listened to the island. The waves were almost inaudible, a gentle metronomic swish in the middle distance. Green crabs made their own noise, a rapid clicking as they scrambled on the rocks and, in the near silence beneath this sound, a ticking that might have come from the contact of their claws against their hard shells as they settled into a crouch. The island's birds had mostly quieted for the night, and if there were other things on the beach or even nearby, they were moving toward sleep as well. I did hear something large crashing in the inland trees, but the sound came and left too quickly to place. I stayed on my back in the still-warm sand, following the river of stars above.
In the morning when I woke there were footprints on the beach, but no sign that a boat had landed. I never saw the person.
An eternity ago, in 1922, the poet Vachel Lindsay went into a darkened room crowded with people and emerged 30 minutes later, having experienced his first motion picture. "It has come then," he wrote, "this new weapon of men, and the face of the whole earth changes."
A few months ago, a reporter asked Alex Garland whether the film of his novel would have any effect on Maya Beach, and whether he worried about that. "I really don't see Leo fans jumping on planes and coming to Thailand," Garland answered. "I hope not."
A few weeks ago I called Garland up and told him that Leo fans were indeed jumping on planes and coming to Thailand. There was a significant pause. "If that's true, then there's a part of me that feels I fucked up," he said. "I find that slightly dismaying. I don't know how to feel about it."
A few days ago I dug out the snapshots from my weeks in Thailand. There was me in Bangkok, in a chrome-heavy tuk-tuk swamped to the floorboards by floodwater; me near Chiang Rai, hiking along a high bare ridgeline with Myanmar below; me in Phuket, leaning into the wind at Laem Phromthep point, the Buddhist monks in their pumpkin robes coloring the foreground. There was me on Maya Beach, just another tourist lingering too long without invitation, one of the first of many. There was me on the Chao Phraya River, and me in Krabi Town, and finally me in a tiny velvet-lined taxicab, the background blurry with motion, on my way to the airport, on my way home.
Here, here I am on a different island in Thailand, one of those limestone uplift isles that look like giant furry thumbs pushing out of the ocean. It's in the Phangnga Marine Park, about 40 miles north of where they filmed The Beach. You can actually get to it from there, do them both in the same day if you find a speedboat fast enough and if the sea stays nice and calm. Anyway, do you recognize it? About 25 years ago they came and filmed The Man with the Golden Gun here—you know, the one with Roger Moore and Christopher Lee as that guy Scaramanga and the midget Hervé Villechaize as his assistant. This was Scaramanga's hideaway, where James Bond finally tracks him down and saves the world again. There's that great scene where Bond lands his seaplane on the tiny beach and when he gets out the midget is there with a silver tray and a martini and says, "Welcome, Mr. Bond." Well, that's me on that beach. It was a hard picture to get because the beach was packed with tourists, and there were boats everywhere and dozens and dozens of souvenir shacks selling T-shirts and other guys selling Singha beer and everyone seemed to have a radio on too loud and after a few minutes you start feeling nervous and uncomfortable and begin looking for the boat to get you the hell out of there. Which is too bad, because it's a gorgeous island. It's called James Bond Island, and it's funny because that's even the name they have on a lot of the maps. Before the movie came out it was called Ko Pingan, but my boat driver said that if you told someone nowadays that you wanted to visit Ko Pingan, they wouldn't know where to take you. I guess no one uses that name anymore.
From Outside Magazine, Jan 2000
The Best View in Every State
By: Emily Pennington
The 24 Best Mountain Towns in the U.S., Ranked
By: Graham Averill
Come Test Gear in Alaska with Outside Editor in Chief Christoper Keyes
By: The Editors
What You Missed: Preet Chandi Completes Antarctic Expedition
By: Frederick Dreier


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Tag Archives: monogamy
Surprise, Surprise: Dyke Nuns Hate Little Boys
November 9, 2018 Uncategorizedbiology, catholics, celibacy, celibate priests, christianity, Curtis Yarvin, E. Michael Jones, Enlightenment, feminism, healthy sexuality, homosexuality, lesbians, marriage, misandry, modernity, monogamy, Muslim, Natural Religion, neo-reaction, nrx, protestantism, rapefugees, scandal, science, sexuality, sexy sexismHipster Racist
(((Curtis Yarvin))) may be a Jew, but his neo-reactionary movement attracted Catholics. In their attempt to demonize Whites, Protestants, Americans, the Enlightenment, and modernity, they have instead introduced a whole new generation to the reason we threw off the yoke of the Catholic church in the first place.
The "Catholic church abuse scandal" is really just the victims of the Catholic church growing up, and now that the Catholic church has lost its institutional power, and now that sexuality is understood biologically and scientifically, the shame conditioning that the Catholic church used for centuries to enslave Europeans doesn't work anymore.
It's obvious how homosexuals came to dominate the "celibate" Catholic institution.
Consider: one of the primary complaints about Muslim "refugees" and "immigrants" in the West in how they treat women. One only needs to look at their own culture to understand how different they are than us. For a Muslim boy, when he sees a girl his sexual attraction is coming from her. She is doing something that causes him to feel arousal, and since she is the actor, she is the seducer, it's ok for him to rape her. He was just standing there, minding his own business, and this girl walked by, acting sexy, therefore she's a whore. The only way a girl can not be a whore is to cover her entire body because if he can't see her, she cannot seduce him.
So take a typical scenario in Ireland or America in the 1950s. A boy grows up, begins puberty, but unlike his peers, has no interest in girls at all. The idea of marrying a girl, having sex, and starting a family is off-putting to him. Since the Catholic church tells him that "lust" is a grave sin, and he himself is apparently free of this "lust," he realizes that he is actually "more spiritual" than his peers. His uncouth, sexually obsessed peers who are obsessed with the girls now reaching puberty, are just not as "spiritual" as he is.
So, he joins the priesthood. He is assigned to work in a boy's school.
There, all of a sudden these boys start acting sexy, or more specifically, acting gay. It's not the priest's own desires coming to the surface, it's the boys who are acting gay, or acting seductively or acting sinfully. If one of the boys seduces him the priest merely goes to confession, eats a cracker, and all is forgiven.
Lesbians are of course different than gay men. So a girl begins puberty, but unlike her peers, these boys are not interesting at all. In fact, they are quite scary and even disgusting. While her girlsfriends are all crushing on various boys, she's actually turned off by the whole affair. She can't understand why her close friendships with her girlfriends are all being interrupted by their growing awareness of boys.
She must just be "more spiritual" than her peers. She is, in a sense, on a "higher spiritual plane." Unlike the "earthly" desires of her girlfriends, she's only interested in the "pure" and "spiritual" things.
So, she becomes a nun, and is assigned to a orphanage. There, she has to take care of these disgusting, rowdy, violent, and gross boys, with their little penises popping underneath their pants all the time. It's up to her, a "truly spiritual" woman without these "desires of the flesh" to whip these boys into line. She, in fact, quite enjoys it when these boys feel shame for their disgusting "lust," their "sin." It's actually quite a power trip, watching these proud boys become ashamed of themselves. For the ones that are defiant, beatings work well. As the "Good Book" says, spare the rod, spoil the child.
https://www.buzzfeednews.com/article/christinekenneally/orphanage-death-catholic-abuse-nuns-st-josephs
It was a late summer afternoon, Sally Dale recalled, when the boy was thrown through the fourth-floor window.
"He kind of hit, and— " she placed both hands palm-down before her. Her right hand slapped down on the left, rebounded up a little, then landed again.
For just a moment, the room was still. "Bounced?" one of the many lawyers present asked. "Well, I guess you'd call it — it was a bounce," she replied. "And then he laid still."
Sally, who was speaking under oath, tried to explain it. She started again. "The first thing I saw was looking up, hearing the crash of the window, and then him going down, but my eyes were still glued—." She pointed up at where the broken window would have been and then she pointed at her own face and drew circles around it. "That habit thing, whatever it is, that they wear, stuck out like a sore thumb."
Children are amazing in the sense they will believe pretty much anything you tell them. After all, you're an adult and children are evolved to mimic older humans. The central image of your religion is a man being tortured and the central story is of a man being murdered for the sins of the world so it's the "sinful" child's fault.
Sister took hold of Sally's ear, turned her around, and walked her back to the other side of the yard. The nun told her she had a vivid imagination. We are going to have to do something about you, child.
Like sociopaths, eventually these predatory homosexuals begin to recognize each other and that's when they start working together:
A 1998 UK government inquiry, citing "exceptional depravity" at four homes run by the Christian Brothers order in Australia, heard that a boy was the object of a competition between the brothers to see who could rape him 100 times. The inquiries focused primarily on sexual abuse, not physical abuse or murder, but taken together, the reports showed almost limitless harm that was the result not just of individual cruelty but of systemic abuse.
The Roman Empire, eventually Christianized, swept through Europe, enslaving the "heathens" and creating these institutions. At the forefront were these "celibates" that did not have normal sexuality. They were, perhaps, even the first victims of Catholic sexual repression. Unable to accept that they were the perverts, that they were the reprobates, that they were the sinners, they projected that onto others, even children.
Since these children and "heathens" did not feel ashamed of their naked bodies and their natural sexuality, that just proved how the "celibate" Catholics were of a "higher spirituality" and it was their duty to beat – and rape – the devil out of these Europeans.
From the proto-Protestants like the Lollards and the Hussites, to the Reformation itself, eventually Europeans rebelled against these evil, psychopathic Catholics, rejected the "celibate" homosexual priests, the "celibate" lesbian priestesses, and demanded that Church institutions be led by normal, married men and women.
The first mistake that Americans made was to adopt the African custom of slavery, a mistake that harms America to this day. The second mistake Americans made was to import millions of Catholics, mostly in the 1800s, and surprise, surprise, along with them came Jews. It was only a matter of time until they joined up with each other to attempt to re-enslave the real Americans, the posterity of the Protestant Founding Fathers.
Hence, (((Curtis Yarvin's))) "neo-reactionary" movement and the sick Catholics that follow him.
Why The Accusations Against Roy Moore Are Probably True
November 9, 2017 Uncategorizedchristianity, Harvey Weinstein, heathy sexuality, Louis CK, marriage, monogamy, Mormonism, power exchange, Roy Moore, sex, sexual liberation, sexual repression, sexy sexismHipster Racist
Of course they are politically timed, and of course his political enemies are the ones promoting the story, but that doesn't change the fact they are almost certainly true.
According to the story, at around 30 years of age Roy Moore courted a number of young women from 16-18. He eventually married a woman 12 years his junior. This is normal male behavior and it's clearly a pattern for him.
One of the women, 16, wanted to date him but her mother forbade it because he was too old for her. Another of the women, 17, did date him, described him as "romantic" and her mother said she was "lucky" to have his interest. Moore was an up and coming politician, a home town boy made good, and was described as handsome. There's another incident of him chatting up a girl at 14 then asking her out later at 16.
The real scandal is the 14 year old girl at the center of the scandal. He meets her when her mother is waiting for a child custody hearing at the courthouse: in other words, the alleged 14 year old victim came from a broken home. Exactly the sort of girl that would be a target for predation.
She claims he picked her up "around the corner" from her parent's house. Unlike the girls he was actually courting and considering for marriage, he allegedly drives the 14 year old girl straight to his house, gives her alcohol, strips her down to her bra and panties, feels her up and tries to get her to feel him up. He does not rape her, he doesn't go "below her underwear" and drives her home when she asks.
This makes the story much more believable because "heavy petting" would be exactly the "line" that someone in that culture wouldn't necessarily cross. Two other women, friends of the alleged victim, went on the record saying that she told them she was "seeing" an "older man" and at least one said she named him: Roy Moore.
We have no problem believing all the stories about the Hollywood moguls like Weinstein, the "male feminists" and their bizarre and passive aggressive behavior towards women, and no one is at all surprised that Kevin Spacey likes "chicken" and is aggressive and engages in assault – and years ago an internet commenter on reddit claims to have witnessed him engaging in sexual behavior with very young "pubescent" boys in Thailand. Spacey was also on Jeffrey Epstein's "Lolita Express" plane.
Few have expressed doubt that Bill Clinton may have been having sex with Epstein's teenage prostitutes/"sex slaves" – we've seen the picture of Prince Edwards with the then 16 year old Virginia at the center of the Epstein case. Few expressed doubts about this because it fits exactly the profile of these people. This is exactly how we expect "male feminists" to behave and it's how we expect wealthy sociopaths like Bill Clinton to behave.
Well, this behavior fits the Christian conservative subculture that Moore is a part of. The choice of targets, the fact that it didn't escalate beyond "heavy petting." The fact is that Moore's entire political shtick has been using a particular version of "Christian" sexual "repression" – that is virtually a mirror image of the "male feminists" the "Jewish moguls" and the "liberal's" version of "sexual liberation.
Watch this famous video of an Evangelical preacher in Alabama named Paul Washer. Notice that sexual shaming used against teenagers just on the cusp on adolescence when they are first starting to develop a serious sex drive.
There is no healthy sexuality here. There is no promotion of marriage. There is no acknowledgement of the sex drive as "God's plan for marriage." Instead, it's literally making horny teenagers feel bad for being horny teenagers. In fact, after watching a number of Paul Washer videos, my impression is that he is a typical sociopath, a high functioning emotional "abuser" (for lack of a better word.) He's highly emotive but in way that seems clearly feigned – and highly practiced. Remember, sociopaths are often far more charismatic – and far more "sexy" – than emotionally normal people. They do not have normal emotions and no empathy for others, but highly functioning sociopaths are often quite good at feigning normal emotions.
Roy Moore's pattern of behavior – and the behavior he is being accused of – matches PRECISELY with the negative sexual patterns of conservative Christian subcultures. It is not the same as the negative sexual patterns of feminists, homosexuals, the "sexual liberated" nor Jews with hostility to "shiksas." No, this is the negative sexual patterns that are common to conservative subcultures.
Growing up, I have not only witnessed this exact same pattern of behavior of conservative religious men towards teenage girls, I've heard numerous stories from teenage girls and older women from that subculture describing this pattern of behavior from older conservative Christian men.
If she had claimed he took it out and jerked off into a potted plant – that would totally be unbelievable. If she said he held her down and raped her, that wouldn't have been believable. If she was, say, a black prostitute that claimed Moore had paid her to pee on him, that would sound like a political hit.
But an up and coming powerful man with a pattern of courting teenage girls and women, who engages in "heavy petting" with a particularly vulnerable girl – but doesn't actually rape her and won't even take it to the level of sex (only "above the underwear") – that fits the pattern.
Monogamy was always a balance of the sexual and reproductive interests of men and women. Young marriage is a good and healthy social practice – and a man like Moore marrying a woman a decade younger than him is not particularly scandalous to my mind.
But the problem with Christians (and considering the previous post, I'll include Mormons here) is that they often can only rely on shame to repress young sexuality. They have no way of discussing sexuality and thus revert to a very simplistic mechanisms to keep teenagers from doing what comes naturally. It typically worked – when you have segregation of the sexes and young, companionate marriages.
But add in a power imbalance and an inability to deal forthrightly with biological reality, and you have just the situations that Moore is accused of engaging in. It's understandable too that Moore is being attacked by the people most opposed to his conservative sexual morals, but that doesn't change the fact that what he is being accused of is precisely the type of behavior one would expect of just such a man.
Catholic priests were able to get away with buggering the altar boys for close to ONE THOUSAND YEARS, and despite dozens of reformers, dissidents, and actually chaste Catholics complaining about it, it was only AFTER the "gay liberation movement" forced the uncomfortable issue into the public discussion that the victims could, in fact, complain about it, be heard, and believed.
Strom Thurmond had a black daughter. Of COURSE plenty of Southern plantation masters had sex with the prettiest of their black slaves. The power imbalance makes the sex ULTRA-HOT.
Of course Weinstein liked to humiliate "shiksas" that needed him to help their careers. Of COURSE some goofball like Louis CK likes to jerk off in front of women. Of COURSE "male feminists" are some of the biggest creeps – and rapiest rapers – of all.
And of course powerful men in sexually closed religious subcultures are going to be attracted like moths to a flame to vulnerable young girls – the power difference makes it all so ultra-hot.
The solution is NOT "sexual liberation" nor is it "sexual repression." The solution is a frank recognition of biological reality, and a civil society that recognizes that biological reality, and can steer these natural biological forces into socially productive – and biologically reproductive – ways.
If the Christian sexual repression was a workable system, it wouldn't have been overturned so easily by the sexual revolutionaries and the pornographers. And if sexual liberation was a workable system, we wouldn't see the barely 50 years old sexual liberation movement collapsing on itself over and over again.
Vice Media Attacks Mormons – While Masturbating to Pornography Featuring Mormons
November 4, 2017 Uncategorizedanti-whites, leftism, monogamy, mormons, pornography, sex, sexy sexism, vice mediaHipster Racist
If I was creating a religion from scratch, it would probably look a lot like Mormonism. They get all the key features right:
1. Early marriage of young couples.
2. Patriarchy.
3. Just-this-side of explicitly White.
4. The right amoung of mystery and ritual and a hierarchy that is kind of secret.
Interesting line, the interviewee suggests that religion makes people slutty, and the interviewer agrees and says "it worked for me." This is a post-hoc rationalization of what actually happens – what actually happens if the early sex drive is not steered into marriage, it will go crazy.
Since anecdotes are evidence to these people, my own. One girlfriend and I actually staged a "wedding" after we had been together for a year. It was very paganish. She had her bridesmaids and I had my grooms, it was in an amazing part of nature. It was utterly sweet and extremely erotic.
Neither of us had the experience of the traditional build up to a young marriage – we were both sluts at that point and were living together and decided to do it on the spur of the moment. Our sex life was uber-fantastic but both of us – apparently – were yearning for something a bit more. Some ritual, some commitment, some "magic" in the antropological sense.
Like a bunch of pagans, we immediately retired to a tent and consummated the marriage with just the slightest hint of privacy.
She wasn't religious at all, and I had abandoned religion years before. It wasn't religion that made us slutty, it was in fact the lack of it.
I find it interesting how HATED the Mormons are by the secular culture. The Vice interviewer even mocks a Mormon anti-porn conference as "a thousand white people who claim to not masturbate." (NOTE how the attacks on Whites are paired with the anti-sex attitudes of replacing sex with masturbation.) Just watch how hostile Vice is to the Mormons while in another video they absolutely fawn over the Sascha Gray porn star.
Vice lies and conflates "anti-porn" with "anti-sex" which obviously just isn't true. Porn does not equal sex. In fact, as porn has become mainstream – teenagers are having LESS sex than ever.
(Also note the appeals to authority, "the psychiatric community finds no harm in porn" – which is not true. Scientific studies have shown that porn IS addictive by the same mechanisms that various other drugs and vices are addictive. It just shows how fragile the anti-sex, anti-monogamy left's consensus really is.)
Interestingly too that the pornographer they interview:
1) Literally finds the Mormon marriage rituals to be highly erotic. There goes the idea that they are "anti-sex!" Do leftists even TRY to make sense?
2) The pornographer is a dyke, and I'd bet is extremely masculine looking/presenting. So it's pretty obvious that all those pretty blonde girls in white dresses she is filming is just her making up for all those pretty blonde – and straight – Mormon girls that wouldn't dyke out with her in high school. Porn is her way of getting back at all the normal people. Pure resentment. If she was a man, the rad feminists would call what she is doing "misogyny." She's the lesbian version of the Asian manosphere "Supreme Gentleman" that murdered all those people in California.
3) She tries to imply something sinister about Mormon male authority figures – OF COURSE.
I think it's pretty obvious who has a healthy sexuality and who does not. Mormons marry young, are extremely PRO-SEX, and have big families.
Vice Media employees watch porn, masturbate, have OBVIOUS hang ups about sex, and have a TINY fertility rate. They probably have more abortions than live children.
Mormons are Pro-Sex, while Vice Media – and the anti-white left – are ANTI-SEX. They are like something out of 1984's Junior Anti-Sex League.
This is an aspect of the culture war that the pro-whites and "the right" (whatever that means) could WIN. But they don't have a rhetoric about sex in the modern era. Partially, because before the sexual revolution, they didn't need one. The sexual revolution hit and they just did what conservatives do, tried to ignore it, then made some concession, then ran and hid.
That's why you need Hipster Racist, who knows how to take on the anti-sex forces of the sexual revolution. The pro-white "right" needs to explain how utterly PRO-SEX we are, and how the entire purpose of the Politically Correct, anti-White left is to spoil healthy fun sex for everyone.
Patriarchy, Promiscuity, and Capitalism
October 29, 2017 Uncategorizedcapitalism, class, communism, Defense, economics, feminism, Jane's Addiction, left, male entitlement, monogamy, offshoring, patriarchy, pornography, power, promiscuity, sex, unions, virginiaHipster Racist
In high school my first "long term" (i.e., almost a year) relationship, my first "girlfriend" was a pretty, but rather plain, girl my age. Our romantic matching was quite simple, a quite simple exchange. I gave her romantic attention and was her "arm candy" increasing her social status among other girls, and in return I got to have sex with her all the time. Both of us were mostly happy with the arrangement. I broke up with her because I found out that she had had sex with another guy when we were "on a break." Apparently, all her girlfriends knew it but I didn't. I had been "cucked" essentially.
Although I wasn't "technically" a virgin when we got together, she was "technically" a virgin and that tiny imbalance in sexual experience suited both of us just fine. In fact, perhaps my first "red pill" when it came to dealing with girls was when I "admitted" to her that although I wasn't "technically" a virgin in the sense of penis-in-vagina intercourse, and I had a lot of experience with a number of other girls that "counted" (because I ejaculated in/on them in various places) I had really only "done it" – officially – penis in vagina – with one other girl and only a handful of times.
When she realized that I was not, in fact, the 16 year old serial womanizer she thought I was, it totally broke her fantasy. Not long thereafter, we "had a break" in which the first thing she did was hop into bed with a new boy at her school. Apparently, this was not as thrilling for her as she thought it would be, and she also apparently realized that she could not, in fact, replace me with a higher status male and that her teenage pussy was not the ticket to Alpha Fucks that she thought it was. If her girlfriends were to be believed, he also didn't have the sexual intensity that I had, being mostly of the "in and out for a few minutes" school.
So she engaged in a conspiracy with her girlfriends to lie about this dalliance and got me back for a few months, until I was told of the "affair" by one of her girlfriends, who happened to want me for herself. Once I found out, I was humiliated, and immediately the magic went out of our relationship. I was only barely aware of it at the time, but a huge, huge factor in my attraction for her was the fact that I was the one that popped her cherry. I found not only honor bound, in a sense, to invest in our relationship, but the fact I was her only boy made me feel like I possessed her – and she possessed me – on deep level. It was more than just sex, it was essentially a kind of marriage.
When her very typical female promiscuity disabused me of my patriarchal sexism and hymen fetishism, interestingly enough I did not, in fact, become a Male Feminist Ally. Quite the opposite in fact. Once word was out that Hipster and Virgin were no longer a couple, my dance card filled up QUICKLY. I found out that having a reputation for being a "nice guy" – one who was loyal, in fact, with an instinct for monogamy – had not only preceded me but she had talked up my sexual prowess to all her girlfriends. Whether she "meant it" or was merely bragging to her friends hardly mattered.
So within a month I did, in fact, become the serial womanizer that she had been disappointed to find out that I was not. All of a sudden a half dozen 16 year old girls with ripe bodies and long pretty hair were calling me on my parent's phone, offering to drive over to my house, pick me up, take me to their houses when their parents weren't home, and "let me" do whatever I wanted. So I enthusiastically took all of them up on their offers. The next few years was spent engaging in essentially booty calls for dozens of high school girls who had admired me from afar waiting for the Virgin to get her claws off of me.
In manosphere terms I had been pre-selected, with just enough "alpha" traits combined with just enough "beta" traits, to be in high demand. I had long hair, a brooding manner, with just enough "bad boy with a heart of gold" allure that these girls were always on their toes to treat me well and fuck me well.
I started to notice patterns of my own behavior in the "types" of girls and how I felt about them that – as any good feminist will tell you – was surprisingly class based. I considered my background to be "middle middle class." There were obvious class markers that showed me which families were higher class, and which families were lower class – than us. Obvious markers were the size of their parent's house and the cars they were bought by their fathers. Other more subtle class markers were education, raw IQ, and aspects of socialization.
I remember a handful of girls that were clearly one – sometimes two – steps above me in the capitalist class hierarchy. I found that these girls were absolutely mercenary with me. They were sexually aggressive, somewhat intimidating in a social sense, demanding of me in social settings, and I had to be on my best behavior to avoid subtle behaviors that marked me as lower class. These subtle behaviors were almost always related to "sub-political" issues. All of the rich girls were "liberal," sexually liberated, "feminist" in a certain you-go-girl type way, and universally (with one exception, the rich Christian girls) hostile to my religious background. Some of them – not all, but more than other groups – simply had a more "alpha" personality than me. They were highly social, good at social situations, highly verbal, and even more "intellectual" than me – although this "intellectualism" simply meant knowing which social attitudes to have, which movies and bands were cool (Jane's Addiction = high status, Tom Petty = low status) – this sort of "intellectualism" had nothing to do with scores on the trig tests or even logical and grammatical consistency. It was class in the sense of Jane Austen.
I got all sorts of sex out of these girls but I never connected with them emotionally. I'm assuming it was simply that I was willing to "put in the work" and keep it going until they were satisfied. Hey, at 16-19, if it didn't last long enough, just wait 10 minutes and go again until it does. After five or six girls, you pretty much figure it out, where everything is, and the girls in touch with their own bodies just needed you to stay hard while they rode you and pressed their clit against your pelvic bone.
But emotionally? Pfft, I'd never share anything even remotely intimate with these girls, never show a weakness, never say what I really felt, maintained a stoic attitude because it seemed like any slip was a one way ticket out of their social class. Didn't want any provocative opinions, nothing proprietary, nothing sexist or racist (all of us were uber-white, of course.)
But the girls down one step in the class hierarchy? The ones whose fathers (if they even knew their fathers) that didn't have a college education, were mechanics and workmen? To them I was alpha and they were – something. This is where my true Patriarchal Class Predator came out. I'll never forget the one, literally hours on the right side of legal when we first "hung out" – it was as if I was a porn star. I always left her with a broad smile on her face. With these girls, at parties, I would literally hunt them. The predator/prey dynamic was intense and the power imbalance make the sex absolutely fucking explosive – for both of us.
And apparently I had a finely honed predatory sense for just these girls. My entire body language changed around them. I was never the "rapey" type – that is far too simplistic to describe the dynamic. With the rich girls I just waited until they made an unambiguous move and if they teased too much – well, big deal there were unlimited fish in the sea. Virginia suburbs in the 1990s – tens of thousands of young White girls, 16-25, with an hour's drive in my car. But with the working class girls, I was the alpha, and the top. I had just enough class markers to show that my eventual class status would be higher than their fathers – but none of this was conscious to either one of us. They would have just thought "he's so smart and funny." But I was still close enough to their class that they weren't just disposable playthings and my masculinity was just a bit softer – thus less intimidating – then their rougher fathers and brothers. I was in fact, a Supreme Gentleman, someone who really "got girls." But my confidence was enough to signal to them that I could get sex anywhere, thus their had to be something more than just pussy to get and keep my interests.
These were the girls that after sex I fell in love with even if I still aspired to get one of those rich girls. The power dynamic just worked. There is no such thing as "equality" and face it, girls get off on a power imbalance. It's the core of their sex drive. It's only exploitative when men leverage it.
Feminists are wrong when they say rape is about power not sex – no. Paglia is correct. Rape is about sex. But sex is about power. Oscar Wilde said "everything is about sex, except for sex; sex is about power."
Spot The Class Markers
The social conditions at the time were a major cultural war between an emerging bureaucratic managerial class, highly educated, socially liberal, secular, completely dominant in academia and other institutions. The conservatives, especially the Christians, were concentrated lower on the class hierarchy
Black people had their own communities, of course, and were simply corralled by the Rich White Liberals to vote for the Democrats via Section 8 and make-work jobs in lower-end government bureaucracies. The daughters of the Rich White Liberals wouldn't be caught dead "mudsharking" – but would of course pretend it was awesome if their lower class counterparts did it – less competition for White men!
But the conservative partiarchs and Christians did have their own institution that provided them with a major amount of power – the military and the Defense contractors. The military and the Defense companies were staffed with socially conservative, conventionally masculine, and very high IQ and very educated White partiarchal men, and their wives staffed the school boards that held the line against the worst class predation of the liberal bureaucrat class and racial integration.
As usual, it was the working class White Christians that lost out because the "anti-communist" movement of the John Birch style – as well as the Christian movement since FDR – was always invested heavily in capitalism and "communist" was just a slur that meant social democracy, business regulations, and union busting. Here, E. Michael Jones gets it right – you get a form of early neo-conservative that will keep the Fag Pride Parades out of your neighborhood, keep you separated from the high crime Blacks, and give a sort of lip service respect to your cultural values, and in return you get low wages, capital flight, and job outsourcing. (You can't offshore military jobs and secret clearance jobs, remember.)
Or you get liberalism, which means you'll get a dollar an hour above minimum wage, integration with blacks in your school (if your daughter is raped by one, she'll have easy access to an abortion, if you son is beaten by a gang of blacks, well he was probably a racist and deserved it) but your culture and your values will be demonized.
Eventually, both sides, the Conservatives and the Liberals, decided that the White Working class – even the White middle class – was just too problematic, and Blacks were never going to get their act together, so the only solution was to replace Americans – White Americans – with "immigrants."
Common sense patriarchal values – you don't let your daughter "sample" every nice looking bad boy for a decade before marriage – and also you don't want your son being manipulated emotionally and socially by "those kind of" manipulative teenage girls very aware of their own sexual power who probably wouldn't make good wives and mothers – were replaced with the a kind of third wave feminism that is just Puritanism in reverse. Now your sons a rapist if he doesn't give his hook up an orgasm or he breaks up with her before she breaks up with him. Your daughter is taught to be both sexually aggressive and promiscuous – and to claim victimhood at the same time. Dad's earning power is destroyed by both the conservative business class AND the neo-liberals that have financialized and offshored everything. But hey – they will let mom work too, and provide the kids with day care! You know, pay working class women to take care of other working class women's children so they can work to make up for the lost income of Dad.
That way the teenagers have no supervision thus can engage in all the suburban promiscuity they can handle. It's liberation, don't you know.
All because we can't acknolwedge obvious facts about human nature – one, SEX IS ABOUT POWER and the more of a power difference, the HOTTER the sex. We can't acknowledge that women are not just men with boobs, but biologically evolved to create and nurture life. Because we have lost community social capital to financialization AND racial integration. Racial integration = racial conflict, and in the anti-white zeitgeist, whites are automatically to blame.
And in our present context, it's because working class White solidarity was destroyed by religious hucksters who said "labor union = atheist communism" and that "greed is good" (in the new version of the New Testament, apparently) and working class White family formation was destroyed by birth control, condoms, sexual liberation – and the fact that teenagers had no supervision so do what comes naturally.
And nothing comes more naturally to teenagers than fucking.
Radical Feminists Are The Only Interesting Feminists
October 27, 2017 Uncategorizedbiology, christianity, evolution, feminism, monogamy, monogramy, patriarchy, pua, radfem, sexism, sexy sexism, TERF, transgender, transsexual, women's rightsHipster Racist
Reddit.com is going through another bout of censorship and it's typical – "Nazi" subreddits are being banned, the minority of "right wing" and some principled types are complaining that Communist and other radical left subs and comments – often openly encouraging violence – are still being allowed.
But one new development is rather interesting, some transgender activists are demanding a radical feminist sub, https://reddit.com/r/gendercritical, be banned for "transphobia." GenderCritical is a "radical feminist" sub that does not accept that "transwomen" are real women, rejects the entire "trans" movement, and posits that "transwomen" are really just men, dressing up or otherwise mimicking women, in order to invade women's spaces.
The intersection of radical feminism and traditional (Western, Christian) morality has always fascinated me. In the 1970s, feminists and Christians both fought against pornography and the sex/prostitution industry.
Another interesting development: in England, a feminist conference was violently "protested" by transsexual activists that have weaponized the term "TERF" – Trans-Exclusionary Radical Feminist. The trans activists made the simple comparison: TERFs are "Nazis" and since it's ok to punch a "Nazi" it's ok to punch a "TERF." One proceeded to do just that – a man wearing a dress punched an elderly woman feminist in the face, and the trans activists justified it because TERF=Nazi and it's ok to "punch a Nazi."
Reading the GenderCritical subreddit is fascinating, you have the same bizarre mix you typically see with feminism. On the one hand, there are silly girls being bitchy and obvious man-hating shrews moaning about the patriarchy, and the ever present leftists trying to pair Black men and "women-as-a-class" as being "oppressed" by the White Male Patriarchy.
But you also have some quite sensible women making quite sensible points – why is it that "liberal feminists" are siding with radical Islamics, perhaps the most openly "misogynist" culture there is? You have quite sensible women decrying prostitution and the sex industry, the recently deceased (bisexual CIA lackey) Hugh Hefner, and very legitimate normal seeming women decrying boorish behavior on the part of men. All perfectly understandable and even a "right wing" liberal racist sexist like this author finds myself nodding in agreement with half of what these women are saying.
I came across a fascinating site, https://trustyourperceptions.wordpress.com/ which is a radical lesbian separatist feminist site that has some very interesting biological analyses about sex – literally, on the cellular level. In this analysis, maleness itself, the Y-chromosome, is a sort of parasite. I don't know enough biology to properly judge how much of this is true or false, but some things that stuck out for me:
– Semen: Men's Chemical War Against Women. Past Evolutionary Context for Seminal Engineering: how females not signaling estrus trumped males.
It's been discussed that semen has "calming" – or in this analysis, paralyzing, effects on women. Semen is a way for the y-chromosome to inject itself into women, turn off one of the x-chromosomes, and actually inhibits parthenogenesis – the creation of a baby without a male "sperm donor."
– The invention of the birth control pill coincided with the mainstreaming of oral sex
This seems to be somewhat of E. Michael Jones style coincidence-shopping, but it's still rather interesting. Spermicides and birth control and other ways of killing sperm/preventing impregnation of women were followed quickly by men figuring out other ways of getting semen into women. The vagina can be a very sperm hostile place and "sperm competition" is an evolutionary explanation for a lot of seemingly unintuitive aspects of human sexuality. The author notes that injecting sperm into a woman's throat is a way of getting semen into a woman's body which, while not making her pregnant, does in fact have some of the "calming"/"paralyzing" effect on women. It makes women "docile" – it's like a species that has a toxin that paralyzes its prey, but in this case, it perpetuates the y-chromosome.
The author also notes that anal sex is now being mainstreamed, another way of getting semen into a woman's body that, while obviously not getting a woman pregnant or perpetuating the y-chromosome, does allow semen into a woman's body to work its paralyzing effect. We've seen studies showing that genetic material from sperm shows up in women's brains.
She also notes that the porno mainstreaming of "facials" and otherwise ejaculating on women is yet another way to get the chemicals and hormones found in semen into women through their pores! For these lesbian separatists, semen itself is a sort of toxin – talk about "toxic masculinity!" There's also some interesting discussing of female/males of other animal species. To her, semen itself is toxic (it certainly is a carrier of disease) and the "male hormone" testosterone is the obvious "cause" of violence. Feminists are completely correct that women are – "as a class" – at the mercy of male violence (as are other men, of course.) Testosterone makes men fight other men and then they inject that "toxic masculinity" into women, perpetuating the y chromosome.
This is sort of a futurist "evolutionary end of men" type thing, but it would be pointless – and rather girlish – of "manosphere" types to get angry or outraged by this stuff; I find it really quite interesting and as a "race and sex realist" and someone who thinks evolutionary biology can likely explain the human condition more than anything else (religion, metaphysics, etc.) I'm looking forward to reading her new posts:
* The Chicken IS the Egg. Parthenogenesis and the Mysterious Evolution of Males.
* Testosterone: What it Does.
* X-Inactivation: How Dudes' Dying-Y-Asses Get Saved as One of Women's Two X-Chromosomes is Turned Off for Life.
* Female Bonding/Female Trashing: Chimps, Bonobos and Homo Sapiens
I also found out that the first "manosphere" post that I ever made – the one that had me libeled by the male feminist manboobz.com and made me a two year long hit on the reddit.com manosphere subs – actually has scientific proof for what I posited: it's called the "Cheerleader Effect."
I suggested that men in groups – the "mannerbund" – made men more attractive to women, and what do you know – it does. And women in groups – like a cheerleading squad – also makes women more attractive to men.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cheerleader_effect
To finish off, here's a kind of interesting "male feminist" media analysis of the "Born Sexy Yesterday" trope. It's Beta Male Geek Fantasy – some alien/robot with a woman's body but the naive mind of a girl falls in love with geek boy who gets to introduce her to the wonders of sex – and he's the Alpha Male for her because she knows nothing of the world. It's really just the male version of 50 Shades of Grey and Twilight. In 50SOG and Twilight, Alpha Male CEO Businessman – or Sexy Supernatural Vampire with Magical Powers – falls head over heels in love with Average Everygirl.
But of course the purpose of the "deconstruction" of the Born Sexy Yesterday trope is simply to sell cuckoldry to men, the male feminist ends with demanding that sci-fi media creators stop selling youth and virginity and chastity as sexy, and instead tell men that "experience is sexy" – i.e., Man Up And Marry Those Sluts – and that any man who wants the youth, chastity, virginity (and by extension, fertility) of a woman is just "fearful" and "scared" and "insecure" – he's just afraid that her former lovers may have had a bigger dick and be better in bed.
Both sides – the radical feminists and the liberal male feminists – as well as the "dudebros" and pornographers and Hugh Hefner Playboy PUAs – want to continue to destroy monogamy, thus the nuclear family, thus humanity itself – but they always "just happen" to only target Whites, of course. Monogamy – patriarchy – is a delicate balance of women's and men's evolutionary interests that preserves the recessive traits of Northwestern Europeans and gives men an incentive to invest in their children (and the mothers of their children) – thus creating White civilization. So of course it is constantly attacked. Kevin MacDonald's analysis of the European Catholic Church comes into play here (and it's not at all a completely pro-Catholic analysis either) – but for 1000 years it was Christianity that spread the monogamy of the Roman Empire to Europeans generally, thus had a significant impact of the genetics of the White race.
Born Sexy Yesterday
Feminists and White Knights
October 8, 2014 Uncategorizedalpha fucks, beta bucks, christianity, hookup culture, manosphere, marriage, monogamy, pick up artists, pua, sexy sexism, slut clubHipster Racist
Feminists and White Knights both share a certain assumption; that is that women are morally superior to men. I would posit it is exactly the opposite, by anyone's usual understanding of morality, men are morally superior to women. The most obvious case is in the example of truth – men tend to want the truth and want to tell the truth. Women lie automatically, women are deceptive by nature. Because men tend to be physically stronger than women, women have evolved to do things indirectly; they manipulate men indirectly because they generally can't bash men over the head with a club and make them do what they want.
Why is it women get so furious at the idea of an older man with a younger woman? Isn't it obvious? They are jealous of younger women. They used to be young, fertile, and sexy. Then, they age, and are no longer young, fertile, and attractive, so they lash out.
You will notice, however, it's only OLD women that have a problem with younger women and older men. Younger women LOVE the attention of older men.
Since women – through feminism – liberated themselves from patriarchy, they have come up with a new system of morality that they expect men to follow. According to this logic: it's ok when women are promiscuous, no slut shaming. It's ok when older women go with younger men – cougars are liberated. But it's bad when older men go with younger women. Why? It's simply because that's when men have more power.
When women come up with a system of morality, it's hilariously self-serving. In whatever situation women have the upper hand, that's good, and in whatever way men have the upper hand, that's bad.
Mrs. Duggar – a Christian, not a White Nationalist – that fulfilled the 14 Words better than any WN woman.
Did you know that in the beginning of feminism, in the earliest days, feminists did NOT pose as victims? In the book that started it, The Feminine Mystique, the Jewish Communist author shamed women for wanting domestic life. There was no assumption that women were victims of men. But that sort of feminism didn't last, becuase by pretending men were "oppressing" women with patriarchy, anything a woman did was ok, anything a woman did was justified, because it was a "strike against patriarchy." Sort of like how a shoplifter justifies his theft because "the big companies rip off people anyway" women justified any selfish and immoral thing they did because "well, men are oppressing us."
Since women revolted against monogamy, they had to come up with a new system of morality to serve their interests. Hence, the absolute rage at older men dating younger women. That's their new rule. "It's ok for women to be promiscuous, it's ok for women to use birth control, have abortions, but when we are ready, at 30, men must then marry us, settle down, and not go with younger women."
It's just that – self-serving, and nothing else. Women, generally speaking, aren't even smart enough to hide their self-interest in this case. I mean, just get a load of this article – this is "alpha fucks, beta bucks" spelled out openly and in detail. And the bimbo who wrote it just can't understand why men are disgusted with her attitude.
http://www.rantchic.com/2014/01/14/men-you-marry-vs-men-you-bang/
Monogamy was good for women, and it was especially good for OLDER women. Monogamy meant that a man wasn't allowed to toss aside an aging wife for a hot young thing. But women rebelled against monogamy – they just wanted to get rid of the part that reigned in THEIR behavior, while keeping the parts that reigned in MEN'S behavior.
Monogamy was good for FAMILIES. When women had children YOUNG – as in late teens and early 20s – they lived long enough to see their grandchildren, and sometimes their great grandchildren. When women had many children, not just one or two, you had tight knit clans. A woman would AGE GRACEFULLY – she would become a well respected Matriarch of a family, adored by her children, grand children, and great grandchildren.
Mostly, what women accuse men of doing is what they themselves are doing. Women say that men aren't "aging gracefully" – that's just a projection. It's women that have stopped aging gracefully. I mean, Botox? Hair dye? It's laughable.
Now, young men, look around you. Read the women's blogs. Is there a SINGLE example of a White Nationalist woman mentoring younger women? Is there a SINGLE example of old WN women warning younger women to avoid the mistakes that they themselves made?
Not on your life. It's the exact opposite. The WN movement is FULL of old divorcees whining about men. That is why I said to younger men, on MWIR a while back – go for Christian women. Christian women are the ONLY ones that still at least pay lip service to traditional morality. There are lots and lots of Christian women blogs (like SunshineMary's old blog) mentoring younger women to avoid the Slut Club.
White Nationalist women? Not a one. The type of women that are attracted to controversial social movements like White Nationalism are outliers – they tend to be more masculine, less feminine, and more "feisty" – meaning, bitchy.
These WN women are doing no one any favors. Most of them – with a few notable exceptions – do nothing but chant "nigger kike spic" – which makes US look bad and makes our enemies look good by comparison. They are an embarrassment to the movement. They are the female equivalent of the Costume Clowns, fat dudes with swastikas on their arms chanting about how much they hate people. There's a reason people often get suspicious that these people are being paid by the enemy, because they do the enemy's work for them.
Here's a fun experiment – go to some moron Nazi site like DailyStormer – read the WN women that post there. Long, obscene screeds, weird homoerotic rants about anal sex, and superstitions about Jews. Compare and contrast a fact-based deconstruction of Jewish anti-Whiteness from someone like Kevin MacDonald to the faux-Catholic White Nationalist women. There's just no comparison.
It's so ironic that, as far as I can tell, most of the women that troll the WN sites are DIVORCED, OLD, and in many cases, CHILDLESS. These are the women that many WN men "white knight" for. These are the women that screech the loudest about the "manosphere" too.
Here's another eye-opening thing to see: go to the DailyStormer thread about 50 Shades of Grey. Read an article there posted by some woman saying that 50 Shades of Grey is "pedophilia hiding in plain sight." How is 50 Shades of Grey really about pedophilia?
*Because the character was a virgin.*
You hear that men? If you want to marry a virgin bride, you're actually a pedophile, according to old feminist faux-traditionalists. You can see the Feminine Imperative in action. If you don't want to marry an old whore, you're a pedophile.
Mrs. Romney – a Mormon, not a White Nationalist – that fulfilled the 14 Words better than any WN woman.
At the end of the day, however, women are just women looking out for their own interests. They evolved to be the way they are, and there is nothing wrong with the way they are. The real question is – why do men "white knight" for these feminists?
I can guess. These "white knight" men are submissive men. They are looking for a Mommy Figure and probably get off on a Dominatrix type. Hey, different strokes for different folks, but I, like most men, tend to want to wear the pants in a relationship.
Here's the deal, religion aside: sexual morality is a JOKE when young, fertile women are having promiscuous sex on birth control. Complaining about "PUAs" is idiotic when young fertile women – the people who create the race – are "pick up artists" themselves. Complaining about men is a JOKE when white women are aborting nearly as many white babies as they are bearing. Bitching about men fucking younger women is laughable when women divorce their husbands and split up their families nearly half the time. Talking about the 14 Words is one big pile of steaming nonsense when not a one White Nationalist woman is even promoting the idea of women marrying and having children young.
As is usual, this battle will be fought and won by white men, and white women will be dragged along, kicking and screaming. For the most part, it's best to just ignore them – ESPECIALLY the old ones.
Now, a quick parting shot AGAINST the "Christian manosphere." There are thousands of "Christian manosphere" blogs complaining about Christian women, saying that Christian women are just as slutty as their secular counterparts and that Christian women aren't interested in Christian men.
YET – however – one of the most prominent Christian manosphere bloggers has a young, virgin Christian woman – who is quite pretty – that is perfectly willing to marry him – but he won't marry her. He continues to blog about how there are no good Christian women, yet he has one who all but offered herself to him, and he still wouldn't marry her.
He really has no right to complain. I know both of them read this blog at least occasionally.
Uh – MAN UP, dude. You know who you are.
Are Christians Fucking Stupid?
June 9, 2014 Uncategorizedalpha fux, beta bucks, cads, chicks, christians, churchians, game, gamers, manosphere, monogamy, pua, red pill, slut power, sluts, xiansHipster Racist
I just discovered this. A big argument against early marriage is "well you want your daughter to go to college, right? How can she go to college if she's married with children?"
Are Christians so literally – measurably – dim that they bought this "argument?"
I'm sorry, please point out the statute forbidding married women from attending college? Please point out the statute forbidding mothers from attending college?
What – there is no such law?
Then why are Christians and other supposed "traditionalists" wetting their pants anytime a leftist whines about early marriage preventing women from going to college?
What you will find, quick like, is that your own women – the so-called "traditional" women – are against early marriage too. They want girls to be able to postpone marriage and child bearing as long as possible. Also, no hang ups about girls losing their virginity to their husbands – that's so 1950s – even for conservatives.
The a) age that women lose their virginity b) to whom, and c) whether they have children or use birth control – is the main issue in the so called "manosphere" – and "feminism" – and all the handwaving over "PUA" and "game" and "men's right" and all that rot just prove it.
But everyone is afraid of discussing the obvious issue.
I blame the fathers, personally. They married sluts and are afraid to "man up" in front of their slut wives and reign in their daughters. All it would take is telling little Johnny he can only get the pussy if he "mans up" and marries her first.
But wives will NOT allow their fathers to do that – and the fathers, evidently either too cowed by Divorce Inc., or otherwise just beta schlubs, are too chicken to stand up to their wives.
So, their daughters slut it up with sleazy hipsters then expect to marry a "nice guy" someday.
Give them two options – a) kill all the sleazy hipsters and "PUAs" that "seduced" your innocent daughters who were raped, they totally didn't want it …
or b) marry your daughter off before she starts spreading her legs for whichever mildly handsome guy happens to flirt with her that day…
and Christians and conservatives clearly prefer option a).
And they will whine all day long about boys who "ruined" their daughters and who should have just kept it in their pants – and out of their daughter's mouth – then complain when Nice Guy won't marry her at 30/99 dicks later?
Good job, guys. No, don't shake my hand – you don't want to know where it's been.
Cue the wailing from the Elder Sluts – especially the Racist Feminists – who would rather Western society die a slow death than ever restrict a young woman's sluttiness. That might imply they weren't perfect and it was all the men's fault.
Yes, I'm looking at you, aging Second Wavers … what about Playboy now?

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


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Do you "Still Do"? No matter how long you have been married, you can relate to this.
Join the #istilldolove campaign! Keep reading for more info.
The other night, I was shopping for new client wedding gifts and came across this hashtag... #istilldo. And for whatever reason, that simple statement jumped out at me as I quickly clicked through the links to learn more. The more I found, the more I liked. I realized that there are many good people out there, like myself, who truly value a kind and loving marriage. These people are dedicated to the commitment a marriage requires. I even came across a group who are passing out little cards wherever they go that simply say: "I still do" to help spread their message. What a great reminder of what long lasting love really is about!
A few weeks have passed now, since I came across this idea and I just haven't been able to get the concept out of my mind. I think about it daily. And with valentine's day coming up, I thought, it must be a sign, I had better do something about it. So I've been letting my creative juices flow, to really understand why this concept is calling to me and have begun to conceptualize what I was going to do to contribute to such a simple yet profound idea.
I started by thinking about my own "I do" to my sweet husband. Our wedding day was filled with excitement, energy, and a tremendous love between the two of us. We were married inside a beautiful temple at the top of a cliff overlooking the San Fransisco Bay. I wore a simple white 3/4 length sleeve, princess cut dress with a white satin sash around my waste. I remember loving my long veil and sweet simple necklace my mom had bought for me before my wedding day. I wanted to be a timeless bride. Simple but timeless.
But what I remember most is how I loved the idea of having our whole unknown life ahead of us. I was excited to create many memories together with my new companion. I hoped that, just like I wanted to be a timeless bride, I also wanted to have a timeless marriage and love. I don't know that I realized what it would take to get that kind of love.
And now, after 12 years of marriage and 3 cute kids, I am realizing now that to achieve such a masterful, timeless love I am still saying "I do", every day. Not just to my hubby, but to my kids too and our family as a whole. To me, "I still do" means I choose them above all else.
"I still do" even when I have been unkind.
Would you like to know the secret to our "still do's"?
Communication, patience, kindness, time together, apologies, and forgiveness... every day.
"I am sorry" because "I still do"
"I forgive you" because "I still do"
"I am sharing with you something that is bothering me" because "I still do".
"Will you go on a date with me?" because "I still do"
Every day it is a choice. You are choosing your spouse over all else, every day for the rest of your life. And your spouse should choose you too.
And that love you had on your wedding day, called young love?
Over the years becomes wise love. Lasting love.
And if you find yourself in a marriage that has been less than what you expected, because of circumstances completely out of your control, seek the help that you need! Be brave. Do the right thing. Be kind. Reach out to friends and family for help, love and support.
Be a supporter of the right kind of love!
So this Valentine's Day, join me in celebrating my #istilldolove campaign for long lasting, happy marriages.
In the comment's section below tell me in 3 words the secret to your happy marriage!
Follow me on Instagram for more "istilldolove" campaign updates coming tomorrow!
From now until valentines Day, I have decided to honor those happy couples by offering a mini "I Still Do" photo session for husband's and wives to celebrate their #istilldolove. I can't think of a better way to celebrate your love on Valentines Day! Be sure to order a photo book for your coffee table too! It will be something your guests and kids will ooze over for years to come.
No matter how long you have been married, this session is to honor YOU and your #istilldolove.
Book your mini session with me here!
Looking forward to hearing from you! And don't forget to comment below!