Revisiting AMOG Tactics

Readers have lately been requesting information on how to handle AMOGs (“Alpha Male Other Guy”, or “Alpha Male of the Group”, as it is known in the acronymic community). They want to know how to effectively neutralize direct male competition. A worthy subject, because everywhere else in the animal kingdom, males square off to win the rights to glorious pussy access.

But humans are more sophisticated than animals. Human males rarely compete *directly* for women, although we certainly do compete indirectly, from the barroom to the boardroom. Game mostly focuses on indirect male competition — i.e., wooing women with your superior seduction skills and bypassing any direct mano-a-mano confrontation — but there will be those times when you’ll have a high noon showdown with a very aggressive, brazen male interloper itching to horn in on your action.

The reason I don’t write much about AMOGs is a simple one — the SWPL-fied regions of the country (and this includes almost all big blue cities outside of the ghettoes) are not breeding grounds for confrontational men, especially outside of the office. While there are plenty of alphas rolling up with their Silicon Valley posse and think tank crew, these aren’t the kinds of men who relish an opportunity to get in your face and show off in front of a girl. So unless your stomping grounds are roadhouses situated off muddy roads in the deep south, you can go months at a time hitting on girls without having to deal with an AMOG in the traditional sense of the word.

Nevertheless, a good Bush Scout is always prepared.

In that vein, here’s a comment from Yareally:

Bouncers have situational confidence/value. They’re low on society’s status pole but king of the hill in the club. Does a girl’s brain realize “I’m in a shit-hole bar?” No lol Her brain just sees “other men supplicate to him, other girls want to fuck him, and his frame dominates everyone else’s”, so she’s attracted. These are the same traits game teaches you to demonstrate.

If you think she has to talk to the bouncer to be attracted, or that she likes the quarterback because of his sports skill or muscles, or that when a celebrity walks into the club all the girls snub every other guy because the celebrity is rich or a good actor or handsome, you’re still looking at surface-level shit and you don’t understand how the bouncer, quarterback and celebrity are demonstrating attractive traits or how their jobs/fame influence their display of those traits.

PUAs have already broken down how to directly compete with, tool, and take girls from these guys. We call it AMOG tactics:

http://www.rsdnation.com/node/60063

And if they’re dating, there’s boyfriend destroyers for sabotaging their relationship:

http://www.rsdnation.com/node/61702

The Chateau’s version of game is very toned down and socially friendly, which is ultimately a healthier outlook than seeing other guys as competition, but understanding the above two oldschool PUA posts allows you to take girls from the metaphorical quarterback.

But most guys don’t have a strong enough frame or enough balls to successfully use this stuff, which is good because most of them would get their asses kicked trying it lol.

The posts Yareally linked to may be old school, but they’re still as relevant as ever. It’s my opinion that Tyler Durden (the guy behind RSD Nation) wrote the definitive guides to handling AMOGs and destroying boyfriends. There are a lot of gems in those posts, and I suggest you read them over. For example:

The easy way to handle any alpha is to be polite to him, but act disinterested by his rap/accomplishments using tonality/body language (without coming off as patronizing/sarcastic) while simultaneously being charming to others around you. This will drop his perceived value and cause him to qualify himself to try and raise it back up. He can’t fight you or do shit like that, and he can’t move to insults, because you’ve been polite and in doing so he would be making himself look VERY BAD. The only tactic vs this is to walk away. If you reward him just enough to encourage further qualifying but not enough to make him feel validated again he will fall into line as beta in relation to you. […]

AMOG: How do you guys know eachother?
PUA: Her? I fucked her.
(Girl will go “aaaaaaaaah… hahahahah, I did NOT!!! But she’ll hit you and be giggling and start crawling all over you…). […]

AMOG: (showing signs that he wants to fight)
PUA: hahah, dude, are you like trying to pick a fight with me? hahahha.. ok ok hold up hold up.. wait a sec, we’ll do even better.. first… we’ll have an armwrestling competition.. then second.. we’ll do one armed pushups.. and last….. POSE-DOWN!!

(then you start flexing and go “ladies?”, and they start saying how you’re so strong, and the AMOG looks like a tool.. you’re tooling him, by making him seem like he’s trying too hard to impress the girls by showing them superiority). […]

AMOG: blah blah..
PUA: Dude, are you pissed that you’re rolling with all guys? […]

Once you get the guy to qualify himself to you in any way (like he tries to make friends), rather than being nice, IMMEDIATELY cut him out of the circle. Just cut him out. You’ll notice trying to SHUT YOUR GAME DOWN by bombarding you with logical questions. They’ll start pummeling you with logical stuff, so that you have to answer him the girls fall out of state. For me I found the solution was just to say “hey man, don’t get all scientific on me.. we’re here to have fun..” and then immediately start gaming the girls again. btw, if I’m out with any of my GFs at a club, and another guy hits on them, I use the same tactics on AMOGS to stop them.

These are pretty hardcore tactics, and they WILL work very well on the average man; i.e. your typical urban hipster, frat boy or poseur. But you would be tempting a physical or psychological beatdown if you tried these anti-AMOG tactics on one of the three following archetypes of men:

• The big bruiser with the hair trigger impulse control. This guy will take anything you say as an insult, and he has the size and sloping forehead to put a serious hurt on.
• The drunk. Alcohol releases all inhibitions, including those locked up in the fists. At least with the drunk you can easily avoid his wild swings.
• The egotistic player-savant. The guy who is smart enough to know when he is being played, and smarter still to turn the tables on you. Beware this guy, for although he is a rare breed, he can tool you in front of a girl.

Those three exceptions aside, it behooves you to learn some common anti-AMOG tactics. If you chase skirt in any major city on a semi-regular basis, you will encounter an AMOG situation at least a few times per year.

I had a buddy who would dismiss AMOGs with this go-to line:

“Oh, I didn’t know she was your girlfriend. You two make a good match.”

It was particularly effective on guys who would enter his conversation uninvited and compliment the girl he was talking to. Never underestimate the sheer numbers of men who think that complimenting girls is a surefire way to get the girls interested. The beauty of my buddy’s line is that the girl would almost always disqualify herself to the interloper. “Oh, he’s not my boyfriend!” Then the AMOG would be left standing there having to come up with a witty, ego-salvaging rejoinder. Luckily, most men — most people — are mediocre intellects and don’t have the mental acuity to think fast on their feet.

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Spot The Alpha

It’s not often we get a photo with two super alphas — representing different male factions — squaring off in friendly admiration rather than combative distrust. But here we have it with Putin and the leader of a Russian motorcycle gang whose name is too long for me to bother spelling out, swapping war stories.

“Comrade leader, I incapacitated five Chechyans last week utilizing nothing but a half-full bottle of wuuudka and a babushka’s hairpin. You would have loved to been there.”

“Alexander, my old friend, we have shared many a ride across the Siberian tundra, have we not? Then you know there is no need for me to tell you that the great shame is the wuuudka you spilled on behalf of the Motherland. Could you not have done the same with some of that Polska shit?”

“Haha, da da, good point, my dear friend!”

“Maybe next time I show you what makes great bear of Russian brother — a polonium tipped umbrella and a 20 year old gymnast!”

Strictly speaking, and in broad terms, Putin is undoubtedly the bigger alpha here. Putin ostensibly runs a country; Alexander the Biker runs a bike gang.

But alpha is often context dependent. Should he so choose, Putin has the fame and power and mystique to clean up with the ladies pretty much wherever he goes, but there are probably some biker bars where Alex is king of the hill and the girls will encircle him as aggressively or moreso than they will Putin. In the cramped quarters of a bar or street gathering, away from the media and cameras, these two men will be judged on more immediate male attractiveness criteria than their ability to pull off power moves in the Politburo.

With that in mind, this moment in time caught in a photo offers a rare glimpse of two fairly equal alphas in a pose-off. Putin, the shorter one, has a clear physical disadvantage in size that deflates some of his alpha allure. But Putin’s solid alpha body language — his ramrod posture, devious grin and straightforward gaze that avoids a betafying crane of the neck upward at the taller Alex — neutralizes his lesser stature.

Meanwhile, Alex’s posture and BL are just as alpha, and his face, too, is etched with a self-satisfied smirk. Interestingly, if you look closely at his eyes, it seems as if Alex is attempting a higher status coup over Putin — or is he offering a small gesture of respect to him? — by refraining from bending his head downward to look at Putin. Only his eyes travel downward to the direction of Putin’s eyes. The impression Alex gives is one of haughtiness.

The other bikers are focused on their leader, although that could just be because he is the one talking at the moment the picture was snapped. It could also be that these men, having been through more crazy shit with Alex, know the depth of his alphaness. Putin’s alphaness they know only from digesting media reports, and from his automatic status as a world leader.

It is that intimacy with Alex’s character that earns their deeper loyalty and admiration. There’s a lesson there.

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Wrapped Around His Finger

We talk a lot about alpha males here, and their mysterious pull on women. We discuss their attributes, their attitude and their game, and how and why it works to vibrate vaginas all across the land. But sometimes the weight of theory can deaden the senses, and it helps to have a real-life, flesh and blood exemplar of alphaness staring you in the face to bring that theory down to solid earth, where you can see and hear it all from your personal first-person view. In that spirit, I will relay a moment in time from my life so that you can feel like you’re stepping in my shoes and witnessing it yourself.

I was at a large social event (the more astute readers will be able to figure out the type of event from details in this post) and was seated at a table with mostly women — all in their mid to late 20s — and a couple of men. As a keen observer of sexual dynamics, the rapport between one of the men and his girlfriend was especially entertaining to me.

She was completely enamored of him, leaning against him, smiling at him (and when she wasn’t smiling she was “smizing” at him  — smiling with her eyes), touching him on his hands and arms and shoulders and thighs, blushing periodically when he deigned to smirk at her (which wasn’t often), flattering him, imperceptibly nudging her chair closer to his, nuzzling into his man-nook where pec meets armpit, gazing up at his face (and I do mean UP, as she would deliberately arch her back and neck so that her body was compressed in the vertical and he was looming over the top of her head), defending him when her girl friends were challenging him on something he said, and, best of all, apologizing profusely for imagined slights that she believed she had accidentally committed against him. When she spoke, either to him or to others in his company, she sounded, not to put too fine a point on it, like a ditz. Yes, she was doing all this in front of about ten people, some total strangers to her.

For his part, he was behaving and speaking in almost the exact opposite manner as his girlfriend. He would sit straight, neither leaning away nor into her, would speak in a heavy and deep monotone, would rarely smile (and when he did it was always a half-assed “yeah i’m the douchebag you wish you were” effort), would only touch her when he was reaching around to grab her ass for a makeout, seemed oblivious to her cloying flattery, effected an air of imperturbable indifference, showed little outward signs of affection for her except for the one time I caught sight of them absconding to what they thought was a private location, occasionally spoke ill of her even to the point of insulting her, never complimented her, looked straight ahead in the middle distance when she complimented him, never said “thank you” or “excuse me”, never excused or “forgave” her when she was excessively apologizing to him (in fact, he seemed to relish her clumsy supplication), would sometimes insult her friends right in front of her, would often command (not ask) her to get him a drink, and, best of all, flirted with other hot girls at the table.

There was a telling moment of the nature of their relationship early in the night. She was giddy and excitable as she laughed with her girlfriends and some new arrivals, when it suddenly dawned on her that she had neglected to promptly introduce her boyfriend to everyone. (And by promptly, I mean not more than three seconds had passed before she caught herself in this supposed irredeemable faux pas.) Red-faced, she humbly corrected herself.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” she pleaded as she looked at him. “I’m so sorry! So sorry! I forgot to introduce you to everyone! Everyone, this is [name], my boyfriend.” Now semi-whispering to him, “Sorry, baby! Sorry.”

His facial expression remained unmoved. A powerful pause heightened the awkwardness before he answered. “Don’t worry about it. I got it.” He then nods in the direction of the others.

His vocal tone and expression are important here. It was not consolingly beta, where the pitch rises on “worry” and descends to a loving shoulder rub on an elongated “I got it”, as his eyes crinkle at the corners in reassurance. Nope, it was more like a staccato, Draper-esque, punch to the face, flatly delivered, emotionless except for a hint of contempt, which was noticeable in the way he commandeered the drama by addressing the table himself and refusing to glance at her as she effused with apologia.

I watched admiringly. The other man at the table glanced at his feet nervously. The girls were a mix of hatred and arousal.

This guy was the flawless encapsulation of the jerk. The dick. The narcissistic prick. All together now…

The Asshole Hot Chicks Love.

And she? She was the hot chick who loves an asshole. Every mannerism, word and body shift — right down to the tiniest facial tic — telegraphed her absolute devotion — her ADDICTION — to her jerk boyfriend.

Now some of you will parry with the usual gripes. But before you do, know the following:

She graduated from a top-tier Ivy. Her degree is in a numbers-related field. She is hot, a hard 8.5. Her body is worthy of a sacrificial fuckening. According to my sources, when she isn’t with her alpha-squared asshole boyfriend, she is one of the smartest, most put-together and confident girls in a room. The ditz act, apparently, only blossoms in his presence. Her girl friends are jealous of her even though they hate what she becomes when she’s with him. And the blow that I know will sting beta males the worst? She COULD have almost any man she wanted — good men, solid company men, respectable men of their communities — but she chooses to be with an arrogant renegade.

And him? Decent looking. Easy on the eyes, I suppose most women would say. Certainly not Hollywood looks. Not a big or muscular guy. Lean to the point of skinny. Edgy, downscale style. (She showed up at this event poured into an exquisite cocktail dress. He arrived late with her, wearing frayed designer jeans and an untucked tight flannel shirt over a white Hanes wifebeater that was showing through the top. Most of the other men were wearing suits.) He was short. Yes, he might have been a half inch shorter than his gf. Unemployed.

You read that right. He lost his [redacted] industry job six months ago and was living off her earnings. He has money, but he doesn’t spend it because, as he explained to me, he’s saving it for a few years of fun-time travel. Whether he intends her to go with him or not is left to interpretation.

None of this is new to me. I’ve met guys like him before. I’ve *been* that guy plenty of times, when the mood strikes. I’m intimately familiar with the adoring love copping such a grotesque asshole alpha attitude inspires in women. There is no escaping that this is a reality of female sexual nature, a powerfully harsh reality that sends shockwaves of disbelief and disillusion through the more tenderhearted of the inexperienced idealists. Some learn from what they see behind the curtain; others cocoon further into self-medicating platitudes.

And what about the spectators? What did the men and women in attendance think of him, both those who knew and knew of him? From what I could glean, the men were largely neutral. Some hated him (usually the biggest betas with overbearing girlfriends), some liked him (maybe not surprising, the alphas and the omegas were affable toward him), and most were willing to throw him under the bus in furtive conversation at the behest of their gossipy girlfriends.

More pertinently, how did the women — all of them well-educated urbanite professionals — feel about him? In his company, they were girlish and borderline shy, or self-conscious. Behind his back, they were disparaging, complaining bitterly of the way he treats his girlfriend (bitterness was correlated with their closeness to her), and constantly — I mean CONSTANTLY — working to install his ouster. I saw one girl drag her away so that she could introduce her to a man who, unknown to her at the time, was a handsome gay man.

If you held any doubts that girl friends will not conspire against you should they find you unacceptable boyfriend material for their friend, well… you can put those doubts to rest now.

Of course, none of their efforts worked in the least. He had been dating his girlfriend for many years, during which time he has cheated on her for months at a stretch with more than one woman. His cheating, his aloof treatment of her, her friends’ dispproval… none of it seemed to have dampened her love for him. Or her loyalty to him, for as I learned from a trusted source, she never, not once in the sumptuous prime of her life when she had every excuse and rationale to do so, cheated on him.

Remember that the next time you hear of some whiny ho cheating on her beta boyfriend, and rationalizing it by blaming it all on him.

The professed hate the girls had for this asshole boyfriend of one of their friends, and the wet glower in their eyes when they spoke of him, belied a primitive attraction. It was not the impassioned hate a man has for another man who has humiliated him, or the withering hate a woman has for a weak ex-lover who now repulses her. When I heard them talk about him, their words ostensibly carried a payload of anger and disgust, but it was a gossamer veneer; to a hardened pro of female codespeak like myself, the dulcet harmonies of untamed curiosity sent their words aloft on a stanza of gina tingles. Listen closely, and you can hear the subliminal poetry asserting itself — “ode to why oh why do i hate this guy but feel like i do?”

Interestingly, there was one girl, a looker in every way and smart as tacks to boot, whose loathing for the asshole boyfriend of her best friend seemed the most genuine. I say “seemed”, because it may merely be the case that she was best at concealing her shameful intrigue. Whatever the true motivation, I found her responses to him the most cutting. She was clearly aiming for the throat, and her eyes pierced like laser beams, her voice cold and still as sheet ice. Lesser men would have suffered a grievous wound from her attacks, for her barbs were sharp and subtle enough to avoid triggering a hen phalanx of social diplomacy. But the asshole deflected her thrusts without breaking a sweat. In the smarts department, he was outclassed, but in the attitude department he had her number.

Why did I find this dynamic the most interesting? Background helps. She was dating a considerably older man who was not present at this event, an alpha male in his own right, for many years. Perhaps, intimate familiarity with her own alpha braces her for the abyss that always looms ominously to eternally capture a woman’s heart should she become completely unguarded. She sees in the asshole boyfriend of her friend the power the alpha male has over all female sense and reason, and she wants to put him on notice. It is her redemption.

More interesting, she alone among all the girl friends never consoled her smitten friend, never attempted to introduce her to new men, and never assuaged her ego by telling her she could do better. She was smart enough to know those kinds of interventions have no effect and, worse, usually result in the opposite of what was intended. There’s an unwritten rule among very high-value women who date alpha males — the hate is for show. No woman would seriously give up the pleasure she gets from dating the alpha jerks she loves. They’d all poach each other’s boyfriends given half the chance, and they know it.

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Chicks Dig Jerks: Norwegian Terrorist Gets Love Letters In Jail

Emma the Emo writes:

That Norwegian terrorist Anders Behring Breivik is getting love letters in jail now, after killing over 70 people, most of which are teens. Psychologists theorize that women want to save/heal him somehow. If they wanted to save and provide emotional help, they could instead write letters to the victims who survived. There is no point in saving a murderer like that, it’s too late, and just gives men more reason to become murderers.

Emma is right. If “saving” or “healing” broken men was the prime motivation explaining women’s lust for assholes, then we would see women saving and healing all those unfortunate victims of a psychopath’s rampage. Not to mention, there are a lot more beatdown betas who are in need of saving via pussy therapy than there are happy-go-lucky alphas.

Which of course puts the lie to the feminist and mangina explanation for women’s attraction to jerks and thugs. While the savior complex may explain, in part, women’s craven desire, it is not the primary or sole explanation, or even a very important one. As everyday observation to those with the eyes to see demonstrates, the primary motivation is women’s love for unrepentant, rule-breaking assholes. That is the elemental, core female hindbrain algorithm that governs all other lustful dispositions and is the catalyst for her mate choice decisions.

Women love assholes because they are assholes. Because it inspires in women those emotions that most delight their pleasure centers. And that, based on the reaction it engenders from civilized men and women alike, is the truth too scary to contemplate.

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Chicks Dig Jerks: Prison Tryst Edition

If you’ve been in a comfortable relationship for a while, or your game is so tight that you can steal girls from jerks, or you and your wife share Hallmarkian duties raising your children, you might forget the true nature of women and the crass biomechanical processes that motivate their loinlust. Which is why a helpful reminder every so often is just what you need to keep your mind focused.

Okla. warden’s wife convicted of aiding escapee

The wife of a former Oklahoma prison warden who disappeared with a convicted murderer only to be found living with him in Texas nearly 11 years later was found guilty Wednesday of helping him escape.

Jurors visited the prison grounds where Bobbi Parker, 49, had lived with her husband, then returned to the Greer County Courthouse and determined she left willingly with Randolph Franklin Dial in 1994. Parker did not testify but after being found living with Dial in 2005 insisted he had kidnapped her and threatened to harm her two daughters if she tried to escape.

Yep, women can’t get enough of that asshole vibe. So much so, that they’ll even leave a man whose occupation — prison warden — suggests authentic asshole, to be with an even bigger asshole — a convicted murderer. Talk about hypergamy. Maybe a new term should be coined for women whose hypergamous instinct for assholes causes them to go downmarket for the thuggish dregs of manhood: Masochamy.

Of course, in the evolved, frontal lobes of their brains, women know that society frowns upon their unquenchable attraction for assholes and douchebags, so when they are caught out in the act of fulfilling their fantasies they revert to stand-by female moral expedience by doing what they do best — laying the blame with the man. In this case, Bobbi Parker claimed her killboy lover had kidnapped her and threatened her two kids if she left his erotic embrace. Naturally, it’s a lie, which is exposed rather humorously in the article.

Dial died in 2007 at age 62, but until his death he backed Bobbi Parker’s version of events: that he drugged and kidnapped her, then kept her from calling police or her family by threatening to harm her family — even after he suffered a heart attack and was hospitalized.

Yeah, real hard to get away from a man laid up in a hospital bed with an ailing ticker. Funny how women have none of these troubles leaving betas who cease turning them on.

The real victim in all this is the jilted prison warden hubby who, through no fault of his own, found himself on the receiving end of a woman’s runaway lust for badboys. I guess managing a prison filled with some of the world’s worst alpha scumbags wasn’t enough to sate her vagina’s yearning. A woman’s cross to bear, ya know?

Unlike the specious claims made by feminists and their beta suck-ups, you will very rarely see the gender opposite happen in real life — it’s a black swan event indeed when a man leaves his hot wife for a female convicted murderer to help her escape prison and live with her for ten years. Men simply aren’t wired like women; for men, it’s looks over everything. For women, it’s attitude over everything.

Nor are feminists correct when they say that women are really attracted to the fame of high profile murderers, and not the embodied asshole attitude. Sure, that contention may be true for a select few cases like Ted Bundy and Richard Ramirez, but most cases of women seeking the meaty intrusion of jailbirds are like this one where the convict is not famous, but just another filthy turd trapped in the bowels of the prison system.

As any person involved in the legal system will tell you, the stereotype of women loving inmates is so common that hardly anyone notices anymore. Well, this blog will make sure the noticing never stops.

Now, not every women will swoon for a swindler or murderer, but all women possess an irredeemable attraction for men who are at least a little more asshole than the men within their social milieu. Bobbie Parkers spread for inmates, while Hillary Clintons spread for narcissistic manipulators. It’s a difference of degree, not kind.

Just a little helpful reminder should the swoon of romance ever take your eye off the ball.

UPDATE:

Here is a photo of the two lovebirds. Sez it all.

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Alpha Delivery

In this post, I chided (chid?) a PUA newbie for unsuccessfully using a difficult and ponderous Brad P opener on a girl buddy I know, and by association criticized the opener as well. Thinking on it, I may have been a little unfair to Brad P and his game techniques. There is more — much more — to a good opener than the words that come out of your mouth.

YaReally offers up some detail:

[The Horse Opener] works for BradP because he delivers it well. He talks slow and deep and captures the chick’s attention, uses massive pauses in his delivery to build suspense, etc. But most guys who read it online just spit it out as fast as they can because they’re worried the girl will leave if they don’t get to the punchline as fast as possible, which sounds to the girl like he’s “all over the place”.

BradP does it in a challenging, accusing (breaking rapport) way. Guys trying to copy just based off his text do it in an approval seeking, needy way.

You can hear his delivery in his “The Underground Dating Seminar” which is one of the better “no fuzzy hats and black nailpolish” PUA products out there in my opinion. He actually sounds like a cool chill guy when he talks and you can see why the things he says work for him. One of his students asks “What if she calls you out on it?” “Doesn’t matter. If you’re like “Hey do you like horses?” and she goes “Isn’t that that BradP line–” “No shut up. DO you like horses?”” He expects them to fall in line, and that’s why it works for him.

Women don’t walk away when you have your subcommunications down and exude alpha behavior (like the vibe that you EXPECT them to listen to you and answer you). You can command “HEY! Come here.” from across a room and just stare the girl down like you expect her to come over, and she will. Same time you can run a 5 minute opener and blab away like Russell Brand. When your subcommunications are down you can do pretty much anything you want.

Don’t get caught up in “canned” VS “improvised” Hang around for long periods of time with any of the naturally social people you know and you’ll find they all repeat their same stories to people (sometimes even to you, forgetting that they’ve told you before) with the same wording, emphasis, etc. ie – canned routines. It’s not a bad thing. The trick is understanding that the routine isn’t magical, it’s what you’re displaying during the routine that affects things.

All good points. I haven’t seen video of BradP in action, but from what YaReally writes, I can easily picture the horse opener working very well for him. His delivery sounds alpha: slow, steady and deep with requisite pauses to build suspense and eradicate the girl’s initial impulse to pigeonhole him as just another low value beta. Newbies take note: merely mouthing the words isn’t nearly enough. Parroting an opener won’t even get you 10% of the way to successfully sparking attraction. You’ve got to work on the whole presentation, from style to posture to voice tone to alpha body language mimicry to the all-important take-it-or-leave-it attitude. Only when you’ve nailed the entire delivery can you truthfully judge which openers suck and which don’t.

The Chateau spends a lot of time discussing body language and voice tonality because the fact of the matter is that the nonverbal improvements in your game will redound to your pickup success a lot more than improvements to the actual words you spit. Like YaReally says, if your total game is tight, you can accost a girl with just about any silly line and she’ll come alive with interest.

But my issue with the Horse Opener had more to do with the idea of foisting it on unready newbs in unwelcoming circumstances. A (relatively) complex opener that requires rock-solid frame and nonverbal cues should not be the first thing with which neophytes engage the field, particularly the day game field where women are on the move. It’s setting them up for failure. What BradP can do with horses and negs, the majority of newbs cannot. It’d be best to teach these guys the right nonverbal cues with a much simpler opener that won’t have them straining to recall all the details or rushing to get the words out and then crashing and burning in DLV dorkhell.

A guy with little pickup (or female) experience will feel weird talking about horses with a random girl on the street. This is not the case for experienced womanizers, who have the self-confidence and comfortable familiarity with their skills that they don’t feel strange talking about things that would rattle mere mortals just trying hard not to sound like a social pariah.

YaReally continues:

You’re missing everything that’s going on in those “Simple Pickup” videos. (http://www.youtube.com/user/SimplePickup ) Those guys have studied pickup and use a ton of PUA concepts and routines.

What they have isn’t “pure bluster and confidence” and above average looks. There are a dozen subtle subcommunications going on in how they approach women that allow the random/offensive stuff they say to not just work but build attraction.

I won’t get into it all, study pickup literature, go out and approach girls, observe naturals, etc. like the rest of us had to but here are a few things to watch for in their vids:

– congruency. If a girl tests them, they stick to their story and turn things around on the girl like SHE’S the one being weird.

– misinterpretation. They misinterpret everything sexually, that’s why they can be talking about masturbation and 3-ways with girls they’ve only just met, they direct the conversation to a sexual topic in a smooth/funny way.

– frame control. After they say something super offensive, they’ll just stand there and stare the girl down like “ya, I said that.” totally unapologetic and unashamed. A PUA concept is “what you feel, she feels”, so she pings off him to see if he’s embarrassed or apologetic about what he said and when he’s not, she feels like it must be okay. This is why when you go up with an opener you don’t think will work, it won’t work, and when you think it will work, it works.

– breaking rapport. Their voice tonality is loud, clear, and authoritative. They make statements and accusations and don’t sound like they’re seeking the girl’s approval.

– body language. They stand up straight and don’t fidget around nervously and hold eye-contact etc.

There’s a ton of other stuff going on that you’ll see if you study pickup in-depth.

It has nothing to do with their looks, as long as you think that way you’re in the wrong headspace.

Based on YaReally’s checklist, I can easily imagine how the aspiring PUA in the failed Horse Opener attempt blew his shot.

Congruency —  Once she asked him a question about what he was getting at, he backed away from his initial boldness, and tried to explain himself. I bet he even sounded apologetic.

Misinterpretation — If anything, she was misinterpreting him.

Frame Control — As soon as she tossed that first “are you a weirdo?” look his way, I bet he got nervous and thought about bailing, thus ensuring that the remainder of his opener would come off even worse. (Once you’re committed to an opener, it’s surprisingly hard to break cadence for more fruitful pursuits. Call it the curse of the male mind.)

Breaking Rapport — She broke his rapport because his voice tonality was meek and trepidatious. If a girl is making statements and accusations, you know your game is failing. You want her to bounce off your statements and answer your accusations. From whence is love born!

Body Language — I bet he had his hands stuffed in his pockets, driving them deeper in his jeans when the opener began stinking.

I won’t bother putting looks in this list. Unless the guy was repulsively ugly, his looks or lack thereof had little to do with his failure. (The girl who relayed the story to me said nothing negative about his looks when I asked, which made me doubt it was anything more than his delivery which cost him a number close.) Men need to get it through their heads that women simply don’t react to a man’s physical attractiveness with the same urgency or lustfulness that men react to female beauty. A man with the right attitude and pickup technique will run rings around a socially clumsy or approval-seeking good-looking guy.

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Chicks Dig Jerks: The Veil Of Self-Deception

Swatting her cat off her couch before sitting down on it, I rested my eyes on her thighs and then up at her face. Cradling a tumbler of scotch, I asked, “How was ladies’ night with the girls? Any juicy gossip?”

She beamed with eagerness and inhaled loudly. “It was great! Let’s see, what have I heard… Oh, there was this girl Gillian, you haven’t met her, an old high school friend of Kelly’s, who’s been seeing this guy for eight years. Everyone hates Gillian’s boyfriend because he’s cheated on her, more than once.”

“Worse than a one night stand?”

“Much worse, but that’s bad too, so don’t get any ideas. He was cheating on her for a whole year with another girl. He had a relationship with this girl while he was seeing Gillian.”

“Wow, that is…”, I searched for a suitably ambiguous word that would simultaneously express disapproval and admiration, “…brazen.”

“It’s dickish is what it is! And then after Gillian found out, he cheated on her again with someone else. But Gillian never left the guy. Eight years together, and she’s still seeing him.”

Doing my best to affect surprise and consternation, I stentoriously proclaimed, “I would think that a hidden relationship with another woman is pretty solid grounds for breaking up, but I guess Gillian didn’t see it that way.”

“I know, it’s crazy. And Gillian is really attractive, too. She could have any guy she wanted. There were tons of guys at the club going up to her, but she couldn’t be bothered. Why she stays with him is a mystery.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “Do you have a picture of her from the night?”

She held the camera in front of me. “It’s her.” I solemnly judged. A hard 9.

She exasperated, “We’ve tried telling Gillian to dump him, but she won’t listen. All she does is complain about him, but she never leaves him. So we gave up trying to help her. If that’s what she wants. It just doesn’t make any sense why a girl with her looks would put up with that from a…”

“Douchebag.”

“Yeah, a douchebag.”

Mischievous tendrils curled around my thoughts. “I’ve noticed it’s the prettiest girls that go for the biggest assholes. Why do you think that is?”

“Well…” she stutters. “I don’t know. *I* don’t go for assholes.” She smiles and pushes me into the couch cushion.

“I think hot girls love a challenge, and assholes give that to them.”

My sexy interrogation subject looked around the room distractedly, as if the conversation had suddenly ceased to enthrall her.

I pressed. “I bet there are lots of great guys who would treat Gillian well, who she doesn’t give the time of day to.”

“I guess so. What can I say? Who knows why some girls go for these guys. I can’t figure it out. It’s not something I would do.”

“I know you wouldn’t.” I poked her cat in the anus with a pen I was holding. It meowed and leapt to the floor.

******

If you ask the typical woman why girls, particularly good-looking girls, dig jerks, you’ll usually get a flurry of denials or a shoulder shrug of bewilderment. What you will never get is an accurate appraisal of the phenomenon. There is such a glaring disconnect between the reality of girls chasing after assholes, (something which every man who has lived a day in his life has seen often enough that it has become a well-worn cliche), and the inability of girls to recognize the readily observable facts of their own behavior, that it leads one to believe women were born with a self-deception mental module that prevents them from having sufficient awareness of their sexual desires.

If this is so, then it at once must engender a sort of charmed understanding, even cooing pity, for women when they attempt to grapple with the issue of their sexuality, like children fumbling with letter blocks to form that first monosyllabic word. We want to reach out and hug them for the accomplishment of achieving cognizance of 1% of what motivates their lust. It is simply the case, therefore, that a full theory of female sexual behavior must include the working assumption that women are barred by some shadowy biological force emanating either from the brain case or the loins from, one, recognizing their actions in the sexual marketplace for what they are and, two, from properly explaining them when they do accept the facts laid before them.

Women truly DO NOT UNDERSTAND why it is they love the types of men they do. Evolution, in its infinite wisdom, has decided that it is in the best interests of genetic propagation for women to be fairly well shielded from the crass machinations of their own lust drives, in a way that men are not. So the next time a girl who is very important to you, and whose opinion you respect, bafflingly throws up her hands in complete ignorance of the ancient urges that guide her attractions, do the wise thing and cut her some slack. She really has no idea.

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