I think I’ve nailed what allowed them to survive in my mind, and it’s complicated, involving the valley of bad rationality.
In case anyone’s wondering (I’m having another episode of insomnia, as I could have expected since that’s what usually happens to me when I oversleep six mornings in a row, so...), here’s the story:
Step 1: Absorb the stereotype that certain behaviours are sexual advances from the general memetic environment (not just “romantic comedies” but also news of people sued for sexual harassment for having complimented/touched a coworker). (I was a very nerdy boy at the time, so I had hardly any first-hand experience in that area. My parents had received a very religious upbringing and had continuously been together ever since my mother was 15, so they didn’t have much experience either.)
Step 2: Decide to turn off the TV and go out in the real world. Realize that such behaviour is actually also common in platonic friendships, and it doesn’t necessarily show romantic attraction. (At first I thought that was a quirk of the particular social circle I was in, then as I changed social circles and later as I went to university I realized it was more universal than that. My mother was still very sceptic (“That girl was hugging you all the time! I think she likes you. Do you like her? Why don’t you...” “Mum… She has a boyfriend! They’ve been together for three years!” “But… [confused look] I still think she likes you”), which I ascribed to her upbringing; in particular, my grandparents were very incredulous that I hang around with females and didn’t have sex with them—apparently, in rural southern Italy in the mid-20th century platonic friendships between men and women were not a thing, or something.)
Step 3: Go study abroad in Ireland, living in an university residence mostly populated by foreigners. Find out that here behaviour that in Italy was completely normal would freak people the hell out. Ascribe that to your physical appearance. (I looked somewhat like Rubeus Hagrid back then, whereas in Ireland hardly any guys wore long hair or a beard.) Get a haircut, trim your goatee and moustache, and shave the rest of the beard off. Pay attention to what other guys are wearing, and try to imitate them. Order a copy of the Goodbye Couch fitness program and start doing it every day. Meanwhile, notice that everybody is hooking up all the time and you aren’t, and ascribe that to still not being good-looking enough; do not minimally suspect there might be something wrong with your behaviour. Be reminded by your mother of the stereotype according to which everybody who goes to study abroad gets laid, and be told by her that the reason you aren’t is that you’re not pushy enough. Completely renew your wardrobe, hit the point of diminishing returns with your fitness program, and continue optimizing your appearance as much as you can short of plastic surgery. (By that time, I had managed to make out with a couple of girls—all of whom had cold-approached me first, and who would afterwards give me a fake phone number or tell me they have a boyfriend—thereby disproving the hypothesis that there was a quantum suicide machine destroying the world in all branches of the wave function where that happened.) Realize that you still you’re not having the success with women you were expecting (or, more accurately, that the stereotype told you to expect), become the extremely embittered beast all feminist blogs in the planet (which I hadn’t seen at that point) complain about, start freaking people the hell out again, get called names, get kicked out of night clubs a couple times, have people unfriend you on Facebook, and don’t realize what the hell is going on. Witness the all-time nadir in your self-esteem.
Step 4: Go back to your home town in Italy. Accidentally stumble upon the Schrödinger’s Rapist post. Read it. Read the comment thread, too, and a few related posts as well. Have an epiphany. Realize it all makes perfectly sense. Realize it completely explains what happened to you in Ireland. Resolve not to exhibit certain behaviours ever, ever again. Confirm your suspicion that there’s something seriously wrong with your mother, because all her advice about women so far has been the exact opposite of what the Schrödinger’s Rapist post says, but don’t think too much about that.
Step 5: Accidentally stumble upon Less Wrong. Read about the conservation of expected evidence. Think, of all things, “Aha! In order for a woman touching me to be evidence that she’s not sexually interested in me, a woman not touching me would have to be evidence that she is sexually interested in me, which is preposterous. So that cannot be the case; a woman touching me must be evidence that she’s interested.” (Note how this argument is, mathematically speaking, valid, but it tells nothing about how big or how small the effect is, and how easily or how hardly it is screened off by other evidence, which depends on prior probabilities, conditional probabilities, etc. Welcome to the valley of bad rationality.)
Step 6: Go back to university. Notice how even platonic friends will express their affection physically, in a way that you’re no longer used to after the experience of Step 3, but don’t act upon what you’re inferring from Step 5 because of what you learnt in Step 4. Essentially, find yourself back to Step 2, except that you’ve run out of low-hanging fruit about how to improve your looks. (This is where I was one year ago.)
Well, I’m exaggerating for dramatic effect—things are not so bleak. Now I’ll try to fall asleep again, and when I wake up and read this comment will laugh at myself. Or delete it and wonder what the hell is wrong with me.
In case anyone’s wondering (I’m having another episode of insomnia, as I could have expected since that’s what usually happens to me when I oversleep six mornings in a row, so...), here’s the story:
Step 1: Absorb the stereotype that certain behaviours are sexual advances from the general memetic environment (not just “romantic comedies” but also news of people sued for sexual harassment for having complimented/touched a coworker). (I was a very nerdy boy at the time, so I had hardly any first-hand experience in that area. My parents had received a very religious upbringing and had continuously been together ever since my mother was 15, so they didn’t have much experience either.)
Step 2: Decide to turn off the TV and go out in the real world. Realize that such behaviour is actually also common in platonic friendships, and it doesn’t necessarily show romantic attraction. (At first I thought that was a quirk of the particular social circle I was in, then as I changed social circles and later as I went to university I realized it was more universal than that. My mother was still very sceptic (“That girl was hugging you all the time! I think she likes you. Do you like her? Why don’t you...” “Mum… She has a boyfriend! They’ve been together for three years!” “But… [confused look] I still think she likes you”), which I ascribed to her upbringing; in particular, my grandparents were very incredulous that I hang around with females and didn’t have sex with them—apparently, in rural southern Italy in the mid-20th century platonic friendships between men and women were not a thing, or something.)
Step 3: Go study abroad in Ireland, living in an university residence mostly populated by foreigners. Find out that here behaviour that in Italy was completely normal would freak people the hell out. Ascribe that to your physical appearance. (I looked somewhat like Rubeus Hagrid back then, whereas in Ireland hardly any guys wore long hair or a beard.) Get a haircut, trim your goatee and moustache, and shave the rest of the beard off. Pay attention to what other guys are wearing, and try to imitate them. Order a copy of the Goodbye Couch fitness program and start doing it every day. Meanwhile, notice that everybody is hooking up all the time and you aren’t, and ascribe that to still not being good-looking enough; do not minimally suspect there might be something wrong with your behaviour. Be reminded by your mother of the stereotype according to which everybody who goes to study abroad gets laid, and be told by her that the reason you aren’t is that you’re not pushy enough. Completely renew your wardrobe, hit the point of diminishing returns with your fitness program, and continue optimizing your appearance as much as you can short of plastic surgery. (By that time, I had managed to make out with a couple of girls—all of whom had cold-approached me first, and who would afterwards give me a fake phone number or tell me they have a boyfriend—thereby disproving the hypothesis that there was a quantum suicide machine destroying the world in all branches of the wave function where that happened.) Realize that you still you’re not having the success with women you were expecting (or, more accurately, that the stereotype told you to expect), become the extremely embittered beast all feminist blogs in the planet (which I hadn’t seen at that point) complain about, start freaking people the hell out again, get called names, get kicked out of night clubs a couple times, have people unfriend you on Facebook, and don’t realize what the hell is going on. Witness the all-time nadir in your self-esteem.
Step 4: Go back to your home town in Italy. Accidentally stumble upon the Schrödinger’s Rapist post. Read it. Read the comment thread, too, and a few related posts as well. Have an epiphany. Realize it all makes perfectly sense. Realize it completely explains what happened to you in Ireland. Resolve not to exhibit certain behaviours ever, ever again. Confirm your suspicion that there’s something seriously wrong with your mother, because all her advice about women so far has been the exact opposite of what the Schrödinger’s Rapist post says, but don’t think too much about that.
Step 5: Accidentally stumble upon Less Wrong. Read about the conservation of expected evidence. Think, of all things, “Aha! In order for a woman touching me to be evidence that she’s not sexually interested in me, a woman not touching me would have to be evidence that she is sexually interested in me, which is preposterous. So that cannot be the case; a woman touching me must be evidence that she’s interested.” (Note how this argument is, mathematically speaking, valid, but it tells nothing about how big or how small the effect is, and how easily or how hardly it is screened off by other evidence, which depends on prior probabilities, conditional probabilities, etc. Welcome to the valley of bad rationality.)
Step 6: Go back to university. Notice how even platonic friends will express their affection physically, in a way that you’re no longer used to after the experience of Step 3, but don’t act upon what you’re inferring from Step 5 because of what you learnt in Step 4. Essentially, find yourself back to Step 2, except that you’ve run out of low-hanging fruit about how to improve your looks. (This is where I was one year ago.)
Well, I’m exaggerating for dramatic effect—things are not so bleak. Now I’ll try to fall asleep again, and when I wake up and read this comment will laugh at myself. Or delete it and wonder what the hell is wrong with me.