Whilst reading this piece at The Weekly Standard, decrying the so-called hook-up culture in which our nation’s youth is currently mired, I came very close to dying of hypoxia brought on by excessive yawning. Milk, cow–you don’t say? Yes, it is disturbing that some girls are attracted to serial-killers. Do go on.

I had nearly forgotten why I had started reading the essay in the first place, which was this jaunty pull-quote:

Some argue, though, that it is actually beta men who are the greatest victims of the current mating chaos: the ones who work hard, act nice, and find themselves searching in vain for potential wives and girlfriends among the hordes of young women besotted by alphas.

I wanted some context for that. Because my first thought upon seeing it was, “Well, I bet the short, pudgy, homely boys who can’t get a date will be happy to know that it’s not all their fault that–wait a minute. Short. Pudgy. Homely. Oh no. No, no–hold on a minute!”

As you might have guessed, that’s a pretty (superficially) accurate description of yours truly here–the guy whose stubby fingers are even now tapping away on the keys of this here pre-war on terror iBook. Frankly, I was mortified.

It’s not for my vanity that I take offense. I may quibble over such reductive terms as “beta man”, but I freely confess the rest. I am fat and homely and short indeed, and much worse besides (I don’t work all that hard, and I am not particularly nice). But, fine: Call me a beta male, plaster a list of my flaws across the billboards of the town, brand me a loser, a loaner, an inadequate waste of protoplasm–I am all that, and less, if you please.

But don’t use me as an excuse for your sex-fearing, pro-early marriage, anti-feminist tracts, dammit.

I can’t speak for anyone but myself, but I would really, really appreciate my “plight” not being used as a cudgel in any attempt to reassert the supposed superiority of 1950’s era sexual values. I happen to think that we’ve made some precious little progress since then, and I’d just as soon not be the putative rational behind rolling back what has been accomplished.

The idea that sexual freedom, even with all its complications and challenges, should be curtailed to create some kind of marriage-granting welfare program for the benefit of toads such as myself is, frankly, horrifying. I’d rather live alone in a cave with touch-sensitive explosives wired to my genitals, than live in the nightmare-world of the essay-writer’s description, where women aren’t allowed to associate with whomever they choose, where any partner I might find myself with is only putting up with me because she’s been shamed into a monogamy of last resort.

What is this, tee-ball? Where everybody gets a trophy no matter how badly they suck? Women are people, not prizes. And if guys like me are alone, it’s usually for one of two reasons: Either they want to be, or they deserve to be. (In some cases, it’s both.) We’re not entitled to anything. Liberty is a human right. Companionship is not.

I disagree with the point of view in this essay, period. And I am additionally disappointed that that point of view is allegedly being promoted for my benefit.

Of course, it’s not about little ol’ beta me; these screeds mostly claim to be fighting for women by wishing for a world where no choices–and, therefore, no bad choices–are possible. And that’s worse.

[Link via Jezebel]