It’s a commonplace fantasy amongst a certain kind of American man: to abandon a world filled with “picky,” “demanding,” “angry” women, infected with feminism and a sense of entitlement, to find paradise in the arms of a nubile, pliable, and above all grateful woman from an exotic place like Thailand, the Philippines, or Eastern Europe.
Not surprisingly, many Men’s Rights websites and forums are filled with angry rants about American (or more broadly, Western) women. “Western men have now had plenty of evidence over recent years of what western wimmin have become as a result of feminist indoctrination and media propaganda,” writes Ledburian, a regular on the AntiMisandry.com message boards. “I reckon it would be a good idea for all western wimmin to be forced to carry tattoos on their foreheads warning all men that they can be a serious threat to male wealth and well being.”
Meanwhile, the “fun bachelor” behind foreignwomenonly.blogspot.com, a site whose URL conveniently encapsulates its message, assures his anxious readers that paradise is within reach of any Western man with a passport: “Date Foreign Women Only, and be treated like a king.”
The reality, of course, is far more sordid and depressing than the fantasy: The reason that some Eastern women are more agreeable to Western men has less to do with culture than it does with economics. Women in the west have more options, and so are less willing to put up with crap from Western men; women in countries where many if not most people are living in abject poverty may decide that putting up with disagreeable Western men is slightly less of a bad bargain than working a poverty-wage job and living in a shithole.
Recently, I watched a sad, powerful short documentary called Bangkok Girl (also known as Falang: Behind Bangkok’s Smile), a portrait of a bar girl in a city overrun with sex tourists from all over the developed world. The whole thing is worth watching — it’s available for instant watching on Netflix and on YouTube — but one scene stood out in particular for me: a street inverview with a drunken British expat who puts his arms around Pla, the girl at the center of the documentary, and declares to the camera that she’s his “girlfriend.” (She’s not.)
It’s immediately and abundantly clear that she wants nothing to do with the creepy lout — but he’s a regular at the bar and she’ll lose her job if she rebuffs him. He’s either completely oblivious to her obvious discomfort, or he simply doesn’t give a shit. This is what “paradise” really looks like, to anyone really paying attention. Watch the scene here.