Funky Cold Medusa: A Feminist Field Guide to Gamma Males in the Wild

It all began, as these things so often do, with a man confidently declaring that religion is for the low-IQ. A proclamation so stale it might as well have been chiseled onto a stone tablet by a caveman with a fedora and a God complex.

The man, of course, had never had his own IQ tested. But he was quite sure that mine, which is documented at 155 and periodically reviewed by the fine folks at the Mayo Clinic, was somehow invalidatedby the mere fact that I believe in God. Not just any God, mind you, but the kind who walks with artists, wears no watch, and seems quite fond of complex women with difficult childhoods.

What followed was a textbook case of internet gammaplay. The Logic Bro Interrogation began.

Did I believe in Noah's Ark? He asked. Could I explain how all the animals fit? What about speciation? Did I understand evolution? Could I account for MRSA? Could I reconcile my faith with his version of science?

I tried to play nice at first. Mentioned I was an artist. That I hadn't been raised religious, and in fact, my mother thought Jesus rode a dinosaur. I didn't crack open a Bible until I was seventeen. I tried to explain that my faith was born of experience, not dogma. That I see God in fractals and Fibonacci, in parthenogenesis and penguins. But no.

He wanted a debate.

He wanted blood.

And when he didn't get either, he wanted to know if I'd studied STEM.

Reader, I had not. I went to art school. In the 1970s. When gifted children were told to sit in the corner and draw quietly, which I did. With excellence. He, meanwhile, had a 4.0 GPA in Chemistry and Computer Engineering, had never studied for a test, and believed this made him the Ultimate Authority on All Things, including me.

It was time to bring out the rubber newspaper.

I asked if he believed sapiosexuality was real.

I asked if he was familiar with Richard Feynman. (He wasn't.)

I asked if he danced.

The mood shifted.

Suddenly, I was the troll. A disappointment. A faker. A woman who could not possibly have the IQ she claimed, because I refused to be grilled by a stranger demanding I justify the metaphysical mysteries of the universe between his lunch break and his next Reddit rage scroll.

It was then that I called it:

"You are straight gamma energy, bruh. No cap. On God."

He sputtered. He sulked. He invoked the sacred rites of the PhD pantheon: "People who really have high IQs don't brag about IQ," he said, while, notably, still refusing to reveal his own. "They engage in intellectual discourse."

Which is adorable. Because if I had quoted Teilhard de Chardin or laid out a cross-comparison of symbolic archetypes across human cultures, he'd have called me pretentious. If I quoted scripture, I'd be a moron. If I quoted Carl Sagan, I'd be derivative.

No. What he wanted was to be right. About me. About women. About the world.

He wanted me to explain how a unicorn like me could possibly exist. An autistic woman with a genius-level IQ, who paints for a living and believes in the divine. Who builds worlds and websites. Who doesn't tremble when a man demands a thesis defense mid-thread.

But here's the thing, boys: You don't get to verify me.

I am not a parking pass or a promotional code. I am a Feral Librarianof the Highest Order. And I do not answer to internet boyscouts with search engine fetishes and spiritual deficits.

So I told him I was off to see Tone Loc.

And he told me I was a troll.

Naturally.

Let's Talk Gamma

For those unfamiliar with the taxonomy, the Gamma Male is a breed of man who lives in the uncanny valley between "clever" and "creepy." He's not dumb. But he's not wise. He's the guy who memorizes Wikipedia entries to win arguments at dinner parties. He's allergic to mystery, irony, and women who laugh too freely.

He sees every woman as either a threat, a test, or a trophy. And when you don't play along, he falls apart.

His faith is in data, but he rarely understands nuance. He will quote scientific studies while completely misunderstanding their context. He thinks knowing facts makes him kind. Or moral. Or right. It doesn't.

Gamma males love to bait women who are clearly their intellectual superiors. They see it as a game of chess, when in fact they are still playing Hungry Hungry Hippos.

Why This Matters

You might ask: why waste time on these exchanges? Why not block and move on?

Because visibility matters.

Because women likeme—smart, strange, funny, faithful—aren't supposed to exist. And when we do, the gamma swarm tries to tear us down one Reddit thread at a time.

Because these men do not just insult women online. They influence culture. They become hiring managers. They write op-eds. They infiltrate think tanks. They pass policies. And they poison discourse with the belief that intellect and arrogance are the same thing—and that women with minds and mouths must be shut down.

They call it rationality. I call it fear.

So I turn it into art.

In Conclusion

If you ever find yourself in a verbal standoff with a Gamma Male, remember this:

You owe him nothing.

Not your citations. Not your trauma. Not your spiritual defense portfolio.

You are not required to excavate your soul for strangers who wouldn't know Rilke from a rutabaga. You do not have to explain why you dare to be a woman who knows her worth, her God, and her own mind.

Just smile. Throw on your fiercest lipstick. And go dance to Tone Loc.

They can cope in the comments.

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