Louis-Ferdinand Céline: Bardamu’s infamous avatar.
The controversial blogger obese feminists, the SPLC, and PC cronies loved to be outraged by has pulled the plug on In Mala Fide.
Before hastily deleting every last post, he bid his readers and fellow manosphere wordsmiths adios. His reasons were threefold. Firstly, he was set to take on a life-changing opportunity outside of the U.S. Secondly, he could no longer indentify with the disgruntled nihilist that started In Mala Fide (his former self). Thirdly, he had spread himself too thin thus burning out.
Here are his own words on why he lost his passion for IMF:
When I first started blogging on that blisteringly hot July day, I was an underworked cubicle drone with nothing to look forward to but high blood pressure and pawing at drunken co-eds on the weekend. I had escaped the hell of post-college underemployment, a familiar hell to white guys in their twenties, into a new hell of ennui and listlessness. I was miserable and cranky, which was reflected both in the name of the blog and my pseudonym. I imagined myself a daring anti-hero, a ruthless teller of uncomfortable truths, a rebel sniggering at the status quo.
Which is normal. All bloggers are narcissists and attention whores, every single one. It’s a prerequisite for being here. We’re all little Stepan Trofimovichs, enamored with the sounds of our own voices.
My problem is that In Mala Fide no longer reflects who I am. I’m no longer subject to the conditions that led me to start blogging to begin with. I’m not in the same state of mind, and I’m tired of keeping up the charade. I’m tired of logging in twice a week and punching up articles in a voice that is no longer mine. I’m tired of the negativity and the bleakness of it all. Writing under a pen name was once liberating and freeing — now it feels confining, a straitjacket asphyxiating me and preventing me from spreading my wings.
To put it simply, I no longer want to be “Ferdinand Bardamu.”
Although a nom de plume and an alter ego, Ferdinand Bardamu and his explosive writing style will be missed.
I suspect there are other reasons he pulled down all the content which can be detected when reading between the lines of his farewell note. With so many leftists riled up to burn heretics, IMF has become visible enough to be a liability. This is the last thing one would want in the back of their mind when pursuing a newfound dream. I hope this urge for a blank slate will pass so Ferd will come through on archiving his writings on wordpress.com.
There’s a tendency for artists and writers to look at their past works with a degree of embarrassment and hyper-criticism. Although he’s evolved this doesn’t lessen the quality of his past writings to others, nor does it lessen the truth found within them.
Why In Mala Fide Mattered
Everything about In Mala Fide required challenging preconceived notions and secondarily, decoding skills.
To some ‘the blog that shouted love at the heart of the world’ must have seemed like an odd self-description for a site spouting and absorbing so much scorn. On closer inspection, contradiction was the point as represented by the graphic of a heart with a skull within it in the header by Jack Donovan. The Latin phrase In Mala Fide is defined as double mindedness that may involve deceits of others, or self deception. Fascinatingly due its ambiguousness critics like Arthur Goldwag could project that meaning on the site itself. Meanwhile heretics might project this concept of double mindedness on blue pill addicted outsiders, deeming it as a major source of human suffering.
In Mala Fide’s lack of ideological coherence after becoming a multi-author blog was the beginning of the end, but the maelstrom was invigorating. I came for the contrarianism, to be outraged, and to challenge my world view. Although the sometimes warlike nature of posts or comments could be emotionally taxing to read, absorbing it became a ritual. Whether I agreed with an author’s commentary or not, I felt fulfilled to be in the company of thought criminals brave enough to push through the boundaries of accepted belief in search of new paradigms. Such an environment is my tumultuous utopia.
How pitiful that medieval popes, world leaders, media mobsters, and suppression agents have worked so hard to limit such exchanges of the mind preferring drones that tug the party line.
Bizarre hodgepodges of marginalized groups huddled together, sometimes resulting in temporary alliances the media would have us believe impossible (ex. black traditional Christians agreeing with White Nationalists). Other times streams of pitchfork and torch bearing villagers infiltrated the scene, leaving comments that were the electronic equivalent of a riot.
The manosphere needs another site as outlandishly gutsy as In Mala Fide.
