I think we now have the physical incarnation of the manosphere archetype of The Modern Woman. From this point on, when someone wonders what the manosphere means by the modern woman, we have a specific person we can point to.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you: Tracy Clark-Flory.
You may have heard of her before, but the dude did not take my advice to RUN NOW, so the story just got better. But before I get to that, I’m going to outline exactly how she makes the perfect archetype of the modern woman.
We can start with the double-name, which came pre-marriage, suggesting she comes from a feminist line. She has your typical worthless degree (BA in English from a Californian liberal arts college) and a job at the liberal rag Salon writing about sex and relationships. We can see from her profile picture above that she was fairly good-looking, a solid 7.
That’s a good start, but it gets ever so much more entertaining.
During her pretty years, she spent her youth on hooking-up and casual relationships. In her owns words, at 24 she “had roughly three times as many hookups as relationships,” but she’s not a slut as she “never had a one-night stand, only several-nights stands.” She passionately defended the hook-up culture arguing it never hurt her going through guys like she was “making an enthusiastic check mark next to every box” on “the Career Center’s job placement questionnaire.
She did indeed have fun times in her youth, but they did not last. A couple of years later, she still defends the hook-up culture and encourages one night stands, but she softens saying, “maybe we’re beginning to also allow ourselves more nuanced feelings about our hookups. Like Klausner and Anderson, we can now acknowledge regret over a one-night stand, without being considered, or seeing ourselves as, forever ruined women…”
Just a year later, she begins to express second thoughts about casual sex, stating that most people find friends with benefits relationships to be “overwhelmingly negative.” “At some point [she] realized that, despite [her] insistence otherwise, [she] actually wanted those sorts of intimacies, only with an actual commitment.”
Her descent into absolute sluttery isn’t quite done yet though. Two years later, in 2012, she sees her favourite male porn star in a bar, and decide she has to fuck him. So she does. The sex is the narssicistic, hollow, rote sex one would expect from such an encounter:
It’s exactly what I had breathlessly watched him do many times before, but this time it seemed mechanical and theatrical. Instead of being entertained, I was doing the entertaining, and I suspect he was too — but for whom, exactly? We were the only audience.”
“Despite the emptiness of it, [she] felt a sense of accomplishment over my conquest.” Yet, a little while later she begins to question herself and “began to feel shameful”, “What kind of man will want to be with a woman who’s slept with a male porn star?”
But don’t worry, her hollow, meaningless sex had meaning and made her a better person. She now has “a whole new appreciation for the difference between fantasy and reality, and how much sexier the latter can be when you aren’t striving for pornographic perfection.”
By pure coincidence, “not too long thereafter I got into a relationship with just such a guy.” This had absolutely nothing with the the profound sadness and hollowness she felt from her “conquest”.
At this point she’s careening towards the wall face-first:
The combination of aging and her empty experience with the porn star send her into a frenzy of self-introspection. She realized she “spent her twenties having lots of good sex, but faked her way through nearly every climax.” She “now climax[es] reliably, sometimes even effortlessly, with Steve [which] seems nothing short of a miracle.” She finds out she likes having relationships, even ones which grow out of hook-ups.
Realizing that she likes relationships, she then does exactly what every modern women does when faced with age and emptiness, starts demanding “real courtship.” Just half a year after she shags a male pornstar on the first night and writes about her awesome relationship with Steve, she finds a new beau. But this one is different, this beta boy doesn’t start with hook-ups, like Steve, no, he brings her aging self flowers. She is “shocked to find that traditional courtship is pretty great.” Yay for her.
But unlike the porn star or Steve, beta boy does not get sex that same night. Nope, beta boy is special and “there’s a specialness in waiting until you’re comfortable enough with someone to get naked together while totally sober.” Beta boy has to work for what she gave the rest of the world so freely. He had to go on five dates, pay for big meals, pick her up in a cab, etc. before he got what McPornstar and Steve got for being available in a bar.
With her newfound love of traditional courtship (ie. making beta boy earn her sex and love), she then starts trying to convince everyone that men love relationships, but dislike casual sex, because that would be convenient would it not?
Recently, we found at she has a happy ending to her tale. She’s getting married to beta boy and is talking about becoming a mommy. In a shocking twist, it turns out beta boy was actually someone she first met “around the same time that I wrote that first hookup essay.”
Looks like beta boy’s been pining away for five years and finally made good (after she spent the last of her youth on dozens of other men).
She could have had his love the whole time, but “even if [she] could, [she] wouldn’t in a million years go back and shake [her] 23-year-old self and tell her that she’d already met her future fiancé.” She just loves her memories of empty fucks with pornstars and her relationship with Steve far too much to give them up for boring old love with beta boy.
But this is good for beta boy because she “would have loved him the same.” Why her “hookup years made [her] more accepting of [her] fiancé’s imperfections.” Can’t you just feel the love she has for him.
Having had her alpha fux and having secured her beta bux, she is still encouraging other women to follow in her path. Her story is a “reminder that the hookup hand-wringers are wrong, and not to be trusted.” It’s a story of true love winning out; young women can fuck whoever they want and still end up with a pliable beta to pay for their children.
So, in a nutshell, Tracy Clark-Flory is the the stereotypical, nay, archetypical, modern woman. She fucks uncountable alphas, ignoring the beta who likes her, throughout her years of youth and prettiness. She realizes how empty it all is, but only once the wall approaches and the good times are coming to an end, so she uses the last of her fading feminine charms to husband-up the barely tolerable beta.
All that’s needed now is her complaints about how beta boy won’t divide the chores properly, followed by a story of how she’s falling out of love with him, followed by her divorce within the decade. Then there will be stories about how being a single mother is hard, how dating as a single mother is hard, and how there are no good men left.
If we’re lucky (and beta boy isn’t) there might even be a hilarious story of how she pined for Steve throughout the years of her marriage to beta boy.
So, whenever someone demands an example of alpha fux/beta bux, or wonders what we mean by the modern woman, we only need to point them to this post.
Here’s to you Tracy Clark-Flory, you are the Archetype of the Modern Woman!
You won the mating game. You got the alpha fux and have almost attained the beta bux. To you we raise up a rousing course of “da professional womenz ode.”
I’ll say it one last time, just in case he comes across this:
To the guy marrying Tracy: RUN AWAY. Run as hard and as fast as you can before you are legally bound to her. Do it; this will not end well for you. I hope, for your sake, you find this and take heed my warning. If you don’t lulz will be had at your expense in the future.