Passports and Kumquat Brains

What are passport bros? 

These are Western men who travel outside their home country with the goal of hooking up with women. Typically they’re hunting in Southeast Asia, Eastern Europe and Latin America. Sometimes they even want a wife.

The concept behind passport bros existed way before this particular term gained traction and made the rounds on TikTok. It’s essentially a mail-order bride with more steps… driven by the perception that women in their home country have impossibly high standards or different life goals. (source)

And that’s putting it ever so diplomatically. Basically, passport bro-ism is sex tourism for incels. I checked out the definitions on Urban Dictionary. MOST but not all of the posts seem to have been written by actual passport bros or pb wannabes.

 The decline in quality of Western women and the rise of quality in Asian women is as stark as the takeover of Japanese automobiles being more valuable than American automobiles around the 1980s. More value for one's money, a greater return on an investment (ROI - more bang for your buck). (source)

Yep, women are no more than a commodity—JUST like cars! Why have American women lost value for the incel crowd? Possibly because those of us who want to partner with aging, coddled boys are few and far between. Also, most of us are pretty keen on equality.

These wankers-without-a-clue assume that women from Brazil, Bulgaria or the Philippines are all passive, men-worshipping doormats who want nothing more than to cook, clean, sexually service and worship the Great White Savior Dick who honors them with his attention. Passport bros are looking for bangmaids—full-service sex slaves who are built like Barbie dolls. They’re NOT into reciprocal loving, giving, supportive relationships.

This collection of delusional twits manage to insult both Western women, who they’ll never see as human beings deserving equality, AND foreign women, who they idealize as paragons of virtue, beauty and subservience. That level of lunatic boorishness ought to come with a warning label. Maybe a Miss America style banner worn across their foreheads?

This is nothing new. In the ‘80s, in order to get a date, I would’ve needed to be either blond, bubbly and cheerleader-y or Asian, ultra feminine and impossibly demure. Being neither actually worked in my favor. My time wasn’t wasted with dull, simpleminded fools with 1950s ideas on relationships. So no, I didn’t date much between my time with Stan and meeting The Amazing Bob (when I was 27) and that was AOK. I had time and space to get to know myself (an ongoing ordeal) and figure out who and what I wanted. After TAB shuffled off this mortal coil, I wasn’t AT ALL looking for a new partner. It’s just an amazingly awesome twist of fate that Ten, from 3,000 miles away, found me.

I’m riddled with tumors, deaf (these past 18 years) and hobbling along (for now) with a walker but DAMN, I’ve been lucky.