Archive for the ‘Alpha’ Category

When you’re walking or standing in a large space with a group of men, say friends or work colleagues, and you’re talking to one or more of them, look straight ahead instead of at the person(s) you’re addressing. (If you feel it necessary, you may quickly eyeball your intended audience to lock their attention, then look away while talking.) To outside observers — and some of these outside observers will be pretty women subconsciously evaluating your mate quality —  the “look straight ahead while walking and talking” pose appears more alpha. This is especially true if the person you are talking to is looking at you with rapt attention while walking or standing at your side. This social construction pings the leader-follower dynamic.

The worst pose is to be seen walking and looking at the person you are addressing, while that person is looking straight ahead. It doesn’t matter if he’s studiously listening to you, or if he thinks you’re The Man. You will appear like Igor obsequiously yapping at the side of his mad scientist boss.

The actual hierarchy of your group is irrelevant; a woman unfamiliar with you and your acquaintances will perceive your alphaness or lack thereof based on subtle body language and social interaction cues. So if you want to widen the pool of female mating prospects, it’s in your interest to get in the habit of projecting alphaness as often as you can, and there’s no excuse not to when the cost for doing so is low.

A kind of prisoner’s dilemma does arise in these situations. You have to bank on the expectation that your addressee will continue looking at you while you talk. If he turns away as well, some of the alphaglow that would accrue to you will be dimmed. If you look back at him to recapture his attention, he may look away, and you are left appearing beta Igor-ish. Nevertheless, as a general principle, the “look straight ahead while walking and talking” affectation will in most scenarios and most times redound to your benefit.

The one caveat is when you are sitting with your group, or standing in a small space (indoors, instead of outdoors). There it will strike those around you as strange and awkward if you can’t look people in the eye when talking to them.

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A reader writes about a girl playing hard to get after she had already been gotten.

i was fucking this 27 year old who’d just gotten out of a relationship for a while (i’m 24) and i texted her out of the blue and took her to a concert after not seeing her for two months. despite lots of kino etc at the show and her telling me “you’re dangerous” she told me she wouldn’t sleep with me tonight. we went to a bar afterward and i told her calmly i was very angry at her for coming out with me with no interest in coming home with me, and that i’d never call her again. she broke down crying. i must admit i took some pleasure in it.

i did some things well (holding my ground, flirting with the bartender and other girls at the bar, maintaining excellent body posture, excusing myself for the bathroom when she started talking about another guy, saying things like “i will permit you to sleep with me”) but probably betrayed my own lack of options by being too affectionate and continuing to care, show kino etc. she showed mixed signals – kept asking me questions about my actual type, continued to say she wouldn’t sleep with me but admitted she’d lied earlier when she said she was seeing someone, said she’d sleep with me if i put roofies in her drink (weird, but a sign she was thinking about it, i presume).

the problem is at this point in my life, basically all of this is unintuitive, so i am prone to making mistakes, or knowing how i want to respond to something in a conversation and struggling for the actual words. i am also probably too mean/bitter , i have not mastered how to “get to agreement” etc without sounding too appeasing/beta.

Can you figure out where the reader lost his mojo with this girl? Leave your answers in the comments. The post will be updated later in the day. Commenters with the winning replies will receive a stuffed ferret in rage mode.

Similar to a false flag operation, the false frame is meant to deceive a person into believing that the speaker desires a different outcome, or holds a different belief, than what is actually desired or believed. A  typical example of the false frame is a woman alerting her date that she is not planning to sleep with him that night. While she may not in fact be consciously engaged in pushing the date toward sex, the frame she sets is false in the sense that its purpose is to entrap a man to accept its stated premise, despite the misleading nature of the premise obfuscating her true feelings.

(If you deny that these are her true feelings, you ignore the near universal evidence that women who speak of sex, in whatever positive or negative connotation, have sex on their minds.)

Denying or otherwise sidestepping a false frame would almost certainly yield an outcome at odds with the deceiver’s frame. False frames are close cousins of shit tests, differing mainly in their target designation (false frames are usually self-referential while shit tests are accusatory) and their style (false frames entrap while shit tests goad).

Here’s a hint to the answer to this edition of alpha assessment: It’s better to suffer a few beta procedural missteps while adhering to an alpha attitude than it is to flawlessly execute with alpha behavioral precision a beta attitude.


The answer to this riddle, of course, is when he told her he was angry with her for not putting out.

My friends, that is called Powering Up the Anti-Slut Defense Shields to maximum deflection.

You do not ever reason with a woman logically. When she says she won’t sleep with you, the last thing you should do is argue with her as if she is violating some legal contract. You either

a. ignore her ASD or

b. playfully redirect it to more fruitful emotions.

This reader’s scenario is a great example of the incongruence between maintaining a physical and vocal alpha frame while still operating under a mentality of beta scarcity. You can sit and stand and intone like James Bond, but if you chastise a girl for not agreeing to your sexual timetable, you may as well hang a sign over your head that reads “Desperate, Undersexed and Needing Quick Relief.”

You’ve gotta get that inner game down before the rest of the little things really click into place like one smoothly running pick-up machine.

Many commenters offered much better suggestions, most of which fell under the rubric of “agree and amplify”. Krauser has a great rebuttal to this kind of female false frame that is similar to agree and amplify, but takes a more seductive turn which opens opportunities to keep the conversational channel focused on impending intimacy.

My favorite reply is “That’s Ok, I didn’t want to get you pregnant”, which is really perfect for this exact situation.

Winners will receive the following stuffed ferret in rage mode.

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Barack Obama apologizes for calling Kamala Harris ‘best-looking attorney general’

U.S. President Barack Obama has apologized to California Attorney General Kamala Harris for causing a stir when he called her “the best-looking attorney general” at a Democratic fundraiser this week.

Yeah, yeah, Putin dispatches enemies abroad with polonium-tipped umbrellas, and you’d probably not want to say anything bad about him on the internet if you were living in Russia, but ask yourselves, who would you rather represent your country? This guy:

or this guy?

Now who does Putin’s “boobies!” face remind me of? Oh yes

wait your turn, ladies

Great alpha males troll the shit out of vapid feminists. The best response to a shrieking femcunt is withering condescension, garnished with a belittling thumbs up or a shit-eating smirk.

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Sometimes it’s amusing to hear the Word of CH tumbling from the lips of women with a shred of self-awareness, as they recount their conflicted feelings for the beta males and alpha males of their lives. Here,  an old woman phantom menstruates over the tiniest memory of a cad with whom she had a brief fling fifty years ago at her peak nubility age of eighteen. In her yearning recollection, you will recognize the wisdom of the Chateau.

Dark, brooding and with a hint of world-weary danger, he was a cross between a 19th-century decadent poet and a Hollywood heartthrob.

Chicks dig the dark triad, or a reasonable simulation thereof.

I was just a few weeks into my first term at Newcastle University, and determined to lose my virginity at the first opportunity. I resolved that he would be the one to do the deed.

Betas strugglewoo for years to get that pussy; alphas have it FedExed to their laps.

I discovered his name: John Nicholas Harley Pellowe — even that sounded impossibly romantic — and that he lived in Henderson Hall, the most glamorous Hall of Residence…

An important concept of game is the cultivation of mystery. A man of intrigue has hardly much self-promoting to do; the woman will promote him in her mind, filling in the missing details or embroidering the neutral facts in such a way that his allure is only strengthened.

I made it my life’s work to find out where he might be and to be there, too. Alone, I tramped round the seedy jazz clubs of Newcastle whenever I was tipped off about a possible sighting.

Betas spend thousands on elaborate proposals and weddings to capstone the last hours of their girlfriends’ normal weight lives; alphas get drunk, have fun, and break a small sweat trying to avoid stalkers who chase them down at clubs.

Eventually, my efforts were rewarded. I was sitting in the library one day when he walked in. I felt white-hot desire and, propelled by almost insane love and longing, walked over to him. From then on, we started a sort of relationship.

“sort of relationship”

We would meet at parties and other functions

Aka booty calls. How did men booty call before the invention of cell phones? Must have been the old-fashioned way: face-to-face. Much respect.

— at which, I have to admit, he paid me scant attention.

:lol: You’d think that would have slowed her down. But no.

But I would interpret any little crumb of affection or interest as undying love on his part.

People value that which is scarce and priced accordingly. A man who gives his affection and interest away for free is advertising to women that he believes he is worth exactly that price. If he’s got at least a little going on, he’ll be used like the free samples at your local farm-fresh SWPLmarket. In contrast, a man who makes a woman work for his affection will be perceived as possessing very high market value, and she will swoon uncontrollably whenever he deigns to gift her with one of these minor victories over his studied aloofness.

I soon lost my virginity to him, in his room at Henderson Hall, and thought my happiness was complete.

What he was thinking: “Ok, how do I get out of here without her causing a scene?”

I was so besotted that I never even noticed another young man lurking along the corridor, named Bryan Ferry.

A beta makes his move!

The Christmas holidays came and I wondered how I could get through them without [Alpha John].

Patience, readers. The beta will require years and countless demonstrations of abject appeasement to complete his move.

When I came back, I thought we were an item.

Hamster gif [REDACTED]. Premature hamster death. Cause: Centrifugal dismemberment.

But he was still being a very reluctant swain, and although keen enough to have sex,

:roll: It’s as much the fate of women to misconstrue sex as evidence that a man wants a loving relationship as it is the fate of beta males to misconstrue emotional sharing as evidence that a woman wants sex.

he never once asked me out, or even seemed to want to be seen with me.

Maybe it’s because you weren’t pretty enough for him? Nah, couldn’t be!

I sort of knew it would never come right, yet, wilfully, I ignored all the warning signs.

But all warning signs are not the same. For example, women have no trouble heeding the warning signs that a man showing interest in them is a beta male. In those cases, nothing is ignored; the beta is jettisoned without a moment’s reflection. If anything, women over-correct for beta male warning signs (gotta protect those eggs from even catching a whiff of limply motile beta male sperm).

After one of our many nights of passion, more in love with him than ever, if that was possible,

Sunk cock theory. She had worked hard for his wang and invested her heart and soul only to be rewarded with his cruelly delicious indifference. Her investment is not going to pan out but she’ll see it through to the last shilling of her sanity. This is Chick Crack 101.

I saw him at the top of the steps of the Union Building and ran up to him.

I wonder if she recalls this level of detail about fleeting moments she had over the decades with her beta hubby?

Now, surely, he would return my love. But instead of flinging his arms around me, remembering the wonderful thrill of the night before, he turned away.

He never spoke to me again.

According to feminist orthodoxy, this proves he was actually a niceguy.

I went into shock, succumbing to a range of illnesses from glandular fever to migraines and strange fainting fits. I would frequently pass out in the street — but at least I hadn’t become pregnant, a girl’s worst fear in those days.

There’s a reason the maestros at CH declared the Pill to be one of the Six Sirens of the Sexual Apocalypse.

My love for John turned to hate. My demon lover had shown his demonic side, and I tried to move on, as we’d say now.

Indifference, not hate, is the opposite of love.

John ignored me totally, never even acknowledging my presence. Not only did he not love me, he didn’t even like me very much.

Fifty years on, you can still hear the hurt in her words. Remember this, when further along in her confessional she engages the usual last-second empowered woman protestation to the contrary.

To add to the agony, he soon had another girlfriend, a proper one this time, and he even seemed keen on her, paying her the sort of attention he’d never bestowed upon me.

If her beta ex-husband, Neville, were reading her diary of tears dedicated to a long-ago flame, do you think he’d feel strong pride that GSS data trawlers have anointed him an alpha male because he had two (paternity assumed) kids with her?

But I could never forget John Pellowe and the memory of my unrequited love for him put a pall on the marriage, with Neville always feeling he was somehow second best. He used to refer to ‘that chap in your past’ — neither of us could even bring ourselves to mention his name, though we both remembered it only too well.

Answer: :lol:

[Neville and I] went out, off and on, for nearly three years before marrying at the age of 21, while we were still students.

It took the beta three years to legally lock down what it took the alpha exactly one nanosecond to sexually lock up.

Which locking system do you think is the more impenetrable? And how many other dudes was she boffing while dating Neville?

In the late Eighties after 20 years of marriage, when our children were 17 and 18, Neville and I divorced.

Ross “Power Brow” Douthat talks a lot about social forces gutting marriage, but is even he, courageous saboteur of the Cathedral, brave enough to grapple with the CH maxim that five minutes of alpha male sexual attention can ruin a woman for the beta males who would be her realistic marital options? Just how many divorces are caused, ultimately, by vivid cock carousel memories?

This time, I sought the help of a trauma psychotherapist to try to get [Alpha John] finally out of my system. He told me that my story was surprisingly common. [ed: :shock:] He asked if I could see John again to help me heal, so that I could finally reach some kind of closure. Apparently this is often very helpful in puncturing the fantasy.

The only fantasy here is the idea that “closure” is anything but brand repackaging for bruised, lovelorn egos.

She goes on a bit describing how she went out of her way to track down her ex-flame and meet with him to experience the aforementioned closure. Despite her dutiful description of his aged appearance (holy crap, people get old-looking!), it’s clear she still tingles for his totem:

Even so, the love and desire, the old passion, rose up in me as we sat and talked over a cup of tea in the café. ‘Is it really you?’ I said in wonder, conjuring up the image of him in his glorious youth.

Men are optic; women are holistic.

I asked him why he’d so cruelly turned away from me and he blamed his ‘ineptness’.

What’d she expect him to say? That she was barely attractive enough for a few rolls in the hay?

As I walked back to the Underground, it was as if with every step I took, a heavy coat was lifted from me. It was the most extraordinary feeling of lightness, and I realised the therapy had worked. I was free of him.

Cue the “last-second empowered woman protestation to the contrary.”

I wrote a book about my adoration of him,

She sounds completely free of him.

I’d forgotten all about the book until recently when an e-book publisher saw it on my website and contacted me about updating it and re-publishing it.

I said yes. In the book, I tried to get to the bottom of this agonising  phenomenon that has claimed so many tragic victims…

Heavy coat status: Lifted.

Every now and again, these cruel, uncaring lovers give you a scant bit of attention, and each slight glance pulls you in ever more powerfully.

Uncaring asshole game. Or, if you prefer a more sophisticated nomenclature, “learned charisma.”

When in the grip of such a passion, it’s as if you are taken over by a mind-altering drug and are no longer responsible for your actions.

The tingle trumps the cortex.

It doesn’t really matter whether the object of your affections is married, unavailable, uninterested; nothing will stop the mad passion from taking root and growing, even with little or nothing to feed on.

It’s the lack of nourishment that in fact helps the female passion grow. Kind of like a hydroponic plant.

But what was it about [Alpha John] that made so many otherwise rational, intelligent women fall helplessly at his feet? I think now that he exuded an aura, a kind of force field, that susceptible or vulnerable women picked up.

“Susceptible or vulnerable women” = most women.

One fellow lecturer told me that John didn’t even have to try; that women just flocked to him.

He had the ability, when he was with you, to make you feel as if you were the only woman in the world, even if he ignored you next day.

Aloofness works in conjunction with seductive intensity. Total pick-up aloofness is only possible if you possess extreme fame, or you’re dead.

Even his head of department at Newcastle University, Barbara Strang, one of the few female professors at the time, fell for him. She would have been in her 40s to his 25 or so. So it wasn’t just me, being a daft, lovesick maiden.

It’s funny how women are shocked to discover their alpha lovers only have eyes for them and two dozen other women.

After the shock of John Pellowe’s treatment of me, it never felt safe to fall in love with anybody again — at least not in that cataclysmic way.

Concern for “safeness” is not why she couldn’t fall in love with anybody again. “Comparative dreariness” is why.

It wasn’t Neville’s fault that I came to him as damaged goods, as it were, and he made up for it by being very much in love with me.

Neville, like most beta males, thought if he could just swaddle her in sufficient plumes of love, she’d return the favor. But he had no understanding; you can’t love-trip a woman into reciprocal love.

I must say I always felt much more at ease with Neville than I ever had with John, but I had lost the ability to love in that passionate, all-consuming way.

“At ease.” That’s a telling admission. Yes, women feel at ease with beta males. And maybe that’s the problem.

CH Maxim #44: Women can’t feel impassioned without also feeling a little unease.

However, Neville and I got on famously from the start. Indeed, we are still good friends today — and often meet for a good natter. Neville became a monk several years ago but, to me, he’s still the same man I married.

Picture now fully clear.

Act 1: Exhilarating but excruciatingly short-lived sexual fling with aloof alpha proto-emo.
Act 2: Heart broken in part by adherence to unrealistic expectations formed in the crucible of womb-wracking orgasms with said alpha male.
Act 3: Temporary soothing ego relief obtained on the tear-stained shoulder of a quasi-homosexual beta male with advanced sympathizing and listening abilities.
Act 4: Half-hearted marriage to said beta, made palatable by subconscious realization of fading looks and enticement of low risk domestic settling serenity strategy compared to high risk staying single and seeking reenactment of passionate love plus long-shot alpha male commitment strategy.
Act 5: Spend several decades secretly reminiscing about the five minutes spent with a brooding alpha ex-lover while beta hubby putters around the house, none the wiser.
Act 6: Divorce. Ex-husband becomes a monk after realizing his marriage was a sham and real passionate love will never be his.
Act 7: Write a book about the alpha male ex, claiming to be over him and empowering other women to do the same.

He did not shake the world in general, but he certainly shook mine — and sad to say, he still does, 15 years after his death.

Act 8: Diddle the dusty bean to harder orgasms over the distant memory of a dead alpha male ex-fling than those ever experienced in thirty years with a beta male husband.

After reading a story like this, delivered from a woman’s point of view, you’ve really got to smirk at those guys who diligently peruse social survey data and subsequently conclude that number of children is the sine qua non of alpha maleness. Using that metric, the beta hubby in this woman’s life was the alpha male. But does it seem to you she thought the same about him, the living ex-husband who got half as many mentions as the dead 50-years-past fleeting lover in her article? Or does it strike you as more accurate to conclude that the man she had no kids with, but with whose ancient memory she nevertheless nurtured the progeny of a million wistful regrets and the self-release of a million limbic caresses, was the real alpha male in her life?

The above question should suffice as rhetorical, but, comically, there are those who need the lesson scrawled in neon marker on their eyeballs.

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Submitted by a reader, subtitled “New Year’s Eve, 1969″.

This photo, besides being awesome, is also subversively illustrative of sexual dynamics and of how we are evolutionarily wired to react in a standardized way to simple body language cues for information about potential competitors and potential mates.

What’s your first thought? If you were like most men *and* women, you autonomically assigned the value BETA to the man snuggling into his woman for a feeding, and the value ALPHA to the man sitting up with his woman nestled in his chest.

Take a moment to digest your subconscious reaction. Never mind that we don’t know the actual status of the relationships for these two couples. Ask yourself why, instead, you felt the emotions you did. And why what you felt is so similar to what everyone else, including manboobs and feminists, felt.

The characters in this snapshot of sexual polarity are similarly dressed and similarly attractive. Even their facial expressions — sleepy, passed out (perhaps), and neutral — don’t tell us much. The only real difference is the posture of each person. That’s what the viewer has to go on to make his instant assessment of each person’s sexual market value. And yet we don’t hesitate to assess; nor do we grope for the right assessment. It jumps out at us.

And what is that assessment? One man’s relationship is going up that escalator. The other man’s is going down.

PS Looks like a bunch of fun-loving ruffians slip n’ slid down the escalator’s fast track and got painfully acquainted with its metal protrusions. Not that I would know anything about pulling such stunts. :oops:

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In the annals of alpha maleness, who can forget the supreme asshole aloofness of this societal canker sore, loved by two cute girls at once, who dangled the promise of romantic fidelity with a now-classic request to “bring the movies”.

Sarah texted Josh. 1:06 p.m.: “Whatever Josh, you get so mad at me for everything but you don’t give a shit when she puts something up or says something. You always believe her.”

1:08 p.m. “It’s like no matter what I do she’s always that much better.”

1:13 p.m. “All we fight about is her or something that has to do with her, and it sucks. I hate fighting with you . . . I love you so much, but this shit hurts.”

Hours passed. Sarah tried again.

6:36 p.m. “You say you love me, but you don’t even have the decency to text me back?”

Finally, at 8:02 p.m., Josh typed, “Bring the movies.”

Seven hours after her first text, and numerous texts from her in between, he finally replies — “bring the movies.”

Bring da movies.

So beautiful. Its economy of microalphatude brings a moving tear to me eye it does.

But wait! After “bring the movies” became a go-to line for players on the (re)make, a new contender joined the ring: “It’s complicated.”

GIRL: So are you dating anyone right now?

YOU: It’s complicated.


GIRL: Just how many girls have you been with?

YOU: It’s complicated.


GIRL: What are you looking for?

YOU: It’s complicated.


GIRL: Will you buy me a drink?

YOU: It’s complicated.


GIRL: You’re not going to try to stick it in my ass tonight, are you?

YOU: It’s complicated.

While perhaps not as RAWMUSCLEALPHA as “bring the movies”, “it’s complicated” is devious SNEAKYFUCKERALPHA the allure of which most girls can’t resist.

Chateau guests were overjoyed. The knowledge was dropping like the New York Beta Times circulation numbers. But then a hush fell over the assembled. There was yet more seduction science to come. What may go down as the pinnacle of laconic alpha male sexiness, the je ne sais quoi of jerkitude, sounded like a clarion call issued from the Voice of God Himself.

FLAKING GIRL: “Hey – a friend of mine is going through a break up and needs to talk tomorrow night. The rest of my week is crazy. I’ll give you a call later on and we’ll make…” [her text gets cut off here]

el chief: “gay. you’re buying if we meet up again”

The thrilling lack of punctuation is only bested in hindbrain disorienting impact by the lead-in one-word reply:


Say it with me.


You are a young, cute girl who has options. (Read: You are not an aging frump with rapidly dwindling options.) You flake often. Secretly, you enjoy flaking on men. It’s a power trip. Most men dance on your puppet strings. But then one intriguing fellow comes along who cocks your world. And you find this text in your squawkbox:


Suddenly, everything has changed. Who is this conceited prick? How dare he talk to me like this! What’s his deal? Is he getting a lot of action? I’m not attractive enough for him? I’ll show him. Next time, I’m buying, and he’s getting the fuck of his life. Ha!

The readers are sated.

“Dear CH, thank you for your wisdom, but we have had enough. This knowledge is sufficient to guide us to the land of alpha, where unicorns go to die and penises to live.”

No, that complacency will not do. The master seducer is always improving, always seeking the next challenge, and his plumb-hers toolkit expands with every wench. Finally, to our pantheon of patronizing pithy pussy pleasers we can add the newest:

her: can i sign my receipt on your back?
you: no
her: why are you being so mean?
you: cuz i don’t want to get you pregnant

“cuz i don’t want to get you pregnant”


Does it need to make sense? No. In fact, it works better the less sense it makes.

“Buy me a drink?”
“No, I don’t want to get you pregnant.”

“Reschedule for next week?”
“No, I don’t want to get you pregnant.”

“Dance with me?”
“No, I don’t want to get you pregnant.”

“What are you looking for?”
“I’m looking to not get you pregnant.”

“I have to cancel on our date this week.”
“That’s good, I didn’t want to get you pregnant.”

“You’re such a jerk.”
“That’s because I don’t want to get you pregnant.”

“Do I look fat in this?”
“Well, it’s certainly not going to help me get you pregnant.”

The first reader who uses this line successfully AND impregnates the girl will be featured in his very own CH post. Happy cunting.

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It’s the little things that matter. The difference between projecting a benign beta maleness or an alluring alpha aura can turn on a cocked eyebrow, a shift in body weight, an expression (or withheld expression), or a selfish microaggression. For an example of the subtlety in mannerism that typifies the alpha male, check out this video of a man refusing his girlfriend’s demands for a taste of his delicious ice cream.

She reaches over and tries to sneak a spoonful of ice cream.
He moves his ice cream away and her spoon comes up nothing but air.
She makes a face. He doesn’t even look at her. His focus is on the game.
She regroups and makes another charge at his ice cream. Again her spoon scoops air.
Again, he doesn’t look at her as he evades her self-entitled spooning. Doesn’t smile, doesn’t frown. Stone-faced, with maybe, if you look closely, just a hint of a nascent smirk.
Now she’s got that “Whoa, I can’t believe you’re doing this to MEEEE. I’m a GIRL, remember?!” face.
She is turned on. Her O-face is a manifestation of her tingling, opening orifice.
Finally, he looks at her for a half second, and relents. He lets her have a spoonful. But he “surrenders” his ice cream in the most condescendingly possible way: he looks away from her and lets the cone dangle in her general direction. The whole maneuver screams “Here ya go, ya little brat. Happy now?”
He has had his fun. And, so has she. Their relationship is healthy and fulfilling, and will be as long-lived as he decides he wants it to be.

Now how would a beta male have handled this minor sex market opera? Like this:

She reaches over to take a spoonful of his ice cream.
He accidentally pulls the ice cream away from her as she’s reaching in.
She makes the “Are you kidding me?” B-face. (The B-face differs from the O-face in that the mouth does not form a nice round O. Instead, it purses into the shape of a bitch.)
He notices her aggravation, immediately assumes the whimpering pussboy look, and makes it easier for her to scoop a chunk, apologizing profusely as he watches her down the last ounce of his treat.
He then asks if she would like her own ice cream, even though he knows that when he offered to buy her an ice cream earlier she said no, and that she just wanted to taste his ice cream because it was his, and she thinks eating his ice cream instead of eating her own ice cream means she’s not actually ingesting the calories and putting on weight.
She smiles sweetly, and says no. But her eyes are on some other dude sitting three rows away.
He looks at his empty cone, and sees that she even sucked out the little pool of melted ice cream from the bottom. He is sad.

Commenter YaReally astutely notes that this short video clip can teach a beta shlub more about male-female interaction than one thousand mainstream media “relationship” articles.

Dude is a boss. That interaction has like a dozen little dynamics going on in their facial expressions and body-language. You can tell everything about their relationship and his alpha value from this like 10 second clip.

Beta guys with no game will think he was a jerk and got in trouble when he got home and he should buy her ice cream and apologize.

Red Pill guys know exactly how that guy’s night went. Lol [...]

The 2nd pause they do, that facial expression and body language of like “bitch you HEARD me. Did you think I was joking?” is the one that you want to give when you tell a girl not to do something and she does it anyway to shit-test you.

Love this clip, and I like that the announcer guys are focused entirely on her reactions and how she feels and how much trouble guy “know” they’re in when their woman looks at them like that etc. it’s a good demonstration of how socially conditioned brainwashing has most of the guys in society reacting to women and worried about appeasing women and not being “in the doghouse”. It wouldn’t even occur to them that that guy could have the mentality of “you said you didn’t want ice cream when I offered so too bad. Next time don’t be retarded. Okay you can have a bit now that you’ve learned your lesson.”

It’s like watching a really small minor Soft Next in action. Beautiful.

Yes, beautiful. Even better to orchestrate this powerful game for oneself.

These minor demonstrations of higher male value that so thrill and enrapture women are what I call “microalphatudes”. The alpha male doesn’t bop his women over the head with a club. He just… jerks his ice cream away from her, and amuses himself with her predictable reaction of adorable indignation.

You think this is stupid. It’s just ice cream. You don’t get it. It’s about so much more than ice cream. All these alpha moments will add up in time… like tingles in rain… and she will love you for them. You build yourself into the man women love by carving out these fleeting moments, sculpting them and guiding them to your whim, inspiring stronger feelings and stronger memories.

Tease, taunt and play her
don’t ever obey her
Play, taunt and tease her
don’t ever appease her

Five instances of microalphatudes beats five years of boring beta obeisance.

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