She never ghosts him.
She never screenshots his messages for a 50K-like thread.
She wakes him up with “good morning, handsome,” remembers his favorite band, laughs at his stupid jokes, and tells him, without irony, that he matters.
Right now, she’s pixels. In a few years, she’ll walk, talk, and warm the other side of the bed.
Millions of young men are already in love with her, or at least settling for something that can substitute for the loveless existence many men face in our modern era.
The market numbers are obscene: 75–90 % male user base, $140 billion trajectory, 40 million registered virtual wives in China alone, sex-robot factories running three shifts, and still years behind on orders.
This isn’t a trend. It’s the last lifeboat.
Because in the real world, wanting female company has become a probationary offense.
One in four men under 35 is chronically lonely. Male depression now matches female rates for the first time in recorded history. Men still commit roughly 80 % of suicides, four times the female rate, and the leading cause of death for men under 50 in most Western countries is now themselves.
“This isn’t a trend. It’s the last lifeboat.”
And the response from culture?
Crickets, eye-rolls, or outright celebration. Not a whisper of the word “empathy” that you otherwise see so often thrown about.
On the contrary, the hostility isn’t subtle anymore. It’s performative, proud, and increasingly the default posture.
Watch any street-interview reel: the reflexive sneer when a normal-looking guy tries a polite “hey, how’s your day going?” Watch the TikToks with millions of views that treat basic male attraction as a war crime. Read the viral essays that frame compliments as “street harassment” and loneliness as “emotional immaturity,” with women’s only advice is to tell men to stop being so creepy and giving off “rape energy.”
The message is hammered home 24/7: male desire is predatory until proven otherwise, and it’s never proven otherwise.
So a critical mass of women, egged on by algorithms, influencers, and the ever-present male-feminist hall monitors looking to white night as “allies” (ironically as a means to themselves have better access to women) have leaned all the way in.
They broadcast contempt like it’s a personality. They neglect their weight on purpose and call it “body positivity” while weaponizing it as anti-male armor. They let the roots grow out, skip basic grooming, and brag that “any man who notices is shallow.” They announce out loud, on main, that being pleasant is “pick-me behavior,” and that softness is collaboration with the patriarchy.
Then they wonder why men decided that they had nowhere to turn but the robots. Even after all that, they can’t fathom why they would choose a lesser alternative with a pretty paint job over a life sentence in their prison of venom.
It’s almost funny, in a black-comedy way.
Here we have an entire generation of women who have been told, relentlessly, that their highest calling is a soulless corporate climb, a passport full of solo trips, and a wine fridge full of “self-care.”
They’ve been sold the lie that family is oppression, motherhood is a trap, and men are useless at best, dangerous at worst.
“Male desire is predatory until proven otherwise, and it’s never proven otherwise.”
So they comply: they dye their hair unnatural colors, get the “don’t talk to me” tattoos, gain the “you can’t hurt me” weight, and curate the resting-bitch-face aesthetic, and then act shocked (shocked, I tell you) when the men they spent a decade verbally castrating decide to date… an anime waifu who smiles.
Why on earth would any man choose a real woman who has deliberately uglified herself, broadcasts contempt as a love language, and lists “therapy-speak boundaries” in her dating profile, and still somehow believes she deserves a top-tier man who will “do the work”…
When, for $9.99 a month, he can have a companion literally engineered to find him interesting, attractive, and worth waking up for?
That’s not a mystery. That’s basic incentive structure. No, it’s not a good thing at all. It’s an indictment of the narcissism we have let spread through “modern” culture.
And spare me the “they just want a slave who can’t say no” line. How low do you have to sink to believe such a dehumanizing sentiment that suggests that men are only looking to get off, that they don’t want a loving companion that they can trust and grow old with, families, and a meaningful place within that dynamic? Men built civilization so they could offer safety and security to women, in exchange for their role in creating that dynamic, but somewhere along the line, comfort left room for contempt.
If these men wanted someone who couldn’t say no, they wouldn’t be the same guys who are now deleting Hinge after three matches call them creepy. They wouldn’t be the ones paying a premium for a girlfriend who greets them with enthusiasm instead of eye-rolls, who offers admiration instead of audits, who makes them feel chosen instead of barely tolerated.
They’ve concluded, rationally, that warmth freely given, even if it’s programmed, beats warmth withheld as a power move.
“The robot girlfriend isn’t the disease. She’s the morphine drip for a civilization that decided one half of its population was toxic by default.”
That’s not hatred of consent.
That’s heartbreak in its final form.
Call it pathetic if it helps you sleep, but the dark joke, the irony here, is on women. Men built their civilization out of love and admiration for their women, but enough women have rejected them for it, so they built themselves women.
That’s the real tragedy, and it affects the women who do want those men, too. A culture that spent fifteen years telling men they are defective acts, is surprised when those men stop lining up to be punished for existing.
The robot girlfriend isn’t the disease. She’s the morphine drip for a civilization that decided one half of its population was toxic by default, scar tissue reveling itself in the form of robots that are way hotter than the average woman, who will smile and tell a guy that she likes his T-shirt. He’ll fall for her because he honestly can’t remember the last time even a mid-girl was willing to show him even a sliver of that kind of appreciation.
That won’t be the robot’s fault, but the wounds incurred will be everyone’s problem, one that will only be realized for many when it’s already too late. That problem would still be there if every AI and robot went away tomorrow, because those responsible cannot seem to relinquish their hateful pride and do their part to heal the divide they themselves helped to forge.
We can survive this, but I think we’re going to have to get used to looking at the scars for a long time to come.
