Five Minutes Of Alpha = Fifty Years Of Pining

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.

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,

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:

[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: ] 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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Spot The Alpha And The Beta

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.

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The Next Great Dismissive Alpha Male Line

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:

“gay”

Say it with me.

“gay”

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:

“gay”

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”

Sterling.

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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Microalphatudes

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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Alpha Male Membership Has Its Privileges

From a Craigslist W4M posting (since expired):

Gansevoort bathroom in January – w4m – 24 (West Village)

I was your cocktail waitress 3 weeks ago at the rooftop. You were there on a Wednesday night with your friends(?) or clients from work. You said you worked for GS, but you might have just said whatever. I mean, what does a dumb bitch like me know, right? You flirted with me and asked me what I did other than work here and I told you I’m in acting school. You were really hot in that asshole lacrosse kinda way with your blonde hair and broad shoulders, maybe 29, 30. You followed me to the bathroom and grabbed my tits and hair pushed down. I got on my knees and sucked your cock. I didn’t know what else to do. Then you blew a load on my face and stuck a $100 bill on it. You walked out without saying anything, when I straightened up and came out your table already settled. And left me a nice tip. I wish you left me a card but you probably didn’t want me to know your real name or where you really worked.

I’d just leave it at that, and apply it to my acting, but the trouble is that I really liked it. You made me feel like a fucking cheap chinky whore. I wanna do it again but you don’t need to tip me. Get in touch, please. We don’t have to date. I just really liked pleasing you.

I wonder if the General Social Survey captures this kind of data?

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Alpha Male Power Moves

Making people wait

Show up late. The King does not wait patiently for guests to arrive. The King arrives for meet and greets when guests are assembled in breathless awe. Principle applies equally to throne rooms and bar rooms. Arrivals, replies to questions, decisions to consensus building exercises, request fulfillments — all should be delayed to the point of provoking discomfort in others, but not beyond. People naturally assume the higher status of those who don’t jump when asked.

Not laughing at jokes

The King is not amused. And he is hard to amuse. The King does not suffer unfunny boobs gladly. The King does not care about fortifying social cohesion with insincerity, so he will stare at you expressionless if your joke bombs. He will not fake laugh to make you feel at ease. He will not laugh uproariously if you are a hot girl making a lame joke. You will feel uncomfortable, and this is why you will try harder to impress the King. The King knows this. He luxuriates in your appeasement.

Staring past people

You talk to the King? Impudent plebe! The King hears you, but his attention is elsewhere. Past you. Over you. Through you. Your entreaties are puffery to the King, because he has heard it all before. Your cleverness is dulled. Your insight is clouded. Your conversation is trite. And yet, somehow, despite all evidence to the contrary, the King answers you as if he had been listening intently the whole time. You feel relieved. You like this feeling, so you set about to win the King’s approval again. And again. And again.

Cutting people off

You talk and talk. The King has a thought of his own. It could be a grand thought, or a trivial musing. It doesn’t matter, because it is the King’s thought, and that means the King will cut you off mid-sentence to regale the masses with his wit and wisdom. His voice commands, his self-confidence refuses impugning, his happy entitlement woos crowds. Even you, cast aside and set adrift, find strange succor in the King’s heady leadership.

Disappointing people

The King has so many matters he must tend to. People need and want the King. His presence — nay, his blessing! — is requested at board meetings, parties, events and bedrooms. The King’s plate is full. It is always full. And this fact makes the King smug, even resentful. The King likes to disappoint people. Or, more precisely, he cares not for pleasing people. He knows scarcity is part of the appeal of his brand of authority. His subjects will wait on him, and he will sometimes not show up. And those subjects will be sad. So sad, in fact, that the next time the King *does* show up, their joy will be overflowing.

***

You may think these are dickish moves. You would be right! But the alpha cuts his teeth on dickishness. There is no alpha male who is not, at times, dickish. It comes with the territory. And since dickishness is a territorial aspect of alpha maleness, those who mimic it are presumed alpha themselves. And that, my budding alphas, is how you win pussy and influence people.

Alpha Male Power Moves will be a continuing series. Lord knows the incredible shrinking American Beta Male needs the lessons.

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Lazy Cad Game

A reader sent along this hilarious video of two dudes “gaming” chicks into giving up their phone numbers and, in some instances, agreeing to dates. I put gaming in quotes, because, well, see for yourself…

Short, sweet and…

oh so alpha.

There’s no need to dissect every jot and tittle of the game these guys demonstrate in this undercover video. This is more about the ALPHA ATTITUDE than about any specific game tactic or line. You’ve gotta look at the whole package, and what I’m seeing should put the lie to those betas and old skoolers who think you have to woo and compliment girls and generally act like a gentleman to get them to unfurl their figurative pussy lips.

Woo? Compliment? Impress?

Nah.

How about…

Demand. Look around impatiently. Act unimpressed. Talk like a bored teenage hooligan. Put in the minimum effort. Be a jackass.

“Bring the movies” man, say hello to “Put your phone number in my phone” man. Betas watch, and weep bitter tears.

1:42 is especially side splitting. Watch a few seconds in when he turns his body almost completely away from her, and replies “Cause I said” when she asks why she should give him her number. She gives it.

This is asshole game, and chicks LOOOOOOOVE it.

I can already hear the skeptics and knee-jerk haters.

“But those guys are good-looking!”

“They probably did 500 takes and chose the best twenty!”

“Getting girls’ phone numbers is easy!”

You know what? The haters aren’t wrong. They’re not right, but they’re not wrong, either.

Those two guys are better looking than the average man. They’re no Gosling or Tatum, but I’d guess they’re easy on the eyes for most girls.

And yeah, those are probably the best takes out of a lot that failed.

And yes, getting phone numbers is easier than getting the bang.

But here’s the thing. Even if you were of the limited mind that game only works for good-looking guys, you’re still admitting that game works. Because there are a lot of dudes who look as good or better than these guys who don’t get anywhere near the action these two get because those other guys approach women like the dutifully complimentary and investment-heavy beta males that is their comfort zone preference.

The world is filled with decent looking dudes who don’t get much pussy because they got no game. No style. No skill. No JERKBOY CHARISMA.

Are these selective takes? Sure. But that’s still twenty successful number and date closes in what looks to be a couple of afternoons. That’s twenty more pussy leads than most guys will get in TEN YEARS of beta male effort.

Yep, phone numbers are easy. But they’re harder to acquire than nothing. They mean more than air. They have more potential than polite hello’s. You gotta start somewhere champ. Bitching that phone numbers are easy or that the takes are selective or that you’re not good-looking enough to tango will not get you any closer to the prize. It will only feed your need for denial.

Meanwhile, the roadmap to pretty young poos is there for the taking. You just gotta… grab it.

UPDATE

The video guys claim they had a 25% rejection rate.

ps all pointy elbow syndrome comments will be deleted.

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The Myth Of The Indiscriminate Alpha Male

Some readers took yesterday’s post as an opportunity to grind an axe about the supposed fact of alpha males rutting with undesirable females. Puzzlingly, a few readers credulously assumed the factual basis of the featured BDF’s (Bitter, Delusional Fattie) proof-free assertions that she has spread for the seraph rods of “Adonises” of “wealth and success” with “chiseled abs”, despite the BDF having a history as a hardcore delusionist spinning weird, often self-contradictory, fantasies on feminist websites.

Sorry, gullible readers, but this does not happen in real life, at least not nearly as often as fat, deluded shits trying to pump their sexual market value would like you to believe. Perhaps a reacquaintance with the rules of the sexual marketplace are in order:

1. Men prefer younger, hotter, thinner babes over older, uglier, fatter broads.

2. Men with options — aka alpha males — will exercise their freedom to date and fuck and even marry younger, hotter, thinner babes.

3. The sorts of men who date and fuck older, uglier, fatter women are men with fewer options, aka beta males and omega males.

I hope this clears things up. But if not, allow me to bring the abstract down to earth with a personal story.

I know a guy who possesses almost every single genetic and personality marker for high male mate value that a woman can dream of in her wildest fantasies — he’s charming, funny, top 2% looks, wealthy, mesomorphic, ambitious, has a certain amount of local fame, loves kids, owns a dog, stylish, seductive, and cocky — I mean, the dude is heaven sent for women, no homo. If he has a flaw it’s that he’s not very interested in romantic gestures, or putting much effort into pursuing women. It’s a flaw most women he dates are all too happy to dismiss as irrelevant. Mostly his “game” is to demonstrate social status by cracking jokes that get the whole group laughing, tease any hot girls nearby, pull back, and wait for them to throw themselves at him. He is very lazy about the follow-up and closing the deal, preferring instead to call it an early night, skip out on exchanging numbers or insta-dates, and walk home in anticipation of sex as the girl nips at his heels, eager to oblige. His laziness in regards the courtship of women means that he will often “slum it” with 7s and 8s rather than put in effort to get the 9s and 10s who would be ecstatic to assume the role as his natural prey. He is the perfect emblem of the “lazy cad”, iow.

In all the time I’ve known him (a long time), he has never, not once, not even a little bit, bedded a woman less than a 7. And when he has bedded a 7, he treated her with a summary cruelty that would be the envy of badboy loving feminists diddling their beans to female porn about sadistic billionaires. Worse still, when shameless BDFs like the chick showcased in yesterday’s post shower him with attention and practically beg for his cock, he stares at them coldly and arrogantly waves them away, as if to say “what in the hell makes you think you have a chance with me?” He does not disguise his contempt for the over-reaching, sexually aggressive BDF. Most alpha males don’t disguise their contempt, because to be approached with an almost open invitation for sex by a grotesquerie is a slap in the face, a denial of the alpha male’s high standing.

This is, I believe, an accurate reflection of the workings of the sexual market at large. True “Adonises” are not slumming it with gross pigs. They are ignoring them, totally, utterly, completely. That is, when they’re not ridiculing them for shits and giggles. Instead, the rare “Adonises” that BDFs claim to fuck are much more likely, upon closer inspection, to be revealed as simply chucklehead losers or, on very good nights, slightly higher value than bland, nondescript lesser betas. In all my forced acquaintances with these “Adonises” who were banging BDFs, the dude turned out to be much less than the BDF proudly advertised. And, along these lines, you have never seen a more wretched prototype of man than the omega orbiter who revolves around BDFs hoping for some of that fat slut love.

In reality, the following observations are the typical scenarios for low value women:

BDF 3s pumped and quickly dumped by male 4s or 5s, with a very lucky few once in a decade (or year, depending how depraved the slut allows herself to become) getting a shot at male 6 penis. And penis is all she will get.

BDF 3s getting short term flings with male 3s or 4s.

And BDF 3s getting long-term flings with male 2s and 3s, possibly male 4s, and most of the times with no men at all.

The rarity of the BDF 3 hooking up with a male 7 cannot be over-emphasized. It happens, but it happens so infrequently that it tells us nothing generalizable about the mating market. I have never seen nor heard of a male 8 or higher hooking up, even for a few seconds in a dark corner of a club, with a BDF 3, unless he was so blotto that he couldn’t clearly see the pig he was sticking.

Some readers will balk and offer Arnold Schwarzenegger and Hugh Grant as examples of alpha males who slummed it with ugly women. Yes, but the reason they are noted punchlines of jokes about indiscriminate horny men is because they are exceptions to the rule, and hence less forgettable than the hordes of alphas who only abide the love of hot babes. For every Arnie banging a Mexican maid on the DL, there are hundreds of Clooneys, DiCaprios, Pitts, Depps and Berlusconis who have a long, long history of banging only grade A ass. And let’s not forget that Arnie has been under the judgment-altering influence of steroids on and off his whole life, and if you have any experience hanging around meatheads on roids, you know that their powers of discrimination quickly yield to their wall-climbing horniness. I once knew a a guy on the juice who said his erections became so uncomfortably insistent that he would look at any hole, animate or inanimate, and wonder about ways to make it conducive to penetration. He was once caught masturbating into a gym towel in the locker room. No one paid him much mind, though, because apparently it is common practice among juicers to relieve themselves at the gym.

Other readers will claim that high testosterone makes men indiscriminate, and they will point to young men or black men as examples of “alphas” who will bone almost anything, thus vindicating the assertions of the BDF. Two problems with this: One, teenage youth — which is the age at which young men have the most free-flowing T and are presumably the most indiscriminate, is not in and of itself an attractive male trait to most women. Since women judge a man’s mate value on a suite of factors of which facial attractiveness is only one variable, it stands to reason that younger dudes out for a thrill would be lower value to most women. So their rankings, from the BDF perspective, would be lower than what she is claiming to score internet debate points. Two, most white women, which is what the BDF under discussion is, want to date and sleep with white men. They may claim their lovers are Adonii, but if their lovers are black men, the BDF is likely to feel that she is settling.

Black men are, not to put too fine a point on it, more willing than are men of other races to fornicate with the dregs of womanhood. I know there are brothers reading this site, and I know you know that I’m right. This point, along with accompanying scientific evidence, was made in the coda to yesterday’s post, so I suggest readers peruse it again so as to avoid these annoying redundancies. It is a horrible, viciously sadistic point I make, but it is a true point. If the black guys in the studio audience have a problem with it, they can start raising their standards and stop dumping in plumpers. I won’t be holding my breath.

Still more readers argue that every man goes through a dry spell, and it is during these periods that BDFs get their holes morosely plundered by alphas. Again, this claim falls under closer examination. First, alpha males have fewer and shorter dry spells than other men. They are rarely without the company of cute girls, so they rarely feel the need to dumpster dive. When they do experience the odd down time, they attempt to end it by aggressively pursuing… more cute girls! Second, beta males, who would be the natural constituent of BDFs looking to satisfy a hypergamous tingle for higher value men (remember, the omega male is the BDF’s SMV equal) are MORE likely to retreat to video games and porn than to recklessly dumpster dive with a fattie! Even betas have a sense of self-respect, arguably a greater sense than do alphas, for the beta is ever so closer to falling permanently into a BDF dating career track.

Finally, there are some readers who argue that alpha males dumpster dive a lot because “they just don’t give a fuck what people think”. Funny, this theory. Since when has a “don’t give a fuck” attitude been incompatible with adhering to standards for oneself? If anything, alpha male don’tgiveafuckness correlates highly with not giving a fuck about risking rejection from hot girls.

The bottom line is this: Alpha males, like all males, prefer thin babes. The difference is that alpha males have the power to fulfill their preferences, and they do. Betas and omegas are the men who must make sacrifices in quality, and who will occasionally dumpster dive because they feel more urgency to grab those infrequent opportunities when they arise.

And doesn’t that just get to the heart of it? Alphas make their opportunities. Betas mind their opportunities.

Nothing in this post should be taken wholly as a counterfactual to the above claims of BDF sexual opportunity. There is, in fact, truth to the notion that BDFs occasionally get their sloppy wet holes serviced by men somewhat higher in value than the BDF could be expected to realistically date in longer term arrangements. The issue I take with those readers who credulously (and curiously) buy BDF assertions of sex with Adonises is the lack of perspective they reveal about the relevance of sexual market hierarchy gradations.

Dumpster diving men above the omega male threshold do exist, but they are rarer than BDF fantasists assert. And they are not nearly as alpha as the typical BDF will eagerly claim in credulous company. Accidental real life meetings with the “sex toys” of BDFs usually confirm suspicions the BDF was lying to stroke her ego: The “lovers” are either black men who are gonna bolt in two days time, or they are white men who are way more beta, charmless, goofy, older, uglier and/or socially awkward than the BDF let on prior to public exposure of her “conquests”.

But even if the BDF gets her ego temporarily massaged by a parade of one night stands only one SMV point higher than herself, that is still enough pressure exerted on the mating market to skew the pairing up and pairing off outcomes. A one point SMV differential between herself and her regretful pumper can be enough to raise the expectations and entitlement of the BDF, and when a slew of these fly-by-nighters are accumulated, the BDF may actually come to believe her own bullshit. When that happens, omegas and lesser beta males who would be the rightful and natural heirs to the puffy sausage hands of BDFs come to find themselves passed over by these beasts who continue to trawl the singles scene hoping to capture the attention of an out-of-sight greater beta male.

The BDF who thinks herself a CSB (Certified Sexy Babe) is bad news for the nation’s betas, who are forced by circumstance of bloated BDF entitlement to put more effort into wooing women lower on the sexual market totem pole. Luckily, this is a self-correcting market skew, as the egotistic BDF who has not made a realistic reappraisal of her romantic worth is left, at last, lonely and unloved under the rubble of the wall that smashed down on top of her.

This is why game is so important for reasons beyond simply the promotion of techniques for snagging verifiably cute chicks; game is an invaluable market-correcting mechanism that redounds to the benefit of beta males who only wish to date IN THEIR OWN LEAGUE. Game opens pathways to hard 10s, and closes off dead ends to flabby 2s.

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From Vikings To Vaginas

What happened to the Nordics? Once a virile, conquering race of people who struck fear in the hearts of enemies, they have been reduced to a feminist utopia of sniveling beta males who are encouraged to pee sitting down and aggro women who’d rather go clubbing with earthy foreign invaders.

How could a race of man fall so low, so fast?

In the quest for an answer to this great mystery of mass manboobization, a commenter over at Parapundit serves this up:

I suspect the Scandinavians with the strongest temperaments left long ago as Vikings, same as that the bravest Englishmen left for the colonies.

The only ones who are left are the descendants of the guys who stayed home to weave with the womenfolk.

Or pule about “white privilege”.

Yes, I think there is something to this hypothesis. The alpha males of North and West Europe either moved away or died off in endless wars and pillages, and now their homelands are repositories of soft-tittied beta males.

There’s no denying that beta male skewed societies are nice places to live. Scandinavia enjoys high standards of living, low crime (until recently), a plethora of comfort-maximizing gadgets, good-looking women, and generally non-dictatorial government (until recently). As poolside (or hot springs-side) countries go, the Norselands are right up there with the most pampering of them.

So, beta male countries > alpha male countries.

But here’s the catch. Too many betas and no alphas makes Jakob a plush target.

Pure speculation, but it has bite… a nation needs its alpha males to keep the manboobery impulses of its softer, kinder, gentler beta males in check. Otherwise, some other nation’s alpha males will fill the vacuum left by the real or cultural disappearance of the native alphas, waltzing in to do the job because the native betas decided open borders to a whole world of vengeful, antagonistic losers is smart policy.

Exhibit A: Multiculturalism. Who pushes this shit? The descendants of Viking berserkers? No. Just look at the advocates of masochistic, self-annihilating ideologies and you will see a blubberers’ row of pudgy, chipmunk-cheeked herblings, snarky hunchbacks, watery eyed dweebs, space cadet neohippies, formless male feminists and, on the other side of the gender bender ledger, manjawed clitdicks, bullheaded warboars, jet-fueled rationalization hamsters, mustachioed grievance whores and shameless status seekers.

The beta male’s greatest strengths — his cooperativeness, friendliness, credulity, magnanimity, trust and openness — are also his nation’s undoing when allowed to express unopposed. He needs the wariness, leadership, skepticism, protectiveness, fighting spirit and stone cold instinct for survival of his brother alphas to prevent him from imploding into a blob of depraved navel-gazing, hoisting his red rump for any and all who’d love nothing more than to sharpen their knives in his flesh and lube their cocks in his forgiving bottom. Exhibit B.

A nation of tops is Zimbabwe. A nation of bottoms is raped into the history books. The West would be wise to reverse course for the middle ground.

Finishing off on a positive note, the system may be self-correcting. Ironically, feminism is likely selecting for the sexual success of more aggressive, high testosterone alphas. The removal of societal constraints on female sexuality allows for the flourishing of women’s hypergamous impulses, and women, adorable hypocrites that they are, can’t help but defy their open claims to the contrary to prefer sensitive betas, and instead swoonly spread for the love of anti-feminist men strong in mind and body.

The self-correction is not guaranteed, and for this glaring reason: widely available, cheap contraceptives and abortifacients. A turn to alpha male sexual success does not necessarily mean a turn to alpha male procreative success, as it would have in the past. It could be that the West is currently experiencing the worst of all worlds: feminism-abetted unfettered female sexuality coupled with hamster tingling for irresponsible cads and migrant males.

Is this post speculative? Yes. Did you feel a shiver of omen in these words? I bet you did. Stay tuned.

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The Opposite Of Hoverhand: Hineyhand

Ah, hoverhand, that most identifiable of nervous, self-conscious beta male tells. Do you hover, body or hand? If you do, you must stop doing it so that women can begin to perceive you as a more attractive man, i.e. a man with a functional penis. Once you stop hovering, you may move on to step two: slyly placing your hand on or near a girl’s erogenous zones. What’s that? You’re afraid? Do not be afraid. Fear leads to beta. Beta leads to bitterness. Bitterness leads to involuntary celibacy.

Say again? Now you’re afraid a praying man-chin feminist will bite your head off if you put your hand on her in a less than obsequious manner? Silly fledgling. If you aren’t brusque about it, no woman will do that. Not even a feminist. Instead, the feminist will secretly enjoy your privileged sexual predations, and will only realize a day later after you have ignored her calls and text messages that she succumbed to an alpha male, whereupon her indignation will rise like froth in a stew of mashed ego gruel, and she will write a livid blog post about the asshole PUA she supposedly couldn’t care less for who can’t stop thinking about her.

Some of you burgeoning ladyslayers are wondering, “Where do I put my hand, then?”. Glad you asked! Here’s a graphic catered to the visual orientation preference of men.

The guy in the top left pic is headed toward LJBF land, if he isn’t there already. Beta. The guy in the bottom right is scared of his own shadow. Lesser beta with delusions of grandeur. The guy in the bottom left is doing it just right. Not too much grabass, like the boyfriend in the top right, but just enough to escalate her sexual response without triggering her egg protection protocol. As the night wears on and the seduction deepens, you should move your hand into previously inviolable regions. You’re on the right track if you can feel ass crack. As a reader says,

The guy at the waistline [bottom left] has to choose: up and out, or down and in.

Up and out, or down and in? Alpha male problems.

Where is the omega male’s hand? Why, feverishly pumping his pud ‘twixt forefinger and thumb!

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