Captain Capitalism has a theory that people whose political inclinations tend to lean left are less physically attractive than those who lean more to the right. According to the Captain, looking physically attractive takes work and effort and leftists have a strong tendency to look for someone else to blame for their problems, including having a huge ass and a muffin top that makes the People of Walmart look positively lithe.
I do NOT believe liberals and leftists are born uglier than their average conservative counterpart. It’s not like they’re genetically inferior or anything. What I am talking about is that they put A LOT LESS EFFORT into their physical appearance. Ergo, this is not a criticism of their basic, physical beauty, let alone their genetics, but it IS a criticism of their psychology. You could take that Prius-driving, 45 year old, gray haired, super skinny yoga woman who never wore make-up, never did her hair up, give her a make over and she’d come out looking just fine. Just as you could take the cowering, tubby orbiting beta with the Seth Rogen beard, through him in the gym for 3 months and have him come out looking just fine.
But that’s the not the point.
The point is to your average leftists such working out and maintenance requires effort. That AND the added risk they may still “fail” in attracting a mate. It is their pure hatred and fear of effort and competition that not only drives their political and economic ideologies, but also drives their “romantic” or “mating” ideology.
I don’t want to discuss Cappy’s theory per se, other than to point out he cites some research that suggests he may be on to something, and that more feminine looking women tend to be Republicans. It’s colloquially known as the “Michele Bachmann” effect.
What I want to discuss is how an entire worldview can play out in various aspects of one’s personal life without necessarily any awareness on the part of the actor. Liberals may not realize that in blaming the “Man” for why they have a shitty job, they are also providing the justification for not hitting the gym, but the relationship exists nonetheless.
And I want to discuss that in the context of the woman who made 300 sandwiches for her boyfriend after she made him a sandwich and he told her she was on her way to earning an engagement ring, because to him, the act of making a sandwich was an act of love. And why else do you get engaged if not for love?
To him, sandwiches are like kisses or hugs. Or sex. “Sandwiches are love,” he says. “Especially when you make them. You can’t get a sandwich with love from the deli.”
It’s actually pretty funny to see the feminist ladies at Slate’s Double XX blog and Jezebel try to understand how a woman, ANY woman, could possibly want to indicate her love for a man, and make that the basis of a potential marriage.
Who does that? Who shows a MAN they are loved and then thinks love is something that can sustain a marriage?
Amanda Hess is particularly hilarious trying to parse out the relationship between love and actions that demonstrate love.
How do we make sense of love in the time of “I’m 124 Sandwiches Away From an Engagement Ring”? The traditional romantic structures that previously organized our physical and emotional connections to other people are crumbling fast. Nobody buys one another root beer floats anymore. Everybody’s touching everybody else before they marry anyone. There are no boyfriends here. In the face of all this romantic disruption, some lovers are frantically constructing new frameworks—diamond-fishing sandwich blogs, for example—in a desperate attempt to reduce our strange and wonderful human experiences into another rote mechanical exercise. Stop. Love each other. Eat sandwiches. Don’t trade either of them for anything.
Don’t trade either of them for anything.
How can she not see that sandwiches and love are ONE AND THE SAME THING? Love is not just something you say. It’s something you do. Every day. For the rest of your life. For someone else. If you’re a heterosexual woman, that someone else is going to be a man.
And there’s the problem.
It doesn’t have to be a sandwich. It can be anything. Pizza. Cookies. Bread. A different handmade pasta every day for 300 days. Those things take skill, though. The beauty of a sandwich is that anyone can make one, regardless of their familiarity with the kitchen and the tools therein.
What it takes is a particular mindset. Your whole worldview needs to change to do something like make 300 sandwiches. You have to put the other person first, and take time out of your day, every day, to make a special effort to please another person. You think about their comfort and feelings and well-being and you put those things ahead of your own, not forever, not always, not in every single situation you will ever confront in your life together, BUT FOR THE TIME IT TAKES TO MAKE A SANDWICH.
What is that? Maybe 15 minutes? 15 minutes of your day, every day, is dedicated to the care of the person (man) you love.
And that’s just too much to trade, is it?
How sad. It’s not hard to imagine Amanda’s response, is it?
Well, what does he do for ME fifteen minutes a day? Get out the spreadsheets and start tabulating. 15 seconds to open the door for me. 45 seconds to go to the bedroom and fetch my purse because I have my boots on already and I forgot. 3 minutes to select an excellent Shiraz for our evening meal (South Africa! Try South Africa!). 8 minutes to run a hot bath and fill it with vanilla scented bubbles.
Keep careful tabs, and if he doesn’t hit the 15 minute absolute perfect trade-off mark, then fuck him and his sandwich. Chuck it in the trash. We’re after perfect equality, right? And the best way to achieve that is to be a temporal bean-counting bitch.
Yeah, okay. Good luck with that.
Jezebel wonders just how piss-poor a sandwich can be offered. If you’re gonna make someone a sandwich that he interprets as a gesture of love, then you want to put the LEAST amount of effort into that as possible, right? And maybe even try to trade off for blow-jobs instead?
Even though we now know, collectively as a Lady Monolith, how to please men, collectively as a Man Monolith, a few loose ends were left untied in Smith’s piece. Namely: how complicated a sandwich are we talking here? Would Eric still light up Stephanie’s ring finger if she just half assed the last 124 sandwiches by making him a pile of peanut butter on folded bread monstrosities? What is the minimum number of ingredients required for Eric to count it as 1/300th an engagement ring? Are there any substitutions for sandwichmaking? What’s the sandwich-to-blowjob conversion rate (my boss suggested that 1 BJ is worth 2 4-or-more-ingredient sandwiches; I’m inclined to agree)?
Where on earth does the stereotype of feminists as sulky, sour, bitter, loveless bitches come from? It’s such a mystery. There is just so much love and affection in that quote, isn’t there?
Let’s look at some of the comments. They’re so cute!
Deli sandwiches don’t have love?
Why the fuck would I want love in my sandwich? That just takes up room that could be used for sliced jalapeños and bacon. Yesterday 12:46pm
Straight up denial. Food is not love.
Exactly. I am a great cook, and my husband loves my cooking. He has never, ever, once made me feel bad for not cooking. There is a difference.
This guy is an ass, and he can certainly kiss mine. Yesterday 1:02pm
Point right over the head. He never made her feel bad. On the contrary. He told her that the love she put into making to sandwiches was NOT going unnoticed, and that he was prepared to love her forever.
This morning I made a piping hot cup of disappointment for my husband. Rich black disappointment, tinged with regret and a sense of impending loss, served piping hot with two sugars and some cream. Yesterday 12:47pm
This is funny in the way that watching socially impaired people try to interact is funny. You feel awful at the same time. Schadenfreude. That’s what the word really means. You laugh at someone’s misfortune, but at the same time you feel absolutely terrible for them. The second part has to be there in order for the word schadenfreude to be the correct choice. Laughing at someone’s misfortune is just sadism.
Trust me. My father speaks German as a first language and it always drives him nuts when people confuse sadism with schadenfreude.
This comment made me laugh, but at the same time, holy fuck, what a bitch! I feel sorry for her and her husband.
One commenter acknowledges that buddy in question is no slouch in the kitchen, but it has no effect on the Jezzie ladies.
see you in rach-hell
I guess I’m the only person who has read her blog and realizes that their relationship seems fine, he cooks an equal amount for the both of them, and it’s not really as serious crazy-woman-desperate-to-get-married-to-a-misogynist as this article makes it sound.
Some might say the idea is sexist. “A woman in the kitchen—how Stepford Wife of you!” a friend argued. I say come over for dinner, and watch E whip up roasted duck breast with a balsamic and currant sauce with a roasted parsnip puree and shaved pickled beets in no time, and you’ll see who spends more time in the kitchen.
Some say I’m just desperate to get engaged. Hardly. I don’t have to be. E didn’t say “cook me 300 sandwiches or I’m leaving you!” He gave me a challenge—a dare, to some degree—and the type-A, Tracy Flick side of me can’t stand being challenged. I will prove to him and the rest of the world I can make the 300 sandwiches.
Seems hyperbolic to me. Yesterday 1:22pm
Nope. That kind of reasonableness won’t play here.
InterrobangUsee you in rach-hell391L
Her premise is revolting. That her husband cooks changes nothing about the fact that her blog is about making enough sandwiches to “earn” an engagement ring.
Or, you know, maybe that demonstrating the willingness to care and make an effort to provide for the other person is mutual? Seems like Stephanie has the better deal here, with Eric pureeing parsnips to go with roast duck.
Seriously, these women just can’t STAND the idea that any woman would demonstrate love by providing food for a MAN even though he obviously takes the time to provide food for her.
That is what brings me back to Captain Capitalism’s theory. Women who embrace feminism don’t seem to be able to perceive that they are encouraged to blame men for all their problems and actively hate men, and simply REFUSE to make a fucking sandwich because severe cognitive dissonance kicks in and it is impossible to reconcile all the contradictions of feminism as a philosophy.
“We don’t hate men” claim the feminists.
But make them a sandwich? Oh hell no. That will be interpreted as love and we love men so we can’t do anything that shows we love men.
Remember my advice on how to pick a wife? I mentioned providing food as being a critical condition, and I am now inclined to believe it may be the ONLY flag you need to look for.
Food = love.
A woman who doesn’t provide food for you doesn’t love you. She doesn’t have to be Julia Child. Anyone can make a sandwich. Anyone can order pizza. Anyone can fry bacon.
“Make me a sandwich?”
It really means “do you love me”?
I’d listen to the answer very carefully. A woman who refuses is likely very much a feminist, even if she won’t use the word to describe herself.
And that’s not a woman you want.
Lots of love,