I wish there was an ethnic angle to this.
Some of the most powerful men in Silicon Valley are regulars at exclusive, drug-fueled, sex-laced parties—gatherings they describe not as scandalous, or even secret, but as a bold, unconventional lifestyle choice. Yet, while the guys get laid, the women get screwed. In an adaptation from her new book, Brotopia, Emily Chang exposes the tired and toxic dynamic at play.
Who knew that goyim could be so predatory?
About once a month, on a Friday or Saturday night, the Silicon Valley Technorati gather for a drug-heavy, sex-heavy party. Sometimes the venue is an epic mansion in San Francisco’s Pacific Heights; sometimes it’s a lavish home in the foothills of Atherton or Hillsborough. On special occasions, the guests will travel north to someone’s château in Napa Valley or to a private beachfront property in Malibu or to a boat off the coast of Ibiza, and the bacchanal will last an entire weekend. The places change, but many of the players and the purpose remain the same.
Is this article a candid description of the Inner Party at work?
The freewheeling sex lives pursued by men in tech—from the elite down to the rank and file—have consequences for how business gets done in Silicon Valley.
Everything we do affects other people. The more power and money a guy accummullates, the more people he can screw.
I believe there is a critical story to tell about how the women who participate in these events are often marginalized, even if they attend of their own volition.
Why would only women have a story to tell? Anyway, dumb people are routinely marginalized because they are not smart enough to keep up, and on average, women are five IQ points behind men.
Perhaps this culture is just one of the many offshoots of the sexually progressive Bay Area, which gave rise to the desert festival of free expression Burning Man, now frequented by the tech elite.
The more you free up sexuality, the more predatory it gets.
“Anyone else who is on the outside would be looking at this and saying, Oh my God, this is so fucked up,” one female entrepreneur told me. “But the people in it have a very different perception about what’s going on.”
Different groups have different norms. The Inner Party, for example, has different norms from the Outer Party.
Alcohol lubricates the conversation until, after the final course, the drugs roll out. Some form of MDMA, a.k.a. Ecstasy or Molly, known for transforming relative strangers into extremely affectionate friends, is de rigueur, including Molly tablets that have been molded into the logos of some of the hottest tech companies. Some refer to these parties as “E-parties.”
Women in particular are looking to escape responsibility for their choices, they love to blame bad decisions on drugs and alcohol and the predations of other people. Few women are willing to take responsibility for their choices. For most of human history, were the property of a father, husband or brother or other relation, so they didn’t have to take responsibility. We need to regulate women as a natural resource because most of them don’t want the responsibility that comes with agency.
Do you know why WASPs won’t go to orgies? Too many thank you notes to write.
These sex parties happen so often among the premier V.C. and founder crowd that this isn’t a scandal or even really a secret, I’ve been told; it’s a lifestyle choice.
People with high IQs are less vulnerable to the consequences of a libertine life while the working class, for example, was devastated by the sexual revolution.
While some parties may be devoted primarily to drugs and sexual activity, others may boast just pockets of it, and some guests can be caught unawares.
People who don’t want to take responsibility for their choices are likely to be shocked and offended that sex goes on at parties. Orthodox Judaism segregates the sexes because it assumes that debauchery is likely to occur when you give people an opportunity.
They don’t necessarily see themselves as predatory. When they look in the mirror, they see individuals setting a new paradigm of behavior by pushing the boundaries of social mores and values.
Hmm, this sounds like a transgressive elite at war with the wider culture.
This Silicon Valley party scene sounds like the movie Eyes Wide Shut, which seemed to be about Jews, noted white nationalist intellectual Yggdrasil:
At the first exhortation not to see this film, my code antennae sprung erect.
A clear warning that something in this film is at odds with the agenda of the inner party culture destroyers.
(For a subtle piece that uses every tool in the Hollywood arsenal of culture destruction to maximum effect see “The Election”.)
The clear message from the inner party critics was that they wanted this movie to fail at the box office. Of course, I did not expect them to articulate their own reasons why. That isn’t how our social signaling and instruction system works here in America. But in truth, I am not sure the inner party critics could articulate their reasons. Most likely, they watched the movie and smelled vague danger, but because the movie lacked any easily recognizable tag of hostility, they could not instantly summon the appropriate verbal script of rebuke.
Yes folks, its that good!
And the reason is the movie’s simple act of deception. The inner party cannot recognize that a candid, relaxed portrait of themselves in their element is a hostile act. They may not like it, but they cannot bring themselves to bitch out loud.
In order to tell you why it is that good, I am going to have to “spoil” the movie for you. But since the movie does not really center on a plot, there is little suspense to spoil, and of course there are higher values involved.
Tom Cruise, plays an outer party doctor living and practicing medicine in New York City. It is Christmas time in New York, and you cannot help but notice Kubrick’s deft portrait of Christmas in New York as something quite different from, for example, Christmas in Oklahoma. Few apartments we see house Christians, but all have “Christmas” trees and ornaments. Not a crucifix nor a manger to be seen anywhere. (For reasons that entirely escape me, our ancient paganism is improbably and yet profoundly comforting to the inner-party alien, who for inexplicable reasons is frightened to death by the sermon on the mount. If they think Christ is scary, just provoke us into bringing Thor’s Hammer out of retirement! – but then I digress.)
Tom and his wife, Nicole Kidman are on their way to a Christmas party hosted by his wealthiest patient.
At the party, a guest attempts to seduce Kidman, while Cruise has to attend to a nude model or prostitute who has overdosed in the bedroom of his host. The host appreciates Cruise’s emergency services and his discretion. The host’s ethnic origin is entirely obvious (played by Sydney Pollack). On his way back to join the party, Cruise is accosted by two models who apparently want to double team him.
The sexual predation at the party is blatant. It is also accepted by all the party goers as if it were the natural state of enlightened humanity.
Cruise spots a friend who dropped out of his medical school class playing piano at the party. Cruise promises to come see him play at a local club.
The next evening, (actually, the movie moves quickly, and I might have the events a bit out of order) Cruise and Kidman decide to share a marijuana smoke before they get intimate, and this provokes a remarkably aggressive verbal attack from Kidman in which she talks about a fantasy of making love with another man.
Cruise, in his intoxicated condition gets called by the daughter of another wealthy patient who has just died. Cruise goes to the apartment of the patient. The daughter, who is engaged to be married, comes on to Cruise, with her fiance in the next room. Cruise maintains his professionalism.
After the visit, he takes a walk and is accosted by a prostitute on the street. He goes with her to her apartment and is interrupted by a cell phone call from Kidman wanting to know if she should wait up. He says no, but the mood is spoiled so he leaves.
He then goes to the club to see his piano playing friend, and is told of parties where his friend is paid a fortune but must play blindfolded. The friend never knows where the parties are and only finds out that one is starting and given the password for entry an hour in advance. He is escorted to the party by guards. After the piano player’s cell phone rings, Cruise twists his friend’s arm for the location and password. At this point the serious adventures begin.
To gain access to the party, Cruise must rent a costume and a mask, which he does, from an amusingly predatory costume rental proprietor.
He takes a cab to the party at a huge mansion out on Long Island.
He walks in on an orgy unlike any other you have seen or imagined. It is highly organized. There is more voyeurism than action. The entire performance seems carefully orchestrated, and the participants, including the master of ceremonies, the nude entertainers, and the masked party goers all seem to know each other and what to expect. Neither the need for nor the function of the masks is entirely clear.
The master of ceremonies is an old man with a staff who directs the nude ladies with cabalistic chants.
Cruise is approached by one of the young ladies who warns him to flee or he will be killed. Cruise declines, and is exposed by the master of ceremonies. The girl who warned him offers to sacrifice herself if he will be allowed to leave alive, the deal is struck, and Cruise is expelled by the guards and goes home.
The next day, he notices a news item to the effect that the girl who sacrificed herself for him was found dead. He goes to look at her in the morgue at the hospital.
He returns the costume (with the exception of the mask) to the predatory owner, and his girlfriend.
He tries to track down his piano playing friend, can’t find him, and notices that he is being followed.
That evening, he visits the prostitute’s apartment, and encounters her female roommate who lets him in. The roommate delivers the bad news that the prostitute tested positive for HIV and is gone.
The problem with this movie is that you tend to get caught up in the swirl of action, and the message can rip right past you. But when the roommate conveys the bad news about HIV, I am jolted erect in my seat. The Hollywood culture destruction machine would never allow this sort of scene in one of its movies.
So what is going on here?
At a minimum, we have a conservative message being thrust upon an unwilling audience, but perhaps there is much more. The AIDS interruption lifts me up out of the delirium of action and forces me to whip out that jeweler’s loop.
And suddenly it is painfully obvious.
Cruise is a typical outer party professional earning a good living in an intensely remote and hostile land. You are instantly struck by his isolation, and the isolation of his family. No co-workers to talk this over with and to understand or come to his aid. And he is utterly unwelcome in the cabal. His role is to work, pay taxes and not think too hard!
Like all outer party elites in the big city, he is absolutely clueless about how the society around him really works, and why it works the way it does, and then suddenly he stumbles upon the inner sanctum of the inner party. He sees the rewards and entertainments that draw them together, and he also experiences first hand the terror they can inflict on wayward members or unwanted intruders.
Movie hell! This feels like real life in the big apple!
The ending to this movie has two parts. First, his wealthy patient friend, played by Sidney Pollack, calls and asks him to come over. Pollack then explains that he was at the orgy, that Cruise is in “way over his head,” that it was he, Pollack, who had him followed. His piano playing friend was put on a plane back to Seattle, the girl wasn’t killed but died of an overdose, and nobody was killed by this Cabal that he is a part of. He, Pollack, is explaining because he trusts Cruise to stop investigating and just forget this ever happened.
The movie goer is left with an intense feeling of alienation. There is a powerful and disciplined cabal that runs things from behind the scenes, and maintains its membership with corrupt entertainments and enforces discipline with terror.
But, of course, according to one of its organizers, It’s harmless. Just a few nebbishes from Brooklyn who wouldn’t hurt a fly havin a little fun. Hey, it might be a dictatorship, but it is a benevolent and fun loving dictatorship, so that makes it OK!
All the while , of course, Pollack is delivering a not-so-subtle economic threat, which as we all know, is exactly how it works in real life.
In the meantime, of course, Cruise has explained to Kidman the whole series of misadventures before his meeting with Pollack, and is fearful that his marriage might be in danger. He has arranged with her and their daughter to go Christmas shopping, which sets up the final scene in FAO Schwartz.
Now curiously, the critics hate this ending, claiming it is no ending at all.
But to normal viewers, the conclusion is absolutely pre-ordained. My wife knew the outcome ten minutes before the end.
After all, Cruise and Kidman are sojourners in a hostile and alien land. When Cruise pops the fateful question, Kidman responds as she must, but in a playful and hip way.
So it is no wonder that critics absolutely hate this movie.
The reason they hate it is that the typical outer party viewer is left with a powerful feeling of vague threat from a predatory culture in which a cabal such as the one portrayed in this movie makes perfect sense. The kabal is populated with people who show harmless and genial public faces during the day, but cannot show their real faces among themselves at private parties after dark.
It is some of the richest symbolism I have seen on celluloid. This flick veers awfully close to the truth folks. And it gets away with it!!