The Look of the Female Sociopath

South Seattle Warehouse

Forget the Look of Love. This is game time, Cupcake.

And the first thing any sociopath will do is size you up.

Do you pose, in any way, a threat to their own superiority?

Are you not giving them the obeisance that is their due?

Or are you just irksomely, annoyingly happy all the time and need to be taken down a notch? 

Sociopaths, in general, are ruthlessly logical people. But they have one Achilles’ Heel: their narcissism. This is why you can run under their radar pretty successfully if only you flatter them. This is useful when you’re still in the recon stage.

But once you know you’re dealing with a sociopath, it’s still useful. And here’s why.

Any sociopath will tell you they fear nothing. In fact, they cannot feel fear.

This is true in the sense that they don’t fear death, pain, violence, and other signs of mortality in the way most of us do.

But it’s a complete lie (another sign of the sociopath). They do fear one thing: public humiliation. A sociopath runs under the presumption that she or he is superior to the rest of the human race–god-like, even. What this means for the rest of the human race? We have something we can use.

The look of the female sociopath–and I’ve encountered three of these fiends within less than a year–is level, cold, and flatlined. There’s no life behind it. But plenty of logistical calculations. And when this lifeless intelligence swings onto you, you have only two options:

a) Keep sweet. Fawn over your nemesis. Tell her how beautiful she is. It will save your life and your sanity, and in most cases, your goal should be to get out of her territory alive. Flattery is the way over this troll’s bridge, folks.

b) If you unfortunately must co-exist, go with Plan B: Lead her to think you’re a sociopath, too.

Socipaths do know their own ilk. And they like each other about as much as we do.

The longer that cold, dead gaze studies you, the better your chances are at survival. Because it means she isn’t quite able to place you. She’s figuring her odds for an easy win. And you are neither fawning sycophant nor overt threat to her Alpha-ness.

So keep the devil guessing. Be sweet. Be ruthless. Be too honest. But plant little barbs. So she isn’t sure if you really meant that. Present the possibility that you might be the sort of person to invite her to a black-tie gala but con her into wearing sweatpants. Or you might be the sort of person to wear sweatpants to a black-tie gala and not care. Both disorient the sociopath. Go on like this long enough and, if you limit your interactions with her, she’ll decide you just aren’t worth the trouble.

I seem to scare female sociopaths. I like this. I look quiet and unprepossessing with my acne and my sheared hair. But after a month or two, the female sociopaths begin to notice they still can’t place me. The usual weak points they will use to get to you–your attraction to a particular individual or gender, your loneliness, your desperate need for praise–keep failing them.

I’m all business. I laugh at myself. Nothing phases me. I’m sweet to everyone because I genuinely care about people, but no one knows me. Something tells them I can be heartless when I have to be. Something of my willingness to save myself at almost any cost–walking out on my abusive birth family, abandoning my religion and my god, divorcing my husband–shows through. And that Look fixes on me.

I watch their little alarm bells go off, and I smile.

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