Ferdinand Bardimu states:
“My problem is that In Mala Fide no longer reflects who I am. I’m no longer subject to the conditions that led me to start blogging to begin with. I’m not in the same state of mind, and I’m tired of keeping up the charade. I’m tired of logging in twice a week and punching up articles in a voice that is no longer mine. I’m tired of the negativity and the bleakness of it all. Writing under a pen name was once liberating and freeing — now it feels confining, a straitjacket asphyxiating me and preventing me from spreading my wings.”
Well, Inmalafide was my introduction to the so called manosphere….
MRDA left this comment on my blog:
“Problem with the manosphere: to get to the useful stuff, you have to wade through a world of toxic sludge: the PUA stuff, the “radical traditionalism”, the obsession with hierarchy and shaming, the racism (as opposed to honest inquiry into racial differences).
It’s almost like a Last Man Standing scenario where you hope both they and the feminists wipe themselves out in a genuine boots-on-the-ground gender war.
How come you chose to write for Inmalafide? FB & co are some of the worst offenders.”
Anyways I kind of see the points here. I have said that reading through the gendersphere is like swimming through a sewer with open sores in the search for a nugget of gold. I began reading about a core of topics a few years back. These topics consisted of kink, psychology, sociology, gender relations and the like. Eventually, I began leaving comments under the name Stoner With a Boner. I think I choose that handle because Troll With a Goal was already taken 😉 I started running into feminists. A few were moderate and reasonable, many more were extreme–I think bigoted might be the word I’m looking for. More and more I saw that my life and experiences didn’t seem to fit into their worldview. At one point, I left comments on Feministe. This was on an article by Clarisse Thorn regarding Pick Up Artists. I was beginning to see how politicized things were and how dishonest the conversation about gender was. She would pretend to care about the so called male perspective all while never calling out the misandry of her “sisters” and making comments magically disappear that didn’t reinforce her world view.
Eventually I saw a woman named Quiet Riot Girl getting slaughtered in the comments section of Feministe. So called feminists who were supposedly about “equality” were saying she had an “honorary penis” and other insults. I eventually went over to her page and began leaving comments. Around this time I also stumbled onto Feminist Critics. I was leaving longer comments, I was finding my voice and it felt good. I was also sick of writing a long comment and having it never leave the moderation queue. After clicking around on others blogs, I realized I could create my own. I even left a shoutout to QRG on her contact page for the encouragement.
I was a misfit, I obviously wasn’t a feminist. I didn’t exactly fit in with QRG’s theories metrosexuality. I was stumbling onto the term MRA and while I thought things weren’t quite right in the world, I didn’t quite see eye to eye with them. Irony of all ironies, I think I discovered Inmalafide when I was clicking on the Boob Roll at the fatuitous Futrelle’s site where he consistently misquotes and misrepresents the arguments of MRA’s. Interestingly enough, I discovered Warren Farrell this way too. (I’m not a masculinist–I find things problematic with some of his theories such as “success object” but that’s another article.)
My first observations of Inmalafide were that most of the articles weren’t well written. There were grammatical errors that even I could spot and I’m certainly no English Major. Still, I liked the comments section. There was anger and humor and opinions contradicting other opinions. Many of the commentors had their own blogs. This is how I found Creepy Crawly Advocatus Diaboli. It kind of felt like being at some weird punk rock show where most the audience played instruments even if not very well. There was definitely energy at this place and that’s what kept me coming back. I saw racist comments, I saw sexist comments. However, at this point, my skin was far thicker than when I had been called a mansplainer.
I had done some reading about the draft and decided to write about the Selective Service in the United States. Well, after a few months of blogging and a few props by commentors, I felt confident that I could putt a really strong article together. I emailed Mr. Bardamu with my ideas and he agreed to publish it. I was happy when I saw all the comments people left. Even though I disagreed with many, I felt they were thoughtful. I even emailed a copy to my mother. I just cut and pasted the text as I knew she wouldn’t like Inmalafide and I didn’t want her to find out about my blog. She actually wrote me back and complimented me on my writing and clear thinking. Now, even though I was writing under a pseudonym, the recognition was intoxicating. I never got recognition growing up. I struggled in school and was in remedial/special ed at one point. This was validation. I was not a professional writer but I was published. It helped me feel good about some of my insecurities.
I contributed a few more articles, but was increasingly growing discontent with the so called alt right bent of many there. I was also finding the place more and more close minded. It seemed that it wasn’t just a place where White Nationalists visited but a haven for them. I revealed that I was mixed race and was called such beautiful terms as “halfbreed” and “victim of miscegenation.” At one point, Creepy Crawly Advocatus Diaboli talked about his love of prostitution. A certain male feminist, let’s call him the Male Feminist Extraordinaire™ decided to misquote my comments at that article and then put a flashing sarcasm button for plausible deniability. Well, I decided to have my own fun at the expense of “said male feminist and some of the neo nazi’s/alt righters.
Anyways, I’m not sad that In Bad Faith is (Faith) No More…
98% of it was garbage, 2% was gold….
and so we don’t end on a sour note, here’s some musical entertainment–