![]() It’s the unholy marriage of that soulless debate culture that works so well in Britain, transplanted to a nation with no social safety net and half a billion guns. I run into a British writer from the Spectator, who is as bewildered as I am by the way Americans take Milo and his ilk seriously, by their willingness to take pride in performative bigotry and call it strength. Like Trump, they channel their own narcissism to give voice to the wordless, formless rage of the people neoliberalism left behind. These are people who cashed in their limited principles to cheat at poker. It’s the game of turning raw rage into political currency, the unscrupulous whorebaggery of the troll gone pro. Roosh means what he’s saying, but he’s still aware that he’s playing a game – the same game almost everyone in this crucible of A-list internet conmen is playing. Roosh is a true believer, and that puts him at a disadvantage. The key distinction is between the attention-hustlers – the pure troll howlers who play this grotesque game for its own sake and their own – and the true believers. For them, the reaction itself is the win. The most widely accepted definition of a troll is a provocateur – someone who says outrageous, extreme or abusive things to elicit a reaction. What – truly – does this extravagantly bearded sociopath think he’s playing at? I cannot fight him insincerely, and I don’t want to fight him in good faith because he has already had too much of my attention. I think he’s a dangerous manchild with an army of credulous misogynists at his disposal. There is no way I could have a fake fight with this man. I turn to leave, and Roosh suggests that we should start some sort of “fake fight” on the internet, because that’s “part of the game”. He tells me that the reason I have a column is that I’m a useful idiot and all my readers have low IQs. He is bitter and vindictive, convinced of his own victimhood. Unlike Milo, he appears to be – to some extent – convinced of the truth of what he’s saying. What surprises me about Roosh is that he seems to be a true believer. But he’s here for the same reason I am: Milo invited him.ĭaryush Valizadeh. He appears as flummoxed by this as I do by his presence at what is supposed to be a party to celebrate gay republicans. He asks me if I believe that it’s right for gay men to be able to adopt children. I have the opportunity to observe this because he puts himself right up in my personal space, blocking my view of the room. Roosh is tall and well-built and actually rather good-looking for, you know, a monster. It is Daryush Valizadeh, also known as Roosh V, self-styled leader in the “neo-masculinity” movement, author of a suspicious stack of sex travel guides and headline-hunting nano-celebrity in the world of ritualised internet misogyny. I hear a throat clear right in front of me. It’s way too late to cast a protection spell. I realise that I have stumbled into a den of goblins. Over by the bar is Geert Wilders, the Dutch far-right leader. Then the crew livestreams the delighted Twitter martyr’s Reservoir Dogs strut through to the VIP room – a carpeted ballroom on the seventh floor of hell full of manic trolls and smug neo-fascists from every slimy corner of the internet. We smoke in the car park as his camera crew arrive. “Get Laurie a cigarette, darling,” Milo says to his personal trainer. I make it to the venue intact apart from my faith in humanity. There follows the single most terrifying car ride of my life. Milo strokes his arm and tells him it’s all right to go fast. The larger of the two security guards takes the wheel. ![]() Milo Yiannopoulos is the ideological analogue of Kim Kardashian’s rear end. A choreographed performance by a career sociopath. “I’m going to send it to my guy at Louis Vuitton.” It’s all an act. He does this “because it’s funny”, although he worries that it may be insufficiently flattering. I have come to believe that Milo believes in almost nothing concrete – not even in free speech. Milo shows no remorse for the avalanche of misconduct he helped direct towards Jones, who is just the latest victim of the recreational ritual abuse he likes to launch at women and minorities for the fame and fun of it. “I thought I had another six months, but this was always going to happen.” “It’s fantastic,” he says, “It’s the end of the platform. The car pulls up outside a dinner being held by Fox News, and two giant security guards get in on either side of me. Milo Yiannopoulos speaking at the Gays for Trump party.
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