Matt Forney
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Lindy West and the End of the Feminist Nomenklatura

If Lindy West didn’t exist, the manosphere would have to invent her.

The mere fact that this shallow, talentless hack even has a writing career is proof that feminists simply don’t care anymore. They’ve slid down the path into senility, drooling all over their bibs, shitting their pants, unable to tell their own children apart from the underpaid Mexican wage-slaves responsible for keeping them from tripping down the stairs and breaking their necks.

Elizabeth Cady Stanton and all the rest are rolling in their graves.

Even by the debased standards of feminist writing, Lindy West is terrible. In her defense, her inept prose can be in part blamed on her having to adopt Gawker Media’s in-house style, the smug, snarky patois of upper-middle class white people whose lives are completely devoid of struggle and pain. But style or no style, there’s simply no excuse for writing like this:

And this “good girl” shit isn’t just limited to odious ding-dongs like dude-who-doesn’t-know-the-difference-between-extinct-and-fucking-mythological. I know plenty of progressive, liberal, adult men who openly say they’re looking for a “good girl”—who prioritize some paternalistic illusion of “self-respect” over personality and chemistry. And to those dudes, I say, HOW DO YOU NOT SEE HOW CREEPY THIS IS. Can you imagine if women went around saying they were just looking for a “good boy” and sometimes they “jokingly” scout kindergartens for promising baby virgins?!?!?! Groooooooooss!!!!!

The same world in which John Dolan and his wife were reduced to begging on the streets of Victoria allows someone who wrote this to make a living doing it. The obnoxious use of ALL-CAPS, the hyphen abuse, the padding, the pointless profanity, the super-elongated signoff: this is the kind of writing that would get you flunked out of a high school English class. Reading this, I can’t help but visualize Lindy splayed out on her sofa like Jabba the Hutt, slamming her hamfists down on her grease-stained Macbook and screaming at her boyfriend slave for sustenance. “LINDY THE FAT DEMANDS MORE PIES!”

If it weren’t for the feminist nomenklatura, the most she’d be able to achieve in life would be running a lingerie shop in Ballard.

What is a nomenklatura? The term dates back to the Soviet Union and was used to refer to the privileged class that made up the country’s second-tier leadership; the Outer Party, if you want to use Orwell’s terminology. After executing all the Russian nobility following the Civil War, Lenin and Stalin started working on creating a new class that would be one hundred percent loyal to them. This was done by creating a system that nurtured and rewarded communist apparatchiks from cradle to grave.

Future members of the Soviet nomenklatura started out in the Young Pioneers, the Hitler Youth-esque brainwashing organization that replaced the Boy Scouts. From there, they graduated to the Komsomol, the youth wing of the Communist Party, before becoming card-carrying Bolsheviks themselves. At every turn, they were vetted for their loyalty to the communist revolution and their willingness to blindly follow orders. It was effectively feudalism; the nomenklatura fiercely promoted the interests of their Inner Party patrons in exchange for little pats on the head.

Modern American feminism functions in almost the exact same way.

Instead of the Young Pioneers, future feminist apparatchiks begin their careers in the universities, usually second-tier state schools or private liberal arts degree mills like Bryn Mawr or Vassar. Jessica Valenti, for example, got her bachelor’s from the University at Albany back when it was one of America’s top party schools. From there, they move on to either graduate school or writing for alternative shitrags like the Stranger which exist mainly to facilitate casual hookups among ugly people. Finally, if they’re lucky, one of the “real” propaganda outlets like Jezebel will snap them up. You got it made, baby!

So long as you mindlessly repeat the party line, you’ll never have to worry about making the rent.

The reason why the most well-known feminist writers are so godawful is because the nomenklatura values loyalty way more than talent. As the Kiwis put it, the tall poppy gets the chop: people who are exceptional at what they do have an annoying tendency to wander off the plantation and start asking questions. Camille Paglia is the most famous example of a feminist who got excommunicated for not toeing the party line, but Hugo Schwyzer is a more recent victim; as fucked up as he is, his prose is crisp and he can actually articulate feminist arguments using comprehensible logic. So naturally, he’s been thrown under the bus because a few vocal crybabies took exception to his past. Compare to Lindy West, whose biography is so bland and predictable that she barely qualifies as a human being:

Lindy West is a writer, humorist, storyteller, and cultural critic based in Seattle, Washington. After seven years as a film reviewer and editor for The Stranger (Seattle’s alternative newsweekly), she signed on as a Staff Writer/full-time moral scold at, where she attempts to make social justice palatable by disguising it as entertainment. She specializes in angry, (hopefully) hilarious polemics on racism, sexism, and human bodies. Her work has also appeared in Slate, GQ, the Guardian, the Daily Telegraph, the New York Daily News, Vulture, Gawker, Deadspin, Cracked, msnbc, and some other places she can’t remember right now. She is available for your speaking engagement. She is currently at work on her next book. As soon as this episode of Chopped is over.

The most telling segment of that paragraph is “moral scold.” Feminism has completely shucked all that “free love” jazz and embraced its putrid Puritan roots, the same sick impulses that forced Prohibition on America and banned over-the-counter heroin. I’d put an over-under on how long it’ll take Lindy to start smashing up comedy clubs with a hatchet, but Carrie Nation at least actually believed in something.

Lindy West is a big fat fraud.

That was part of the reason why the Soviet Union collapsed; when you vet potential leaders exclusively on how well they can parrot slogans and polish asses with their tongues, you eventually end up with a bunch of incompetents and shysters running everything. Watching Lindy consistently try to jump the already low feminist bar and smack her face into it every time is hilarious, but the recent “rape joke” kerfuffle is the final nail in her coffin:

Anyone who can still respect Lindy West after watching that video has brain damage. She’s an intellectual lightweight whose flimsy arguments consist of warmed-over PC boilerplate and insults, such as her comment that comedy clubs are “dark basements full of angry men,” a remark that would be borderline libelous if it wasn’t so self-evidently false. It’s clear that she’s never cracked a book on feminist theory or studied history in any significant fashion. The only reason Lindy lasted as long as she did is because the hipster doofus host constantly reframed the debate to keep her from embarrassing herself too badly.

And despite this, Jim Norton still shredded her arguments to pieces.

Lindy West’s snarky, content-free writing style is meant to mask not only her lack of knowledge about feminism, but her lack of conviction. She is a fundamentally unserious woman for whom feminism is a pose, a way to advance her career and nothing more, Chuck Klosterman in a 3XL miniskirt. The minute that whining about the patriarchy is no longer a guaranteed meal ticket, Lindy and her ilk will drop it like a Big Mac with a loogie on the inside.

And feminism’s time in the sun is just about over.

Rob Fedders has been pointing out for years now that our cultural Marxist overlords implement policies in a zig-zag fashion; zigging to the left to unmake traditional society, then zagging to the right to solidify their gains. For example, welfare reform in the 90’s as championed by Bill Clinton was a rightward zag, cutting the umbilical cord of big government after raising an entire generation to be utterly dependent on it. The purpose of welfare—breaking up the family, stifling private enterprise and encouraging people to rely on the state for survival—had been accomplished, so there was no need to keep up the flow of gimmedats.

For all of the bleating of the feminist nomenklatura, the primary goals of feminism have been accomplished. Women are free to slave away for eight hours a day in an office, free to blow their disposable income on useless trinkets, free to slough off their children to daycare centers, free to sleep around, and free to divorce their husbands for no higher justification than their feeeeeelings. The MRAs MHRAs are useful idiots for the government’s next big rightward zag:

The way to remove children from their mothers, via Marxist techniques, would be to abandon the cause of women and take up the cause of men. It can easily be pointed out now that it is men who are not treated equally, and dialectically speaking, it is quite easy to see how disenfranchised fathers could be manipulated into thinking shared-parenting (or, marriage 3.0) is in everyone’s best interests, and thereby empower the government to take custody of children away from mothers and place them in the custody of the State –  who will then decide a baby-sitting schedule for the sperm and egg donors. It is also not a stretch for oversight committees to be erected to ensure the “ongoing best interests of the child.” Heck, Secretary of State Hillary Clinton’s thesis compared children in the family to the corruption Indians experienced on the reserve. That wingnut Marxist believes that the government should create a new bureaucracy to represent children separately from their parents. In other words, each child ought to have a legal-aid lawyer representing them, so that their parents don’t abuse their power over them.

It’s already happening. Now that the manosphere is being recognized as a serious, powerful force, “red pill woman” blogs are popping up like herpes sores on a born-again virgin’s bikini area. Women are herd creatures at heart: they will always follow so long as men lead. And as much as we’d love to try all the feminist collaborators at a metaphorical Nuremberg, there are more than enough thirsty saps who will eagerly lick the clit of any woman who claims to have seen the light, no matter how openly self-serving her motives. Add in the coming left singularity and feminists are really screwed.

Lindy West has already shown that she’s willing to concede anti-feminist talking points. What makes you think she’ll hold out when the stakes are higher?

So I wouldn’t put too much faith in the younger generation of feminists. Oh sure, they may be bitching about “fatphobia” and “rape culture” today, but their convictions are barely skin-deep. In ten years, you’ll be browsing the Internet one day when a friend sends you a link to an article titled “Rediscovering Your Inner Housewife” or “The Joys of Letting Him Take the Lead.” You’ll click it open for a brief chuckle and stop cold when you spot the byline:

“By Lindy West.”

Read Next: Who’d Make a Better Housewife: A Feminist or a Misogynist?