Monday, March 7, 2011

Girl on the Train

New York City. I'm sitting on the uptown 1-train on a Saturday morning. A pretty girl comes in and sits down directly across from me. I take note of her, but it's really nothing worth more than a glance. I go back to my book. Pretty girls on the train in New York City are literally all around you. If you took a train from the far end of Brooklyn to the far end of the Bronx, on a single car of that train, at least 5 pretty girls between age 20 and age 30 will get on and off. Sometimes, depending on the train and the time of day, it can be upwards of 20 girls. I'm talking all 7's, 8's, 9's and even the occasional 10. (Of the honest-to-goodness, real-life 10's that I have interacted with in my life, at least 50% were in New York City, though I've spent less than 10% of my life there.)

When I glance back up at my surroundings a couple of stops later, my glance takes note of the pretty girl again, and this time something makes me pause. It's her expression.

Her dead-eyed, miserable expression.

She was about 22 or 23, though it was hard to tell because she wore a quilted black jacket with a deep hood pulled down over her forehead like Emperor Palpatine's cloak. Her ethnicity was hard to peg, too. At first glance I assumed she was Russian or Ukrainian. She had light hair — though it could have been dyed, of course — and light eyes. But her skin had an olive tinge to it, and she had big, shapely lips that made me think she maybe had some Central Asian mixed in (like Mongolian or Kazakh or something... not that far-fetched for a Ukrainian girl). Another glance and I could have sworn she was mixed Anglo and Puerto Rican. A lot of Puerto Ricans have light colored eyes, and with a little white blood in her and a trip to the hair salon... voila, we have this girl on the train. In any case, it was a bit ambiguous.

Nothing ambiguous about her beauty, though. The point is not her ethnicity, but rather her beauty. She had perfect skin, a lovely-shaped nose, and big eyes, and a sensuous mouth. Her jacket was too bulky for me to really get a good look at her body, but from her jeans I could see she had nice curves and no extra fat. My personal ranking for her would have been an 8 — a possible 9, pending a better look at her. In any case, easily in the top 5% of good-looking women in the world. An elite club.

And this pretty, pretty girl, looked so miserable. It wasn't sadness or physical pain. She didn't look like someone who had just suffered a death in the family, or who was dealing with a debilitating or fatal disease. These things can of course happen to anyone, including hot girls, and they can make anyone feel horrible inside.

No, her expression and body-language betrayed something else. I can only describe it as complete inner deadness. Here eyes were lidded heavily over, but she didn't look sleepy at all. Her pretty mouth was curled ever-so-slightly into an indifferent sneer... not the sneer of the bitch who thinks she is too good for the world, mind you. It was more like a mask of total, empty indifference. She looked like if you hit her with a hammer, it would bounce off with a dull clang, and no change at all in her expression.

For a moment, our eyes met. I've never seen someone look away so quickly. Lightning fast, before I even realized we were looking at each other, she looked away, back at the empty seats. Immediately she glazed over again. Glazed; that's the best word I can come up to describe this girl.

So miserable and dead and empty did this girl seem to me that I started working my mind, trying to come up with reasons for her to be like that. I ran through the usual list of things that make people unhappy, like the circumstances I listed above: sickness, grieving, tiredness. Plus: heartbreak, poverty, boredom. But nothing seemed to fit with this woman. Boredom might have come the closest, but there was an ugly desperation in her emptiness that went beyond mere boredom or stupidity.

I came up with a wild scenario. Perhaps she was a Russian sex slave, imported by a mobster who promised her the good life in America. And she got here only to find herself repeatedly raped and abused. But a girl like that would probably not be allowed to ride the train by herself on a Saturday morning like that. It's quite possible, though, that she was a sexual moll of some kind. Maybe a low-class call-girl on her way home after a night with her johns in Manhattan (she got on in Manhattan and the train was Bronx-bound). That kind of thing could make a human dead inside, to be sure.

But what inspired me to write about it wasn't the sick fun of speculating about the misery of this pretty, young girl. It was another thought I had: what are the chances that this girl could ever be so stone-faced and miserable in a non-feminist, non-liberal society?

Surely, young women suffered in "olden times." Humans of all kinds have suffered in all times and in all places. (One of the more laughable assumptions that SWPL liberals make is that misery can somehow be eliminated permanently from the human condition... if only those evil rednecks would get out of the Magic Obama's way!) But it's nearly impossible for me to imagine this expression on a pretty young woman's face in a small, medieval, agricultural village.

Let's assume she is Ukrainian. Born 500 years ago with the same body and features (assuming that nutrition and medicine went smoothly in her life... a big assumption, I know, but this is a thought experiment so play along), she would have been the princess of her village. She might have been married off at age 14 or at age 20... I don't know medieval Ukrainian traditions and I'm too lazy to look them up. She might not have loved her husband very much or at all. Maybe he was some thick-fingered, bad-smelling, old drunk bastard. Maybe he would even have beaten her sometimes.

Of course, this is a worst-case scenario, based mainly on the feminist interpretation of history, in which all women were perfect angels and all men horrible, abusive brutes. Anyone who actually thinks this is welcome to go and actually read some historical documents from those times and visit some of the few remaining traditional, agricultural villages in the modern world. When you see how straightforward and, yes, fair these places can be to their denizens, try not to let the mental whiplash damage your neck muscles.

It's equally plausible she could have been very happy with her husband. She might have had 8 children in life, of whom, say, 5 survived birth and childhood. As she aged and her beauty faded, she would become a respected member of the matriarchal class, shaping the lives of her children, caring for her husband and being cared for in return. When she died, she would have been buried next to her ancestors, and people would still remember her and tell stories about her and put flowers on her grave. Her own granddaughter — another beautiful young girl, let us imagine — might have a keepsake of hers on her own mantelpiece.

But in neither situation, happy marriage or unhappy, can I imagine such dead-to-the-world eyes. It's more or less unthinkable.

There's one other possibility I haven't mentioned, of course: drugs. This girl could have been completely fucked up on heroin or God knows what. I fully accept that this was a possibility. Honestly, she just didn't look that strung out, and her eyes didn't have that glassy cracked-out look, either. Her skin was soft and rich, and there were no bags under her eyes and no other indicators of drug abuse. But I guess it's possible she just started getting fucked up recently, and still retained her physical health even as the drugs were allowing her to mentally check out.

Still, it's a moot point. Pretty young girls don't become junkies because they feel happy and fulfilled and loved. They don't become junkies because they feel they fit into their world in a profound way. No one every lit a crack pipe out of humility, gratitude, or deep inner happiness.

The last thing I want to say is also obvious. Many people these days have the same expression as that pretty girl on the 1-train. Middle-aged business men, single mothers, teenage kids staring blankly at their iPhones. I don't have hard evidence that this kind of soul-death is strictly limited to our own times, and it seems to me an overly broad assertion. History is richer and deeper than even the most dedicated student of mankind can fathom.

But there was something so poignant, and at depth, evil, about seeing this pretty girl so dead to the world. It makes a man think. Or at least it should.


  1. I'm surprised you didn't try to talk to her. She probably wouldn't have been receptive, but you never know.

  2. I just wasn't in the mood. Though perhaps I should have anyway.

    Abundance + early morning + 1st class bitch shield = meh.

  3. There is something about seeing female beauty not celebrated to its fullest that drives a man crazy.

  4. Interesting take on it. I too, see these women everywhere with that look on their faces. Maybe they realize that it's not so great being a man after all, having to work just like we've been doing for centuries... Thanks Feminism! (sarcasm)

  5. Do you think that maybe it's about safety to be stone faced and emotionless? If an attractive woman seems comfortable, pleasant, and with her guard down she can easily be a target in a big bustling city. I have had to wear a hardened expression a time or two simply to be left alone from unwanted male attention. Big coats can also make a woman feel safe from the scrutiny of the male gaze, and their entitlement to openly gawk and rank women's bodies. Sometimes anything we can do to look like we don't want to be bothered or visually undressed makes us feel safe and secure when we are alone and vulnerable in a world where we could easily become a victim.

  6. You could be eligible to get a Apple iPhone 7.