Theirs is a “non-hierarchical” relationship, so the whole cancer thing didn’t count when there’s third-party shagging to be had:

Readers may recall the numerous polyamory ‘cope’ videos we’ve seen here over the years, in which clearly neurotic and unhappy people try to convince themselves, and us, that they’re totally cool with their chosen lifestyle miseries. Often while on the verge on tears.

we’re reaching levels of polyamory cope that shouldn’t even be possible pic.twitter.com/Cc3fdxxhwn

— pagliacci the hated 🌝 (@Slatzism) August 8, 2023

“Imagine them there, embracing you.” Instead of that other slag.

every video I see from this polyamorous woman sounds like she’s on the verge of tears and trying to convince herself that everything’s okay pic.twitter.com/ksO9coMzk2

— pagliacci the hated 🌝 (@Slatzism) February 8, 2024

You know, I don’t think her expression quite matches her words.

And then there was the time the Guardian’s lifestyle section brought us assurances of the “really positive energy” of polyamory, despite an unfolding catalogue of unhappy complications, displays of selfishness and insecurity, and despite recurring use of the words jealousy, resentment and anger.

And we mustn’t forget the tale, via New York magazine, of the Brooklynite comedian and podcaster named Billy, his girlfriend Megan, and his girlfriend Megan’s other boyfriend Kyle. An exhaustingly self-consciousness three-way entanglement resulting in a series of grimly farcical situations that were framed, rather coyly, as “relationship difficulties.”

The above, I should add, was one of several attempts by New York magazine to portray unfaithfulness and cuckoldry, and the consequent anxieties, as the very zenith of a progressive lifestyle.

As when a betrayed husband, Michael Sonmore, boasted, unconvincingly, that he “finally became a feminist” thanks to his wife’s nocturnal sexual adventures with a chap named Paulo. A wife who was “embracing herself” and becoming empowered, we were told, while her children, aged six and three, wondered where their Mommy was.

Update:

Oh, and needless to say, further complications sometimes arise:

I’m more concerned with the dead teeth. pic.twitter.com/SlBT9hsbg4

— Liberacrat™️ (@Liberacrat) September 4, 2025

So, if the rota systems, pecking orders and endless crying don’t strike you as appealing or the foundation of a happy life, that can only be because you, a filthy heathen, aren’t sufficiently sophisticated.

Just a thought.

Imagine that, the first thing that came to that low iq mind was to whip out his phone and hit record, instead of trying to render aid. pic.twitter.com/eA3OlwG7LT

— Liberacrat™️ (@Liberacrat) September 1, 2025

Consider this an open thread. Share ye links and bicker.

From the pages of Business Insider, more progressive-woman-lifestyle news:

What those values might be will, perhaps, become clear, if only by implication.

That’s the article’s headline. The star of this drama is Ms Cindy Sheahan, a former real-estate agent. Judging by the tone and triumphant photograph, I’m guessing we’re supposed to regard Ms Sheahan as some kind of inspirational figure. No explanation is offered for Ms Sheahan divorcing her husband, taking half his stuff, and then putting half a planet between her family and herself. There are no mutterings of neglect or infidelity. No hardships of any kind.

The nearest we come to a justification is,

And, er, so,

Again, the whys and wherefores of this radical uprooting remain oddly nebulous. Beyond, that is, the intrigue of unfamiliar food. We are, however, informed,

So says our woman of high progressive principle – the woman who abandoned her husband and family, and her job, seemingly forever, despite promising to return:

Quite what Ms Sheahan’s employers made of this, or indeed her husband and four children, is, alas, not disclosed. Evidently they were deemed of no importance in this tale of progressive empowerment. And so, Ms Sheahan went searching for herself in Cambodia, and in Vietnam. And Laos. And Madagascar. And Turkey and Cyprus. And France and Spain and Portugal and Greece. Indeed, this quest for self – this attempt to find an alignment of values – spanned “nearly fifty countries.”

Before – presumably thwarted – trying Italy:

And as you can imagine, Ms Sheahan is so into authenticity.

And being so authentic, so attuned to higher matters, her days are now spent eating alone in restaurants:

Oh, and grocery shopping. Specifically,

Ah, the inexhaustible romance of buying tomatoes. It’s all about personal growth, you see:

For some reason, the abandoned husband and four distant children come to mind.

Ah.

So screw those guys. Madam has tomatoes to buy.

If the above sounds vaguely familiar, you may be thinking of this.

Via Dicentra.

Or, Please Don’t Bore Our Staff And Customers With Your Weird Compulsions.

In which Madam applauds herself for her own feats of self-preoccupation:

Woman refuses to be professional at work and it’s your fault for being uncomfortable, conservatives. You made her turn down this job. pic.twitter.com/qW4vBsfSkr

— Σ𝕏ulansic 🦎 (@TTExulansic) July 15, 2025

Madam apparently needs us to know that she is “part of the LGBT+ community,” as if we should not only care but be endlessly fascinated, and insists that she needs “to find a workplace that is LGBT+ community friendly.” Quite what this might mean, practically, is not altogether clear, though the implications that come to mind are somewhat limited in their appeal.

As there are only so many ways in which tales of one’s sex life can be shoehorned into workplace conversation, I’m assuming Madam expects those around her to continually acknowledge some boutique complications of her all-important “identity” – fabulist pronouns, an imaginary themness, or something similar. Something very much about her, rather the task at hand.

We’ve been here before, of course:

And speaking of not-at-all unbalanced cross-dressing men:

That would be this chap here, Mr Sasha Yates, whose behaviour didn’t appear to concern the progressive ladies who rushed to his defence to ensure he kept his job after initial complaints. And thereby kept his access to the schoolgirls’ changing rooms, where a bewigged Mr Yates paraded around in his own bra and panties, much to the girls’ discomfort, and while asking those teenage girls about their underwear and menstrual cycles.

The same progressive ladies who denounced as “hate” and “transphobia” any expression of concern, and who elevated themselves with the airing of modish views, their ostentatious displays of inclusivity, while screwing over the schoolgirls being harassed by a cross-dressing creep. Because in the Progressive Pecking Order, expressing discomfort with sexual boundary violations is terribly low-status when the culprit is a man pretending to be a woman.

Or as one progressive lady put it, following complaints of disturbing behaviour,

I’ll give you a moment to process that one. To savour the implications.

To those of us less practised in progressive dissembling, the above would seem to translate as, “It’s okay for the teenage girls in our care to be creeped on repeatedly by a cross-dressing pervert, and consequently left feeling violated and upset, because we have guidance counsellors. And a box of tissues. Also, cross-dressing perverts are very fashionable right now.”

That these sentiments were expressed with great confidence – by a woman – and were left entirely unchallenged by the reporter – also a woman – is quite a thing. It does, I think, tell us something about progressive priorities and which groups are deemed of much less importance.

Still, at least we can savour the irony of claims by Mr Yates’ defenders that we should look at “her [sic] character, not her [sic] gender…”

Readers may recall that Mr Yates’ homemade pornography – which he saw fit to send to a concerned parent, as one does – featured our burly cross-dresser using a kitchen sink as erotic apparatus, and while smoking methamphetamine and asking, coquettishly, “Am I a good meth whore?” A question that every parent hopes to hear from someone entrusted with the care of their children.

Following his self-inflicted exposure and subsequent resignation, supposedly for “ongoing health reasons,” Mr Yates took to a fetish forum to boast of his “coming out” as a “meth whore” – thereby titillating others with an “exposure fetish” – and while simultaneously positioning himself as the victim of a cruel, unfeeling world:

Nature is healing, buddy.

Mr Yates is currently seeking employment as a “transsexual escort.” “I am,” says he, “definitely interested in being pimped out to as many men as possible.”

Again, words that every parent longs to hear.

Whether the schoolgirls whose underwear so intrigued Mr Yates, or their parents, are likely to receive an apology from the school district, or from any of the progressive ladies who dismissed their concerns and accused them of bigotry, remains unclear.

Above, Mr Yates being affirmed by progressive ladies.