> ## Content Index > Fetch the complete content index at: https://memso.fit/llms.txt > Use this file to discover other available public pages before exploring further. # Skin Trade - URL: https://memso.fit/skin-trade/ - Published: 2026-09-03T12:46:40.000Z - Updated: 2026-09-03T15:30:30.000Z - Description: In exhibition's name. - Author: Memso - Tags: Culture, Scandal, Sexes Do we truly have free will? [Doug Wilson](https://douglasjameswilson.com) would have us fiercely consider its futility. What I do know is that he has no will of his own when presented with a damsel in distress. Could we really blame him, having been raised, to my knowledge, with an idyllic childhood? His last mission presumably, futilely reinstituting the [Hays Code](https://memso.fit/content/media/hannah.webm). A swan song for a world that was the effort of American Catholicism, only to be undone by his generation. זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול. Wilson is a master of grift, and he has the souls of many to prove it. Whether they are capable of succession without the customary schism of their ilk will be the spectacle of a lifetime. One of many that have yet to unfold, or are unfolding before us. It seems we can't get enough of scandal, the result of hypocrisy or 240p pre-A.I. blackmail. Another Wilson deserving of deconstruction is the host of the Crucible, who somehow remains a frequent guest on the Whatever podcast. He has even brought along his wife Rachel, who is the ideal partner of every [gynomale](https://memso.fit/gynomale/). I could go on about Wilson's squeaky-rat composure, Rachel's terrible cooking, or how, despite her hypergamous past, their hypergamous future is oddly sound. What I really want to expose is that the outrage he brings to all of his shows *is* the content, the ressentiment shared by all of his followers. That shouldn't surprise anyone, but there have been attempts to suggest the content must be the handles these models keep tucked in the description. There are plenty of outlets for these men to come across their squeeze of choice. The panels that manage to bring these two modern aberrations of courting together are the spectacle. It is a ritual not unlike the plots and grandeur of pro wrestling. There are backstories, archetypes, and resolutions that, although obnoxiously predictable, allow the masses to revel in sheer jouissance. Don't tell me you don't have that one film you refrain from ranking on Letterboxd that has consumed too many hours of your life, shaping your eternal return. It is a rueful curiosity whether the machismo of the Crucible will finally be capable of opening a jar, or if זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול. The reason this has become a recurring program has to do with how the sexes, and the spectrum therein, approach capitalism in its infinitesimal decline. The derision towards university from young men has been brewing for at least a decade, and the solution has been to check out completely or to humor an often grueling vocation. The problem isn't so much that either choice incurs its own insurmountable debt, but that they ultimately displace these men from centers of prestige and mobility. They can master the crafts of their fathers and mentors faster, with more competence thanks to the internet, yet are still dumbfounded by how their elders managed to run into the fairer sex and multiply. The Art of Courtly Love is left out of every curriculum, and the latest A.I. models are somehow better tuned to enchant women than to simulate an honest wingman. Even men who have completed university are left perturbed by the blatant disregard for their hopes of finding someone to share in their incredibly bourgeois trajectory. The only thing about them that isn't bourgeois is their fear and anxiety of actively pursuing the inferior sex. As a cohort, they represent one of the few amusing tragedies of our Post-Oedipal economy. Another appears incessantly in the timelines of the accounts managed by Brian Atlas and his ilk. That precious nymph who manages to allure, as much as she does anger, those left to witness and interpret her antics, only to have his- I mean their advances rejected. This is and will always be the **it** girl. The one that everyone is stepping on each other to get near. The one who has nothing of substance to say about any topic whatsoever, and yet manages to be in the presence of microphones with a side of Polaroid or French Blonde. *What is it like to be the face that arrests so many in their tracks, even in a city that punishes idleness and sexual harassment?* I bet you spend hours talking to the very reflections in your room, preparing for this unceasingly streamed moment, words that will go over the arousal of everyone who manages to see this interview on their feed. And she wonders how she ever got here as she goes under again. Who am I kidding? There need not thought face sublimity. Behind the face whose only concern is obtaining validation for her very existence. It can only be found in the metropolis that scares the brutes and the brains. Elite human cattle graze inside these ivory towers, all competing for less and less square footage. A View to a Kill. That can all be superseded, (((they))) say, by simply showing up. Because that's all she has done, and it has worked out effortlessly in suburbia, so why shouldn't it follow beneath the concrete jungles and underpasses that define our spectacular cities? She knows better. And she knows very well the [bargain](https://memso.fit/the-bargain-doeskin/) needed to remain *his* retainer. The basis for her paranoia, intangibility, and guile is the same for any entrepreneur. There are only so many ~~sluts~~ slots at the top, and they all select for those willing to do anything and everything to get there. That is if זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול זול. Traversing the maze of shoulders in a big place still warrants etiquette, and by that I mean lying through your teeth about any and every trend because deontology is not a flavor of Big Apple. Why then, does this arena captivate and inspire so many hot daughters from ostensibly good homes? For the same reason their sons feel trapped within their own ineptitude, resorting to any Wilson to escape their predicament. Even with the backdrop of contracting avenues to live the same middle-class life as their parents, the search for identity has always been the prevailing concern for adolescents. A gamble that has them finding treasure in the dark of forums and streams, hoping to strike gold or, at the very least, a better shovel. Sodom can't help but entice these prospective bodies with promises of fame, success, and romance. Yet is there even any of that to go around? The internet has deterritorialized all the organs that afforded a public figure an editorialized myth. Now their existence is documented in the banality of their posts, stories, and interviews that are forced to carry instantaneous commentary, ridicule, and emojis from goyim. Where have the editors gone? They have been replaced by marketers who respond to the whims of an algorithm that must cater to ever-lower denominators of class and culture. The correct response to this is artificial scarcity. Editors, by their very nature, respect the limited time audiences have to consume the content they oversee. It's time dilettantes, sluts, and Jews curate their output for a world that is on the precipice of exacting revenge for the time wasted scrolling through endless troughs. There is value in mystique, subtlety, and aphorism. Artists have already experimented with [scrubbing](https://memso.fit/content/media/nett.webm) their content soon after their release. The writing is on the wall, and it's forming new rites for dissemination and curation. It's a new religion.