Validation in Disguise: When “Hypergamy” Becomes the New “Pick Me”

There’s something odd about the way people talk about “value” these days ....like everyone’s enrolled in a theology of self-importance. I’ve sat across tables, in lounges, even in private conversations with men who swear they’re “high value” and women who call themselves “divested” or “feminine energy coaches,” and I’ve watched the same desperation dressed in different language.

They all want to win the same game: Validation.

I’ve dated the so-called “high-value” men. The ones who measure intimacy in assets and pride themselves on being “providers” but treat empathy like weakness. I’ve watched them quote Kevin Samuels and Andrew Tate as if those men were apostles instead of marketers. They talk about “standards” but what they really mean is control. If they can make you feel replaceable, they feel secure.

Then there are the “red pill” men... the ones who hide behind data and YouTube monologues about “female nature.” Many of them, especially the white ones, don’t even realize their philosophies are built on racial hierarchy. They equate dominance with whiteness, submission with Blackness, and claim it’s biology, not bias. But the infection spreads .. because I’ve seen our own brothers start repeating that rhetoric like scripture.

And it hits harder in our community.

Black men call Black women “masculine” for speaking truth, “leftover” for aging, “unworthy” for choosing peace. I’ve seen sisters throw those same labels back, calling them “dusty” and “broken” while bragging about percentages... “Black women are marrying white men at higher rates.” It’s like watching a family set itself on fire to prove who lit the match first.

What they don’t say out loud is that both sides are hurting.

The “high-value man” is terrified of being powerless in a world that constantly devalues him. The “divested woman” is tired of being the casualty of someone else’s healing journey. And in the crossfire, “Pick Me’s” and “Simps” become insults instead of symptoms. Everyone’s reacting, not reflecting.

Validation has become the drug, not the victory.

I’ve heard men brag about “smashing anything” to prove they’re dominant.. only to whisper, when the lights are low, that they don’t trust women at all. I’ve seen women talk about “leveling up” while crying in private because the love they “manifested” feels more like performance than peace. It’s all the same wound: needing to be seen in a world that refuses to see you unless you play a part.

The tragedy is that the metrics we use... beauty, money, submission, dominance aren’t even ours. They’re hand-me-downs from systems that were never built for our healing. Racism and patriarchy created templates for validation that we now recycle as self-worth.

So we perform. Loudly. Publicly. Relentlessly.

And in the performance, we forget the power of being becoming ...not branded, not filtered, just human.

I’m not here to preach neutrality; I’ve lived the imbalance. I’ve loved men who needed power more than partnership. I’ve stood beside women who weaponized femininity because softness once got them hurt. But the truth remains: the louder the performance, the quieter the peace.

Real identity doesn’t perform, it exists.

When you stop needing to prove, you start to be.

And maybe that’s the revolution we keep avoiding: not becoming “high value,” “divested,” or “alpha,” but becoming whole.