ZeroHedge: Liberal Women Are Lonely And Unhappy According To Recent Polls
Liberal Women Are Lonely And Unhappy According To Recent Polls
The data reinforces a number of surveys over the years which reveal a continuing plunge in relative happiness among progressive western women despite their admission that they have more independence than ever before.
Brad Wilcox, a sociology professor at the University of Virginia and fellow at the Institute for Family Studies who analyzed the survey’s data, said he believes there are a couple of reasons why conservative young women are more likely to be happier than their liberal counterparts.
“We’ve seen in the research that conservative women tend to be more likely to embrace a sense of agency and to have the sense that they are not, in any way, the victim of larger structural realities or forces,” he told Fox News Digital. “They’re also less likely to catastrophize about public events and concerns,” and “more likely to think of themselves as captains of their own fate,” Wilcox added.
The survey also notes that conservative women are more likely to accept biological and social differences between males and females. The ideal was thought to be common sense for thousands of years but has come under fire from feminists in the past decade as a “social construct of the patriarchy”. The deconstruction of societal norms has been so pervasive, governments across the western world have tried to encode intersectional feminist taboos into law and punish people who remain skeptical.
One side effect of the rise of feminist authority that liberals apparently did not expect is the decline in relative happiness of women. The issue was fist noticed around 2009 when a study out of the University of Pennsylvania stunned the mainstream media — Despite decades of greater access to the jobs market, institutional influence and life options since the 1970s, young women have become increasingly less happy compared to their counterparts of past generations. Though the study avoids addressing the problem of feminism directly, it does suggest that modern constructs may play a major role in creating anxiety for women.
While men’s personal happiness has also been in sharp decline in recent decades, their financial opportunities have remained relatively static. For women, financial and social opportunity has skyrocketed (along with access to college education), but their decline in happiness is even more dramatic than men.
The American Family Survey helps to clarify the source of the happiness decline by separating out women according to their ideological leanings. It’s not conservative women that are dragging those numbers down, it’s leftist women.
It makes sense. Before the 1970s the role of men as breadwinners was well established while women’s primary concerns focused on the household and family. Men are more psychologically inclined to compartmentalize problems associate with risk and anxiety, especially when in the role of provider and protector. The thing that drives men to unhappiness is not hard work and sacrifice, but not being able to fulfill the roles they are designed for.
By extension, it may be that liberal women today are suffering from a similar affliction; they are unhappy because they are not fulfilling the roles they are biologically designed for. In other words, both men and women were happier under the “patriarchy”, when men protected and provided while women took care of the home and nurtured their children.
It is so hard for people to grasp that women are unhappy not “despite” their access to the job market but BECAUSE of it. They are in need of a little “discrimination.”
Even big girls just want to have fun. At least in the Americanized West. Admittedly, since the mass invasion of third-worlders, which was mainly permitted by women, having fun has become somewhat more difficult for certain reasons. “Dancing through the night” is no longer as safe as it was 30 years ago.
Is this finally the (unrecognized and long-sought) Aryan Princess that all of America is thirsting for? Then I am her discoverer! In contrast to Sinead McCarthy, Fraulein Christine Anderson has a kind of talent (as far as one can speak of talent in women). Possibly the reason why Judentube won’t let her become famous.
And so she is still waiting for her 15 minutes of fame. I will request a “creative inspiration session” for 100 dollars and let her ride an electronic banana, since I have exclusive privileges as her only fanatical admirer so far. http://www.tauntek.com
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LfcOiqpbahc
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x_NiaelcTwk
https://www.wakeupdreamland.com/services
Swap http://www.tauntek.com in my comment
with http://www.tauntek.com/banana.htm, thx!)
The exclusion of the reproductive “purpose” of sex and of the benefits of monogamy has retained the underlying instincts without their satisfaction. Contraception, careerism, wokery and porn have contributed to the cultural psychosis.
https://www.takimag.com/article/german-weasels/
Anglin should hardly be missed
(or his vanishing even noticed)
…if you visit following news:
https://linkmix.co/34632986
Quite unmanly: he flees is own website.
I just came up with the saying “Procreate – not procrastinate!” (as a non-Anglophone!). Liv Heide, a Northwest German like me, would agree with me. Only one British woman came up with the same idea web-wide. https://archive.ph/B5BcE
https://rumble.com/v2pyck2-boercast-episode-10-liv-heide-of-whitedate.html
https://rumble.com/v6mdgti-patriotic-weekly-review-with-johannes-agenbach.html
Speaking of Heide (“heath”): Lüneburg is located in the heath: https://www.perplexity.ai/search/explain-the-german-slang-da-wa-FzwHIiJQT9WI2sP9aIpRwQ
https://www.amren.com/news/2025/02/german-government-plans-to-fly-in-thousands-of-migrants-after-the-election-at-taxpayers-expense/
The Man-Scarer
I’m Suzy, built with grace and charm,
Many men have turned to gawk in alarm.
Twice I’ve been in love before,
But fans, I’ve had many more.
Yes, admirers stood in line,
Sometimes it made me fear and pine,
They’d barely spoken a word to me,
When their hearts broke, plain to see.
For often I couldn’t reciprocate,
To flirt or fawn was not my fate,
In love, I’m rather shy and meek,
In conversation, I’m quite weak.
I like most of them, it’s true,
But my heart won’t belong to you,
Loyal as a lamb, I stay,
For my mind often goes astray.
Those I love aren’t worth the fuss,
Their hearts don’t beat for me, thus
I work myself into a craze,
For no one’s done me good always.
Rose-tinted glasses on my nose,
Love-blind – that’s how it goes.
I send away all the good ones,
To change me now? That can’t be done.
I’ve shattered illusions aplenty,
That someone owns my heart, so empty.
I speak with clarity, you see,
Tell the truth, no flattery.
I mustn’t forget to mention,
Some have cried from the tension.
And if they haven’t fled on their own,
Ingratitude was all I’ve shown.
So my path is lined with the dead,
I reach dream ratings, it’s said,
Because I push away the masses,
Scare off many poor lasses.
It hurts me too, I must confess,
When I see myself, I’m in distress.
I don’t want this, but it occurs;
What’s missing? What’s the cure?
Cyclists, dancers, or equestrians,
They were my path’s pedestrians.
The journey was but a short while,
Then I wanted to turn back in style.
They gave me flowers, bent over backward,
Took me out, cooked with regard,
Tended to me like a candle’s flame,
But it was never enough, what a shame.
Will I ever learn, I wonder why?
Can’t I just give it a try?
Why can’t I come to my senses?
Let a nice guy break down my fences?
Instead, I chase after others,
Never waking from these druthers.
I’ve wasted feelings on the wrong,
Though sometimes I regret this song.
So I hurt day after day,
All those I like, I push away.
I use them for a little while,
‘Cause sharing life’s not my style.
Yet I love them all, you see,
Feel like a thief of hearts, that’s me.
I feel so bad and so depraved,
Yet so good and so craved.
So men, give me a wide berth,
(I won’t praise myself, for what it’s worth):
I’ll bite your throat quick as can be,
Destroy each male soul ruthlessly.
Don’t trust this beautiful facade,
It could be your end, by God.
My heart can never be won,
It’ll bring you frustration by the ton.
After 42 years, I’ve come to know,
This truth about myself to show.
So I’ll stay single from now on,
And stop this dating marathon.
There’s one for whom I’m truly sorry,
He was so nice and smart, no worry.
An all-around good man, you see,
One I still like considerably.
He’ll always stay in my memory,
For him, I felt such reverie.
It wasn’t meant to last forever,
Yet he softened my heart like no other.
Deep inside, in a hidden corner,
I keep the memory, a mourner,
So I never lose this part of me,
For it belongs to me solely.
Though I make such a mess,
You’re the one I love best.
You know exactly who I mean,
This work is yours, as can be seen.
Don’t be mad, I love you so,
Even though I made you go.
My heart is heavy, full of strife,
I’m confused, can’t handle life…
Ragout Fin de Siècle
Here, even experts can’t discern
The hearts and souls, it’s hard to learn.
Here women are men, as you’ll soon see,
And men are women, strange as can be.
Young lads dance with confidence high
In evening gowns, fake breasts apply,
And speak in tones so high and shrill.
Women in tuxedos, deep voices fill
The air like Santa’s, cigars they light,
A gender-bending, curious sight.
Men stand before mirrors, prim and proper,
Applying makeup, a sight to ponder.
No groom for the bride, it’s rather odd,
Here the bride has a bride, oh my God!
Amidst perversion, some normalize,
If Dante came, he’d be surprised,
He’d eat Veronal in sheer fright,
At this bewildering, mixed-up sight.
No one can find their way around,
The real is fake, the fake profound.
All mixes in this melting pot,
Pain brings joy, lust anger wrought,
Up is down and back is front,
One grabs one’s head, it’s quite a stunt.
Sleep with yourselves, I couldn’t care!
With thrush and finch and starling too,
And all of Brehm’s birds, old and new!
It’s all the same to me, I swear.
Just stop your constant, boastful cries,
Of how you’re special, oh so wise!
Just ’cause you’re different in the rear,
Doesn’t make you a genius, dear.
Well, that’s that, as you can see.
Particularly Fine Ladies
They carry their busts and noses
In perfect step and stride,
Through streets, so delicate they poses,
As if of biscuit, they’re made inside.
With them, there’s no joking allowed.
It’s as if they carried vases, proud,
But knew not with what they’re supplied.
They seem to bathe hourly, no less,
Neither thin nor stout in frame.
Concrete calves, they do possess,
Their gaze, half-frozen, tame.
Like fairies traveling, they appear,
Though proof of this isn’t clear.
Their husband owns a factory of fame.
On secret rails, they seem to glide.
Best to step out of their way.
The stiffest expressions, they provide,
Like flagpoles on display.
It’s simply beyond comprehension,
That they allow any tension,
In or out of home, they say.
One might think they go to bed
In hats and coats, so prim.
Standing while asleep, instead
Of lying down, so slim.
Ashamed upon the toilet seat,
One might think they’d be discreet,
And pinch men’s skeletons with vim.
They float among the common folk
Like queens cut to measure.
But this means nothing, it’s no joke,
They’re not made of glass, for sure!
Like other women, they can be
Seduced, understood, hit freely.
For they’re fine just for pleasure.
So-Called Classy Ladies
Aren’t they devilishly fine to view?
Suddenly these classy ladies do
Paint their nails red, as fashion dictates!
If fashion said to chew them through,
Or hammer them black and blue,
They’d do it too, half-dead with glee, no debates.
If fashion said to dye one’s chest,
Or if lacking, then the belly…
If dying young became the best,
Or yellowing hands to manifest
Glove-like skin, they’d do it, readily.
If smearing black became the craze…
If mad geese in Paris decide
To pleat their skin like crepe in ways…
If crawling on all fours for days
Through town was chic, they’d comply with pride.
If learning Volapük was key,
And sewing shut their nostrils tight,
Removing skull caps gleefully,
Lifting legs at lamps to pee,
We’d see them do it overnight.
For they fly as if on angel’s wings
To the first and finest pile of dung.
They’d iron their shins if that’s what brings
The latest look, and no restraining
Works when fashion’s praises are sung.
If only it were trendy to be dumb!
For in this, they truly excel.
If sealing shut each orifice became the sum
Of fashion for these toadies humdrum!
Then at last, we’d bid them farewell.
The Caretaker
The Caretaker, though male by birth,
His masculinity is quite confined.
He tends to women with great mirth,
While other men reap what he’s designed.
A subject he is, of curious sort,
Who’ll versify ladies when duty calls,
But as for the outcome, he falls short,
Renouncing results, big and small.
He serves the ladies, asks no pay,
Loves womankind en masse, you see.
He loves love more than who, they say,
He loves, in short, vegetarian-ly!
He doesn’t neigh, nor goes berserk,
Shops well, a connoisseur, no less.
His gaze turns women into artwork,
While other men’s looks do possess.
Caretakers aren’t a novel breed,
Even Goethe this fact affirms.
His Clärchen to Egmont decreed,
While he with heroics was firm.
So Brackenburg came to her abode,
Passed time, helped fold the laundry too.
By evening, she showed him the road,
Goethe’s readers know this to be true.
Caretakers are in high demand,
Modest, desiring not a thing.
They seek no pay for their helping hand,
Content to be there, worshipping.
They place you high upon a plinth,
A monument, formally enshrined.
Then peer through monocles, nonplussed,
At your aloofness, so refined.
They kneel and pray with great devotion,
You yawn, fight sleep with all your might.
Thank goodness, now and then, a man
Comes by to end your lofty plight!
High-Born Daughters in Conversation
One sits. The other lies.
They chatter on as time flies.
This seems not to disturb them.
One lies. The other sits.
They prattle on. The sofa sweats
And hears much nonsense from them.
They’re built for great effect
With skin of select aspect.
What might the meter cost?
They’re round in every place.
They’re painted so their face
And figure won’t get lost.
Their scent recalls sweet cake.
To smell good’s all they make
Their purpose, head to toe.
Till each finds moneyed groom
To place her in his room.
That’s marriage, don’t you know.
They nibble sweets and time;
From husbands, hats sublime
And clothes, but bear no child.
They live, in essence, just
As size 44 busts,
Part seated and part styled.
Their heads are pretty, hollow.
Yet content they wallow.
What can we deduce?
While pleasant to the eye,
They’d please us more if they
Would let their chatter loose.
The Irony of Love
In the dance of hearts, a paradox unfolds,
Where women seek men strong and bold.
Yet to prove his worth, she tries to tame,
If he yields, her respect goes up in flame.
The man, in turn, yearns to possess,
But conquest dulls his interest, no less.
Should she submit to his domain,
His wandering eye will roam again.
Love’s fulfillment, for which we pine,
Lies beyond this battle line.
A rare and precious armistice,
A fleeting moment of bliss.
This dance of power, push and pull,
Makes true connection oh so dull.
For love to bloom, both must concede,
And let their hearts, not egos, lead.
So let us seek that middle ground,
Where mutual respect is found.
For only then can love prevail,
When neither seeks to tip the scale.
1) feminism 2) “equality” 3) NATURAL ORDER https://i.ibb.co/YTytBD7m/1.jpg