Ugly, Beautiful Truths


Helen stared into her closet as she pondered what to wear that night. It was the third Saturday of the month, time for her and her friends’ big Girls Night Out. They were going to hit the town, have dinner and some drinks, and hopefully meet some good men. Helen had had some luck in the past with men, but found it hard to find the right guy. On a scale of 1-10 she was about a 7. She had a good figure and a cute if plain face, light blue eyes, and straight brown hair. Her breasts were a decent size, and she stayed in shape. Yet she always seemed to wind up talking to men who were a little dorky, awkward, or effeminate. On the occasions she’d brought a man home, she often felt unsatisfied by the standard, perfunctory sex that took place. She wanted a man.

Getting ready for Girls Nights Out was easy by then. Years earlier, the government banned all forms of physical enhancements, including makeup, plastic surgery, high heeled shoes, and clothing that in any way revealed or accentuated one’s privates. The legislation was a major victory for those who sought to free people, especially women, from the pressure of unattainable standards of beauty and health. Men were affected by the law, but it was mostly women who were suddenly liberated from the time, effort, and anxiety that came with trying to look “pretty” for the patriarchy.

The nation now teemed with au naturals. Eyebrows grew thicker, wrinkles shone through unvarnished skin, and body parts sagged with age and gravity. The playing field was supposedly leveled, and yet Helen did not feel pretty enough. When she was out, whether at a club or at work, she saw which women got more attention than others.

As these thoughts passed through her head while she stared into the closet, Helen suddenly noticed a large beetle crawling up the woodwork. It moved slowly, its black shell following its tiny antennae as if it were programmed. Helen walked to her dresser and grabbed a magazine. Having grown up on a farm, she had killed many bugs and mice without thought. She swatted the beetle to the floor, then stepped on it emphatically with her shoe, smashing it. The beetle carcass secreted an ink-like black paste on the clean tile floor.

Not being squirmish, Helen stared at the mess for some time. She was about to clean it, but she saw a muddler in her kitchen and grabbed it. She then scooped the pasty black mess into the muddler. Out of a quiet curiosity, she mashed it up, removing the outer beetle shell pieces, leaving only a black paste in the bowl.

That night, Helen met her girlfriends at the club. Her friends gave her a lot of second glances, and privately agreed there was something different about Helen, but could not figure out what it was. In the low lighting of the bar, her eyelashes seem longer, and her eyes bigger, giving her a youthful glow, almost innocent. But that would have been impossible – women weren’t allowed to use cosmetics.

Until that night, Helen’s friend Susan had always been one-up on her when it came to attracting attention. Susan was slim, naturally pretty, with good hips. She was an A-cup, but her coquettish nature and lovely feminine features always made up for her smallish bust. However, Susan saw that night that Helen not only was getting more male attention, she seemed to be more confident about it. Not only were Helen’s eyes suddenly Betty Boop-like, but her breasts had always been a little bit bigger. “I’m prettier than Helen,” Susan thought to herself – though she was now unsure.

The next month, before the next Girls Night Out, Susan was analyzing one of her bras. All bras were now the same standard design and beige color. They held the breasts in place with little movement, were thick enough to keep even the most determined nipples from showing, and otherwise did their jobs. Of course many women would have preferred to eliminate the bra as it was seen as a patriarchal harness of female anatomy, but they acknowledged that a nation teeming with unrestrained breasts might cause more problems for women than it would solve.

Susan closed her curtains and went to the drawer for a scissors. She cut part of the cups so that they would only support and cover the bottom half of her perky boobs. She found some pipe cleaners and some ladies’ shoulder pads, and after several frustrated attempts, found a way to sew them into the lining to give the bra a little more “lift” and to create something you never saw anymore: Cleavage. She stared at herself in the mirror, looking at the line in the center of her chest where her breasts pushed together. “Probably no one will even notice,” she said to herself.

At the next Girls’ Night out, Susan was the belle of the ball. The handsome, masculine men who talked to her could not help but let their eyes drift downward to her heaving bosom. In her tank top, her soft breasts were not only partially exposed, but a distinct beauty mark could now be seen on the top of the left one. When she danced to the music on the juke box with her girl friends, her breasts bounced in scandalous ways that seemed to draw stares from just about everyone – females included.

Pretty soon, all the women in the Girls Night Out group were clandestinely finding new ways to compete. Tanya mixed some Crayola red crayons in water and mashed it, then applied the paste to her lips. They looked full and ravishing. Gwen realized by adding some pink chalk to her cheeks, she would appear flushed as if in mid-orgasm. Natalia put some wedges in her shoes which pushed her heels up into her leg muscles, making her ass look rounder and shapelier. Soon these women were outmaneuvering their natural betters in the mating arena. They suffered a lot of vitriol and antagonism from theretofore better looking women, but it was worth it. Susan, for one, didn’t see the harm with a little “accentuation.” She remembered when she was young and her family moved out of an old Victorian house and into a newer one. Her parents gave the old house a fresh paint job before placing it on the market. The house had never looked better and sold at asking price in a few weeks. It was still the same house they’d lived in, with the same plumbing problems and the same drafty living room, but the buyers simply loved it.

The Girls Night Out group, after a few years of dating, all eventually found men to marry and have children with. Now in their late 30s, they could feel the unmerciful tug of nature and time more than ever before. With children in tow, it was harder than ever to find time to make homemade beauty products and accessories, but they found the time. Helen, Susan, and the rest still wanted their husbands to find them attractive, to romance them, and to fuck them well. They also knew that a younger generation had imitated their methods. The Anti-Enhancement laws were technically still on the books, but were rarely enforced anymore, as women privately acknowledged that it was unfair for them to be at a disadvantage when everyone else was finding ways to highlight or accentuate their features. Helen and her friends thus knew that if they did not continue to attract their husbands, perhaps some young tart would, and that would be no good for the survival of their families.

Helen’s daughter Claudia often watched her mother put on the homemade makeup in her bathroom. When she was young, Claudia would ask if she, too, could wear makeup, since it made her mom look even prettier. Helen told her that she was too young, but that when the time was right, she would teach her not only how to wear makeup, but how to be nice to boys. “Boys are gross!” Claudia exclaimed, as young girls often do.

A few years later, Claudia’s repulsed attitude toward boys had softened to friendliness and mild curiosity. Some of her friends had reported being kissed by their “boyfriends.” Claudia approached her mother about wearing makeup and jewelry, too. Helen thought about it. Was it right to teach an adolescent to paint and shape herself in such an “adult” way? On the other hand, if Claudia didn’t start learning about her body, boys, and what makes her comfortable now, she might start down a road of disadvantage, awkwardness, or worse. If she kept dressing like a nine year old into middle school and high school, to ridicule and exclusion, what might become of her as an adult? Would it then be too late? These were the difficult decisions Helen knew she’d have to make when raising her child.

Helen thought hard about it. She didn’t want to discourage Claudia, but she didn’t want to push her, either. After all, Helen remembered, she herself hadn’t kissed a boy until she was 16. She’d been afraid to.

She looked her daughter in the eyes and told her she would help her with whatever Claudia felt comfortable doing. If anything seemed to be moving to fast or too far, there was no pressure; she could still be a little girl if she wanted to. “Tell me what you want and I’ll help you,” she assured her daughter.

Without hesitation came young Claudia’s answer.

“I want to marry a man like daddy someday, so…I want to look pretty like you.”

*    *    *

For Susan, things hadn’t gone so smoothly. She maintained her figure and held onto her looks, exercising regularly and eating right. She did her best to raise her kids right. She thought she’d married the right man, but Herman seemed to be different at 38 than he was at 28. Back then, he was so self-assured, ambitious, and physically nothing to sneeze at. She remembered noticing his biceps when they first met.

Yet there was Herman, just ten years later but looking like he’d aged 20. He sat on the couch, beer in hand and resting balanced on his considerable paunch. He gazed into the unblinking eye of the TV, which beamed its MMA fights and sitcom reruns back at him. Herman still did work around the house and in the garage, but he did it grudgingly. The couple hadn’t hired a babysitter in months, and the family ate most of its meals in front of the TV. The only times Susan ever seemed to go out on the town was with her friends. She’d noticed that even at her age, she still attracted good looking men. On a couple of occasions, she’d been drunk and made out with a 20-something guy for kicks. She felt guilty about those incidents, but she could not escape the sense of thrill that came with it. More mature men at the office tended to check her out and flirt with her, too, and she rationalized it as okay since she was now the loan breadwinner. Herman hadn’t had a job in months and didn’t seem to want one. He didn’t seem to want anything. If it hadn’t been for the porn she’d discovered on his laptop, Susan would have guessed he’d lost interest in females too, since he hadn’t initiated sex in more than a year.

The more she thought about it, the more Susan believed a fresh start was necessary. Why, after all, should she suffer and let her good looks go to waste before she loses them forever?

When she left him, Herman was indeed crushed. It took him weeks to recover and accept the loss. He drank a lot at first, but gradually he weaned himself off the beer and started waking up earlier. His house was in some disrepair, and he figured it would be a good distraction to work on it. As he labored in the summer sun, he ate less, and his weight began to drop. Not only that, but Herman found he truly enjoyed painting, carpentry, and landscaping, and was quite good at it. His neighbors took notice at the home improvement, and offered to pay him to paint their house, too. Pretty soon Herman was getting offers from around the neighborhood, and then around town. More, in fact, than he could handle alone, so he went into business and hired a small staff. Herman didn’t get filthy rich, but he had an air of contentment about him that he hadn’t felt in years. He simply loved being outdoors, working on homes, and hanging with the guys he worked with. He also realized he hadn’t turned on his TV in weeks.

One night, out with the guys for a few beers, a smiling Herman reflected on his marriage to and divorce from Susan. He seemed to have lost any trace of bitterness over the matter; in fact he and Susan got along well now as they both did their best to raise their child. “I should thank her,” Herman said to the surprise of his buddies. “She did me a favor. I was going nowhere fast, or backward, really. I had no direction, no desire, no passion. I was consuming without producing. Beer, television, microwave dinners…” In a moment of unusual self-awareness, Herman remarked, “I had become a vessel for the products of others. Nothing more.”

But, lightening the strangely deep mood, Herman joked that now he felt pretty damned good. The fellas all did a “cheers” and clinked their beer mugs before taking the next gulp. The lessons of Herman’s life sank in with some but maybe not others that night. In any case, each man would have his own path to walk, and each would be different. Herman looked around at his friends, and he knew that some would do better than others, some would learn, while others would repeat the same mistakes. He could only offer his advice to them whether they chose to take it or not. In his inner peace, Herman knew he could control only himself, and he was okay with that. He was okay with all of it. After all, he thought, nobody had yet petitioned the government to pass a law banning ambition, and it was likely that nobody ever would.



Approaching Women Is Easy

 otterA lot of Game coverage is theory, sexual politics, and keyboard jockeying, but the meat and potatoes of it starts with simply approaching women. Even the doughiest betas and omegas know that a man will at some point need to walk up to a woman and talk to her if he has any hope of sleeping with her. (Whether they act on this knowledge or not is another matter.) Methods may vary, and yes we’re here to discuss which work best. But the fact of the matter is simply by talking to a strange woman you are already positioning yourself better than the majority of mankind. The average man, especially in the good old USA, is a coward.

Approach Anxiety

Most men do not open women because they get the jitters, or Approach Anxiety. Most of us have felt this and it’s completely natural. Just as you would feel butterflies before your first public speaking experience, so too might you get sweaty-palmed at the thought of talking to that cute chick in the detergent aisle. This is where most fellas will chicken out, and it’s the fulcrum on which your sex life can pivot if you learn how to do it well and often.

Anxiety is good. You’re stepping out of your comfort zone, and that’s something I will always recommend. Beyond that it’s a sign that the female target arouses you, at least at first blush. But in order to succeed you’ll have to harness your nervous energy. Eventually talking to beautiful strange women will be old hat, but in your first approaches you WILL feel nervous.

To combat this, you have to get out of your own head. If you are in need of quick rationales to tell yourself to talk to her, memorize these:

  • Talking to and even being rejected by a woman is nary a pin drop in the endless sea of time and space. You’re not that important.
  • Neither is she. She’s just a human with boobs and a vagina. You can bet SHE will never approach a stranger she likes.
  • The feeling of trying and being shot down is 1,000 times better than the feeling of knowing you let an opportunity pass you by.
  • The more you do it, the quicker you’ll become accustomed to it.
  • “I’m not in the mood” and “I don’t care” are the easiest lies to tell yourself. If you are contemplating it, you obviously are interested.
  • At the very least, you’ll make someone’s day. Who doesn’t like to hear they caught someone’s eye?
  • Your male friends will become jealous. Your female acquaintances may begin to find you mysterious.
  • Get busy livin’, or get busy dyin’.

Say Something – Anything

Another factor of AA is that the man is tongue-tied or clueless what to say to the woman. In movies we’ve seen it a million times, and either the guy is a smooth Cary Grant type or he’s comedic yet alluring (like Otter hitting on the dean’s wife in Animal House). In real life, it seems like torture trying to think of the right thing to say, and as we rack our brains we get even MORE anxious.

Just say something. Even the dumbest remark (“Some weather, huh?”) is better than stalling or forcing a contrived pick-up line. You see a woman, and within 2-3 seconds words should be coming out of your mouth. Ideally you should comment on something on her person or (if it’s a supermarket, for example) in her cart. “Is that detergent any good?”

In Roosh’s book Day Bang, he emphasizes the importance of innocuous questions and banter during the day. As he explains, women at night are often out for blood, and can be approached much more directly and with plenty of cocky and funny attitude. During the day, however, shields are up, so you’ll want to make your conversation indirect and light. I really recommend this book for daytime pickups (read: number closes). In it Roosh offers up some good routines to memorize and adjustments to make depending on venue. I’m not being paid to plug his book; I just don’t want to rip him off since the guy worked so hard to get it right. I DO recommend reading it.

Keep It Short – But Not Too Short

You got the words to come out and she’s smiling. Great job. Here’s another moment where a lot of guys might trip up. I know – I’ve messed up plenty of times here.

On the one hand, you want to end things early and (hopefully) on your terms. That is, don’t talk until she tires of you, and don’t let her be the one to say she’s gotta get going. It won’t be the end of the world if she does, but you must keep things in the 5-10 minute range (and ten minutes is a long time – you’d better be killing).

An older woman once struck up a conversation with me in the dairy aisle. Now, I love talking to the elderly, and she was very sweet. But for the love of God, she simply did not know how to end a daytime encounter between strangers. Every time I thought I’d pulled away on a closing note she’d resuscitate the dying conversation and I’d politely indulge another minute or two. By the time I’d finally pulled away I was exhausted and hoped I’d never see here again – especially since I practically knew her life story. (She later intercepted me in another aisle.) It’s an extreme example, and she wasn’t aiming for anything romantic (I don’t think), but the point is to keep within the proper bounds of time. After all, you’re a busy guy. Don’t be the talkative elderly lady.

On the other hand, don’t go in for the rush job. In my younger days, when I was just out of college and had just discovered and other seduction sites, I figured a dose of confidence and ballsiness was all I needed and the women would be putty in my hands. “I saw you from across the store and figured I’d walk up to you and ask you out,” I’d say like I was George Clooney. (If you are George Clooney, go right ahead and do this.) Let me tell you, I know it took balls, because a lot of my targets told me as much. You know how many resulted in a lay? Exactly one.

You’re going to blindside a woman if you engage in this kind of guerilla game. Again, at night, in a club or bar, you’ve got plenty more latitude. During the day you want get some rapport going before the number close.

Talk To Everybody

I’m purposely leaving out the “what” you should be talking about when you approach women. Here’s a little secret: It doesn’t matter, and the less shit you try to memorize, the better. The key is for you to be outgoing and effortlessly conversant, no matter who it is you’re talking to.

A great way to get the ball rolling is to widen your net and talk to all kinds of people out there. Yes, that includes other men, the elderly, the unattractive, even the outwardly rude. When you set foot out the door, you should be a Chatty Cathy ready to talk to anyone you want. to. You’ll be surprised how many introverts out there love a little banter. The butcher, the Fed Ex guy, the teller at the bank. People in bad moods are my favorite. As soon as I can tell the cashier is in a bitchy mood, I do my best to wear a shit-eating grin and get her to laugh. Sometimes it takes a little empathy – “can you believe how rude some customers are?” – but if I can get someone to lighten up and smile, I’ve done my job.

Make a habit of being an extrovert and you’ll find it easy to talk to anyone, including the babes you want to bring home. Your heart may still skip a beat when you see a good looking female, but you’ll be far better prepared to treat her like an ugly old man (if you get what I mean).

Steer clear of the obvious, meaning religion, politics, and anything overtly sexual. You may be able to slip in a political observation or joke if you know your audience and know it’s safe to discuss. (Example: NYC Mayor Bloomberg’s attempt at a soda ban.) Better to keep it light though. People have enough shit in their lives without hearing what you think about immigration or drones.

Tell Her To Give You Her Number

Don’t ask. In general, if you are to be a Man, remember that you’ve got to tell her what to do. Asking is submissive and should be saved for rare occasions. “Give me your number, maybe we can talk more over a drink.” Again, keep it simple, and with a smile on your face. If you’re too serious you’ll seem domineering (in the wrong way). Don’t smile too much either though; act like you’ve been there before. I don’t care if you’re the farthest thing from Mr. Clooney looks-wise, EVERYBODY has a seductive smile they can summon. Work on yours in front of the mirror.

The number close should mark the END of your encounter – excuse yourself and get out of there.

If She Says ‘No,’ Move On

Her reasons are irrelevant. Lack of interest is lack of interest. Don’t take rejection personally. Just respond with something simple like, “Hey I understand. It was nice talking to you. Have a great day.” Keep that smile on your face. And then again excuse yourself – you’re done either way.

There are a lot of details I’ve left out, but the general idea is to get you motivated to get out there and talk to people. Keep in mind that you will be shot down many, many times. It is, as they say, a numbers game. But that’s a good thing – it will inoculate you against the “humiliation” of rejection that paralyzes so many men out there. The less you care about your success or failure, the more confident you’ll be, and the more likely a woman will be to find you attractive. Once you start getting numbers and dates, you’ll be a man with sexual capital, and you’ll be ready to go out and spend it. Happy hunting.

Men Aren’t Ending, And Even If They Are It’s Not Your Concern

In the American media in the 2010s, there is an entire cottage industry built around declarations of the decline of manhood. The specifics may vary: Women outnumber men in college, in the workforce, men are putting off marriage, men are extending adolescence well into adulthood, etc. But the general theme is the same: “Men” are allegedly on the endangered list.

I’m not going to link any of these articles here; they get enough mention in the mainstream media. Besides, I don’t want you to bother reading them. It’s a waste of your time as a man. It’s not that I don’t believe in having a healthy discussion or even debate about it. There’s always room for debate. However, I just don’t believe that reading the eulogies of the American/Western Male will benefit you as an individual. And I’ll tell you why:

  • Such content is sensational and meant to garner clicks, usually from women and beta males. Titles such as “The End of Men” and “Are Men Necessary?” are absolute in their suppositions and obviously designed to enrage men and cheer lead bitter, single (usually 30+ year old) women. By now we all should be aware of how the media use ridiculous banner headlines to steer traffic. Spend a day on Yahoo’s home page if you don’t believe me, but you’ll do yourself a huge favor if you avoid these kinds of hooks or at the very least read them with an enormous grain of salt. (Besides, with only two sexes, one must always be outnumbering the other at something. Why is that ever news?)
  • Whatever realms women dominate aren’t your concern. It’s true, females outnumber males in higher education, but look at what’s happened to higher education. An explosion of ridiculous humanities majors and politically correct (anti-male) speech restriction, coupled with a decline in performance in math and hard sciences. If women want to dominate the Womens Studies major to the tune of $200,000 worth of debt, let them. Likewise, whether or not they dominate in social media (i.e., being advertised to) is of little consequence to you as a man. Your role on this earth is to produce, not consume. Using social media is in and of itself not a unique talent or even a talent at all. As far as the workforce goes, recognize that a large portion of the female workforce will disappear in their 30s and 40s as they stay home to raise kids. Beyond that, whether a woman wants to be a department manager or Executive Vice President at the expense of having a family is her decision and not yours. Is it possible you will run into bitchy female colleagues or bosses in your career? Certainly. But you’ll meet all kinds of assholes wherever you go, and you’ll always have to adapt in order to deal with them as individuals. It would be great to go back to the days when men had work as an escape valve from their wives and kids, but those days are gone if they ever even existed the way we think they did. Deal with the present and plan for the future.
  • Challenges to your masculinity are just that. The two-pronged attack of the fem-centric agenda consists of 1) lambasting you for being masculine, and 2) questioning incredulously why so many men are not masculine any more. It’s simplistic to say the whole thing is a giant shit test, but that’s the way you have to look at it. There are people out there who will gain when you repress your masculine side, and you will be the loser in this zero sum game. Don’t let this happen. As a man you will always have to soldier forth boldly and without apology, and recognize attempts to rein you in as emasculation and nothing more.

As always, the best means to self-improvement and freedom is through your actions. Your words will help you too, but it is folly to get into a pissing match with people about issues such as this. If you’ve ever wasted ten minutes scrolling through the comments section of an online news article you know what I mean. You’re not on the debate squad, you’re here to produce for yourself and your family if you have one. That means saying “fuck it” to the echo chamber out there repeating the same tireless shit about men and their supposed array of faults and inadequacies. If your opinions conflict with your goals, keep them private. Your not Men, you’re A MAN, and all you can really do is make your life rewarding and enjoyable for you the way that you know best. Once you’ve accumulated some capital you can offer help to others if that’s what you want to do, but do it for your reasons and not society’s.

(I also recommend against joining movements such as “Men’s Rights.” You’re not likely to change anything in your own life, and you are likely to draw the attention of opposing groups, including the government, which will only create roadblocks to the goals of your group. You don’t need a bunch of protesters and bureaucrats to solve your problems. Be a man and figure your shit out.)

I sound like I’m writing a cabin in the woods manifesto, but that’s not really so. You needn’t drop out of society to “go your own way.” The beauty of being your own man is that if you include game, exercise, and some degree of status, you will attract women better than you would as one of the scores of beta males out there hoping to ingratiate themselves to womyn via self-castration. Rise above the cacophony, and you’ll find there are females out there whose values and desires coincide with yours and, short term or long, will want to take care of you the way a woman should.


Put The Device Down

This evening I met a girl for drinks at an upscale but relaxed hotel bar. As is often the case with women, she was about twenty minutes late. A lot of PUAs will tell you to make her wait, but I think that’s pointless advice. In any case had I decided to be ten minutes late, I still would have waited another ten minutes for her. (I cut her some slack because she was stuck at work and updated me several times with apologies. If a woman keeps you waiting without explanation longer than that, walk out that door and get on with your life. If she’s worth a second thought she’ll apologize.)

I sat myself down on a sofa and ordered a beer from the six foot tall waitress in the tight black dress. It was the end of a work day and I was feeling relaxed. I looked around me; everyone within a 90 degree radius was staring into the unblinking eye of either a cell phone, laptop, or tablet. I mean everybody.

With a smirk on my face, I sipped my beer and stared straight ahead, people watching and thinking. The waitress passed by once and asked “is everything okay?” To which I replied, everything’s great. What’s not to love about an ice cold IPA on a warm spring evening?

Once or twice my phone vibrated with an update from my date explaining she was on her way. I texted her once to let her know where I was seated, but other than that the phone stayed in my pocket. Perhaps, I thought, I looked like the weird one. Maybe people thought someone who could idly sit back and gaze at everything and nothing was just stoned. Then again, no one seemed to notice since they were all online.

The cell phone in 2013 can be a serious game killer. Tablets and laptops fall into this category too, but I’m singling out the cell/smart phone. Usually someone who brings a larger device at least intends to get some kind of work done. But the phone – that handheld glowing crystal – it truly is a wicked temptress. It’s become a crutch for the social cowards of our world.

Next time you’re in a bar or restaurant, take a look around. A good portion of the patrons there will be staring, scrolling, or typing. (A few might be using it to make a telephone call.) This of course is rude enough in the company of others, and it should go without saying that to be on your phone or paying attention to it in a friend’s presence is bad form, unless you’re looking something up to settle a debate. But consider how many people are by themselves and clinging to their phones. How many of them are doing so to avoid the appearance of doing nothing?

From a game and more specifically body language standpoint, it behooves you to resist the temptation to check your phone. It connotes a kind of nervous energy and dependency that does not serve you well. Similar to the guy who walks into a joint only to put his hands in his pockets and look around sheepishly, the guy who whips out his iPhone or Android, repeatedly checking for emails/texts/sports scores and the like, is conveying a certain lack of confidence. It’s the confidence to carry one’s self in a social setting.

Every time you get the urge or feel a phantom vibrate, force yourself instead to interact with someone. The person doesn’t have to be female. Your bartender is a great place to start. He or she is there to converse, and unless it’s a busy night will be happy to shoot the shit. Bartenders make for great gateways to conversations with other patrons. If at first you can’t think of anything to say, even the dumbest opener (“Some weather, huh?”) will do just fine. You’re not seducing, you’re conversing.

To take it one step further, I recommend you speak in as loud and as deep a voice as possible without shouting. Pull some attention your way. Get a couple of heads to turn when your words exit your mouth. (Don’t take it too far, however – think Rodney Dangerfield in Caddyshack. The comedian-type can be funny for a minute or too but the constant “look at me, I’m performing” schtick will wear thin quickly.) The idea is to be the center of gravity while simultaneously opening others so they’ll feel relaxed and stimulated talking to you.

Or, if no one is readily approachable, relax. This was what I did. I was on a sofa and the guy next to me was on his laptop with headphones on; no one else was within earshot. In this circumstance don’t be embarrassed to sit and think, or even people watch. Give your eyes a break from the glare of the LCD.

(Don’t let headphones discourage you necessarily. A person – even a female – wearing headphones will still talk to the right man who opens her. If she’s cute, be that man.

Similarly, when you enter an establishment, keep your head high and your posture manly. Avoid the urge to occupy less space, if that makes sense. This is a common urge triggered by a natural desire to avoid confrontation with strangers. FUCK IT. You walk in, it’s crowded. Push through and don’t worry whose ass your hands brushed. (Don’t grope.) Make eye contact and say “excuse me” firmly but with a smile if need be. In fact, say anything. You want to show you’re socially fearless. Don’t enter and immediately start craning your neck looking for someone familiar. Worse yet do not walk in and call/text that person. You don’t need anyone else to have a good time, do you? Be the good time, grasshopper.

Slay Those Self-Limiting Beliefs

Years ago, I was talking to a female friend of mine (read: a woman I’d have fucked if I could), and was describing physically a chick I’d number-closed. “She’s tall,” I said. “I think she’s taller than me.”

My female friend laughed and said, “Women don’t like to date men who are shorter than they are.” What about Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman (who were then an item), I retorted. “Tom Cruise is probably gay,” she reasoned.

Fast-forward years later and I’ve just gotten out of a long-term relationship with a tall, beautiful woman. She was no Amazon, but she was around my height with long legs that made her appear taller, and she was definitely taller in heels. To the best of my knowledge, nobody questions my heterosexuality.

People indulge in self-limiting beliefs all of the time, and not just in the world of romance. Careers, education, travel, friendships, all can be passed over simply because someone thought he didn’t measure up or wouldn’t be accepted. This, my dear readers, is no way to live your life, and it is definitely no way to deal with women.

Let’s go back for a minute to what my non-fuck-buddy said years ago. “Women don’t like to date men who are shorter than they are.” What’s underneath this sweeping pronouncement of supposed truth?

1. It’s projecting. She may have personally (thought she) preferred taller guys. Women are solipsistic by nature and will usually project their feelings, preferences, and experiences on the world and then interpret this as truth.

2. It was also a shit test. No, she wasn’t testing me because she wanted me. She was simply testing my manhood by teasing it. I was, in effect, bragging over a meager accomplishment (a number close), and she wanted to take me down a peg. At the time, it worked; I didn’t have a witty comeback (which is usually the best response).

3. Most importantly, what women say and what they do are two different things. Always remember this. Ask any woman what she wants in a man and she’ll be all too happy to recite the laundry list of important qualities she requires, a list she’s gone over with her girl friends over Mimosas and French toast at many a Sunday brunch. (Or, check out any female dating site profile.) The fact is, women will compromise on just about anything if a man comes at her with the basic female requirements of confidence, status, ambition, proof of resources or earning power, and to a lesser extent good looks and good health. When a man has alpha qualities, everything else is negotiable. I’ll bet more than a few women you know will tell you they don’t prefer bald men. Yet if a bald man in a sharp suit walks up to a woman and spits good game, it’s hello Yul Brynner. I can’t tell you how many women have told me about their boyfriends/husbands by adding, “It’s weird, he physically wasn’t really my type, but…”

The “but” of course is that the guy approached. And he did this in spite of whatever handicap society told him he possessed.

A Self-Limiting Belief is a restriction you’ve imposed on yourself when in pursuit of a goal. In seduction, it’s an outright rejection of yourself, before you’ve even given the woman a chance to reject you.

You’re engaging in Self-Limiting beliefs when you think that you’re too short, or too fat, or too bald for a woman. Or when you don’t think she’ll want to be with you because you don’t make enough money or your job isn’t exciting.

It’s self-limiting to believe that because you’re a preppy and she’s dressed like a punk, you won’t have anything in common. Or because of her race or skin color she won’t want to socialize with you. Or because you vote Republican in a liberal city, she’ll eventually find out and dislike you for your political beliefs. Or because she’s young and you’re older, or vice versa.

But it’s not just about how you match up with her. You’re also engaging in Self-Limiting Beliefs when you think that she will laugh at you, or turn her back on you. Or if you’re worried that her friends will cock-block you, or the people around you will stare at you when you hit on her. If your friends tell you “she’s out of your league” and you believe them, that’s another limit you’ve imposed on yourself.

Many of these things might be true. She could laugh at you or ignore you. She could think you’re too short or too fat or simply not her type. But how will you know until and unless you’ve tried? Let HER be the one to reject you; don’t reject yourself.

If she doesn’t want to give you her number or dance, then congratulations. You’ve approached and been rejected. Take it from me, it’s a much better feeling than letting her get away without trying.

Rest assured, if she’s not attracted to you then and there, it is not because of some “universal truth” about what women want. It’s only because of what she wanted in that time and space. You’ll never know the real reasons, so accept lack of interest for what it is and move on to the next woman.

And if she’s rude or her reasons seem superficial, then she did you a favor. She let you know her values at the outset. Why would you want to spend time with someone like that anyway? There will be plenty of females out there who will look past your differences and enjoy what the two of you have in common.

When women you know tell you what they want in a man, or what kind of woman would be right for you, smile and nod politely. When your buddies tell you someone is out of your league, don’t waste your breath arguing. You probably won’t convince them, and anyway they’re likely all swimming in their own cesspools of self-limiting beliefs.

Instead, demonstrate through your actions that you don’t care what they think. If you approach and game enough women, you will eventually get the types that YOU want. Date a taller woman, or a woman of a different race. Don’t do it to prove anybody wrong, necessarily. Do it because they’re the kinds of women that you want to date or bang. Again, I repeat, you must approach a great deal of females to get the ones you want, so don’t be discouraged when you get rejected. Be happy – by approaching, you’ve just done what 90% of men, including most of your friends, are too chickenshit to do. And what most women dream the men they know would do.

Only through ignoring self-limiting beliefs and risking rejection will you really know if you weren’t the right man at that moment. And you may find out that indeed you ARE the right man.

Happy hunting.


IRS Scandal Lesson: Don’t Organize

I said in my initial post that this wasn’t a political blog, but we can always draw lessons from current events regarding our personal freedom. The scandal in which the IRS targeted groups using words like “Tea Party” or “Patriot” on their returns, or other conservative outfits publicly opposed to ObamaCare and the like, gives us a great example. When it comes to your independence, among the dumbest actions you can take is to organize, protest, petition, or otherwise argue with the government.

I realize this sounds un-American. After all, this nation was built on protest (and in particular on protest against taxes). But I’m not writing about the United States. I’m writing about you and me.

Any one of the people whose returns were audited or otherwise targeted by the IRS could have found a quieter way to lower their tax burden. There are attorneys and accountants out there who provide exactly this service for a fee, not to mention a wealth of information available online and offline. The government has to deal with millions upon millions of tax returns; it can’t possibly audit every single one (even if it comes out in the black).

The best way, then, to attract the government’s attention and ire is to make noise. That is exactly what the Tea Party did in 2010 and beyond, demonstrating, protesting, complaining, and in general casting a fat, bright spotlight on itself and its ancillaries. Is it any surprise then that these people were targets?

Ideally the rule of the law would prevent this kind of tomfoolery. (It’s worth noting that none of the politicians swept into office by this movement did anything to stop it.) But we’ve seen countless times throughout history that the rule of law does not necessarily prevent lawbreaking – especially by the government. Those who were harassed have no one to blame but themselves.

If you think I’m being partisan, consider a more left wing issue. Were this 1970 and you were a woman in Virginia in need of an abortion, what would be the easiest recourse? To find a doctor willing to perform the operation, or to demonstrate on the White House lawn and get arrested in hopes that eventually the law would change in your first trimester?

Certainly there are examples of protest movements affecting great change. The Civil Rights movement comes to mind. But on closer examination, even that movement took many decades of violence and bloodshed to bear fruit. The changes that occurred didn’t happen overnight, and they weren’t the result of the stroke of a pen. They happened because a majority of individuals changed their attitudes over time. In that case, if you were a black man in 1950s Alabama and needed to feed your family, what would have been a better choice – marching, getting beaten, arrested, and possibly killed, or moving your family to a relatively more peaceful and amenable location? While it’s true that no place in America was (or is) 100% free of racism, there had to have been better options than Alabama or Mississippi.

Joining a movement only ensures that you will give up some freedom rather than gain it. You and everyone else will hand over time and possibly money to further the group’s ends. The group cannot possibly pay every individual back in full or even equally. It certainly will never be in 100% lockstep with your personal goals and preferences. The result is a net loss for you, as well as the possibility that the government will restrict, rather than expand your “rights.”

This is the lesson of the IRS scandal and just about every other case of government harassment. I don’t care how many cameras are out there or how many data centers are in operation, the government cannot follow and harass every single individual it governs. To do so would be ridiculous in practice – what would be left if everyone were thrown in jail, killed, or otherwise subdued? There would be no economy to tax and no manpower to harness. The next time you think about signing a petition, joining a march, or bragging about how you got a fat tax refund, think about all of this. Discretion is the better part of valor.

No More Mr. Nice Guy

There’s a thread going on over at’s discussion board about the recently emerging online groupies of Boston Marathon bombing suspect Dzhokhar Tsarnaev. User PlayHer Man, who started the thread, opines [emphases his],

The bottomline is.. women love beta male[s], BUT they have wet dreams about evil sociopaths like the Boston terrorist and Tony Soprano.

Not sure if its the power these men have over others or just the evil alone that attracts women. But if anyone is still having the nice guy vs. Bad boy argument, I think it was settled a long time ago.

Ah, Nice guys v. Jerks. The debate to end all debate in the seduction community. It’s never-ending and impossible to deliver a substantial verdict, mainly because it is discussed in so many forms and contexts. But the bottom line argument is: Women Dig Jerks. The corollary, of course, is that Nice Guys Finish Last.

Before we get to Tsarnaev, I think it’s interesting that PlayHer Man mentioned the Tony Soprano character (from HBO’s The Sopranos, for those in the dark). I’ve been watching a lot of Sopranos reruns lately; the show’s characters are well-written and offer a peculiar glimpse into the human condition. Tony, of course, is the capo di tutti capi, the boss of bosses. He is undeniably alpha, and the writers leave little room for doubt on this point. Once in a great while, Tony might be a situational beta, or he might display beta behaviors (usually in his scenes with Dr. Melfi). Otherwise, he is a man to be feared and respected, and of course he pulls all kinds of ass in addition to more or less keeping his wife within his frame.

Now I’m not suggesting you get “connected” (any more than I’d suggest you enlist in jihad). What Tony does for a living is not the point. The point is that he has the right combination of alpha ingredients: Status, wealth/resources, confidence, game, with his looks coming in last. Of course he’s a fictional character and to a certain extent a male fantasy, but his character demonstrates that being a criminal and a murderer does not preclude a man from dipping his pen in many inkwells. Quite the contrary.

Tsarnaev, on the other hand, is a different example. For one, he operates in the real world. We know far less about him, though we have gleaned some details over the past few weeks. His current positioning as some kind of fringe heartthrob owes more to his fame and notoriety than his wicked deeds. Of course, his fame is a direct result of those deeds, and we could have a debate about the media’s role in all of this. But suffice to say that having your photo and name plastered all over the news and internet will result in a cottage industry of horny females wondering what you might be like in bed. These women may not seem like the kind you’d bring home to mom, but how can you be sure what strange fantasies lurk in the mind of your woman?

These are two extreme cases of, with all due respect to those hurt by such tragedies, the Bad Boy archetype. What can we learn from them?

First and foremost, that women will indulge in fantasies involving men who are, in some way, “bad.” One needn’t look any further than the wild success of 50 Shades Of Grey to understand this. And of course women, especially younger women, will date/fuck men who give them the kind of thrill that only comes from the disapproval of others.

So what’s a Nice Guy to do? You’re obviously not interested in criminality (I hope). And you can’t afford a motorcycle right now. Allow me to help.

1. Be playfully mischievous and insubordinate. Tease her. Cut in line with her. Answer her questions with smart ass or joke comebacks. Pull her hair. Keep a pair of handcuffs on your nightstand in full view. The idea is to show her you’re not afraid of her and aren’t like other guys. You must have a little devil in you, like the schoolyard boy who avoids girls with cooties.

2. Be mysterious. This plays to a woman’s fantasies. Remember, it matters less what you’ve done than what you tell her, or don’t tell her. In the early going of seduction or courtship, it behooves you to be discreet about your history, your activities, and your “morals.” I’m not suggesting you lie or cover up some major fact (e.g., you’re married). What I am suggesting is you let your story be unraveled by the woman. Drop little pieces of bait here and there, answer questions vaguely, or better yet laugh them off. (This goes double for any questions about your sexual past, which should always remain mysterious.) Believe it or not, most of us lead ordinary 9-to-5 lives with, one hopes, a few interesting hobbies sprinkled in. If you’re an open book, she’ll get all the information she needs and toss you in the recycling bin. Let her construct her own version of your life, so she has something to chew on with her girlfriends when they’re asking about you.

These are but two ingredients for your new Jerk/Bad Boy persona. There will be more to mention in the posts ahead. Remember that when people disparage “nice guys,” they’re really bemoaning a form of game that’s an attempt to negotiate favors, goods, and compliments for sex. There are other layers to the nice guy that need addressing as well (being a doormat, or apologizing too often, for example), but the bottom line is the Nice Guy is a guy who’s been programmed by Disney to expect sexual reward and loyalty for his (supposed) valiance. Thus a final rule to add to this post will be that what women say they want and what they want are usually two different things. The best way to differentiate is to open your eyes and close your ears, naturally.