Telling Girls You Were Once Engaged

If you are a man such as myself with a long and storied relationship history, it will start to worry new girls that you meet why you have decided to remain “single”, i.e. unmarried. You see, a former marriage, no matter how spectacular its failing, is a mark of success on a man; it says to a prospective mate he was able at one time to attract a woman the traditional way and bind her in the facsimile of a long term commitment. This is another one of those intractable and intrinsic gender double standards that whiners will just have to learn to accept with dignity — divorced men suffer less of a blow to their dating market value than do divorced women. The same is true of divorced men with kids, or single dads; they do not suffer nearly the same market value penalty that single moms do.

It all comes down to the biologically induced disparity in how men and women respond to the phenomenon of preselection. Men, being nearly 100% visually oriented in their attractions to women, couldn’t care less what kind of man is on her arm, or what kind of men used to be on her arm. They see, they like. Simple equation. All they care about is that she is unencumbered (or unskewered) by dicks present, and to a lesser extent, by dicks past. Women, on the other hand, rely heavily on preselection (when it is available as a tool to judge mate quality) in their attractions to men. They see he is liked, they like.

And so it goes with divorcées. Divorced men can see a boost in their attractiveness to women (as long as they avoid bringing up the ex-wife in reverent tones during pickups), while divorced women see no boost, or even a negative hit, in their attractiveness to men. Consequently, my advice to divorced men is to mention your divorcée status early in a conversation. My advice for divorced women would be just the opposite — refrain from bringing it up, and if he asks, lie. This double standard is so entrenched that even *married* men will see an increase in their pickup success.

This is why I have discovered that a man telling girls he was once engaged works to stimulate their curiosity. And female curiosity is the catalyst that speeds the chemical reaction leading to tingles. Why engaged? Because former finacée sounds sexier than ex-wife. It is pregnant with romantic and tragic possibility. She sees this man, once engaged but no longer, and her mind reels with fantasy of what went wrong. Was it irreconcilable differences? Did he cheat on her? Did she move away? Did he make demands she couldn’t meet? Did she die in a horrible car accident? Was there a vast cultural gulf? Did her family sabotage their love? What did she look like?

Don’t worry if you were never engaged. Lie. It is the sort of lie that is nearly impossible to detect, or accidentally expose. And it is the sort of lie women crave from men, and would not disrupt with arid investigative pursuit. Your job, as a man with a keen grasp of female psychology, is to lie and let her overworked hamster fill in the missing narrative. The best way to do this is to say you were once engaged to a French girl, for American women bristle from the imagined competitive threat of French girls. (When American women ask me who my favorite actresses are, I always mention Marion Cotillard and Audrey Tautou. Then I watch with satisfaction their faces flash a hint of sexually lubricative insecurity.)

HER: Were you always single?

THE DEVIL WHO REMAKES U IN HIS IMAGE: No, I was once engaged.

HER: Really!

THE DEVIL WHO REMAKES U IN HIS IMAGE: Yes. [Turn away, look pensively at the horizon] She was a French girl. We were in love.

HER: What happened?

THE DEVIL WHO REMAKES U IN HIS IMAGE: It’s complicated.

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The Best (Only) Reason To Watch The Winter Olympics

Exquisite. Let’s get a full body shot.

And here’s the lovely Kiira impersonating a DC lawyer chick:

It doesn’t suit you, babe.

I have fond memories of my time with a Finnish girl, who looked eerily similar to Kiira. I’m not anti-American woman, but I know a superior product when I’ve lain with one.

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Random Blasts Of Thoughts And Reader Emails

Mr. Rudy writes:

REALLY IMPORTANT QUESTION

OK, maybe it’s not that important, but seriously:  do you ever feel slightly bad for Alpha-ing a chick to the point when she’s in a puddle of her own tears and you’ve moved on weeks or months ago??  I know what you’re going to say, but really, aren’t some chicks going to have a happier life never having known an Alpha and content in their Oprah-watching life, not asking many questions while they pass their days with some clueless Beta??  I say this as a full Alpha with maybe some Beta guilt.  Because I can’t count how many chicks I’ve done this to, where they are left to pick up the pieces and wonder what happened…

-Guilty (kinda) in San Diego

p.s. Think about it a while before you respond, it’s not as cut and dry as you think…

There are a few women in my life I feel bad about having hurt. A man who never feels bad for any women he has hurt is either a spergy monster machine or he has never loved a woman enough to feel guilt for causing her pain. I emphasize “few”. Only the vulnerable women who gave me every last ounce of their hearts received the blessing of my guilt when I hurt them. If I wasn’t selective with my emotions I’d be a diagnosed depressive spending my waking hours flagellating myself for the tortures I’ve inflicted on all those innocent babes.

Then of course there are those women who deserve the opposite treatment. Rest assured my karmic scales are balanced.

***

Anonymous wrote:

CH, much of what you say is hilarious, but filled with wisdom. I am dealing with something that needs your insight.

I have been dating a specific woman for two months, along with taking other women out.

On our first date, after a few beers, I told her, “If we have sex, you need to know that I will lick your pussy, you can blow me, and i will fuck you in the ass, but I won’t fuck your vagina.”

For two weeks, I got to do all three on an almost nightly basis….usually in my car.

Then, one night, having a sore back from the incorrect posture of sitting in the backseat foot well while enjoying lunch one too many times, I decided to get a hotel room.

She put the condom on me, then acted like she was backing her ass to my cock then quickly slipped it in her pussy instead. So, for the next hour, I let her rock out, then climbed on top to finish the job.

That was the last time we had sex.

I need to understand what happened.

For the next month, she seemed to flip out at the least misstep. Thinking I worked everything out, still no sex after the hotel.

Then, this week, I sent her a text, having not seen her for a week, “Hey Baby, I miss you.”

She sends back, “I know.”

Screwed in the head by this response (I wanted a, “I miss you, too,” response) I sent her another , “You know I miss you?”

“Yes, I do.”

So I text her back, “Then, good. I don’t need to tell you any more.”

Silence for an hour.

I text her again, “It really hurts that the more I tell you I desire you, the less you tell me you desire me.”

She texts back, “I have had it with your shit. Don’t ever call or text me again.”

“No worries. I won’t.” I send.

“Good, I won’t miss you.”

I text back, “I know.”

That’s the end of it. How could I have handled it better and not beta?

(Reason for no vag sex is because of some state laws.)

First, your texting was atrocious. Major Jumbotron fail. As for why she freaked out after vaj sex? A few thoughts spring to mind. She’s hyper-religious. She’s had an abortion in the past. She has AIDs. She was cheating on someone with you. She got indoctrinated in the interim by a Take Back The Night anti-date rape crusade of butch lesbians. I was thinking maybe you were bad in bed, but you wrote that you two did it for over an hour, usually the sign of a woman who is enjoying herself.

A bigger question is why you would tell her you won’t bang her in the vaj but you’ll do her in the ass? Is this supposed to be the 21st century version of chivalry? If there’s a state law against vaj sex (? is she underage?), then I’m sure it applies to ass sex as well. Otherwise, don’t assume a woman’s feelings about vaj sex are your moral crisis. Your job as a man, should you take it, is to seduce the woman and bang her every which way you can get away with. If she doesn’t want it in the vaj, let her decide that for herself.

***

Ariel wrote:

I just had a really good idea for passing these shit tests where the woman is seeking validation or compliments.

When you identify a shit test, for example a woman says “I hate this dress, it makes me look fat…” or something stupid like that, find the nearest guy, or even girl, and ask them if they like her dress or if it makes her look fat or whatever relates best to her shit test.

Being that generally people are polite, they’ll compliment or validate her INSTEAD OF YOU!

Instead of GIVING AWAY your power, you’re actually DEMONSTRATING POWER over somebody else, and making her FEEL BETTER about whatever she was concerned about at the same time. Everybody’s satisfied!

I just had to get that out there. It struck me as brilliant.

I like it. Very shrewd. Just be careful not to ask a guy like me if your girlfriend looks fat in that dress if she really is fat. I might stick the shiv in real deep and tell her that style is too revealing for a woman of her… class.

***

We’re getting closer to defeating humanity’s cruelest disease:

Researchers develop dietary formula that maintains youthful function into old age

HAMILTON, ON. February 11, 2010 – Researchers at McMaster University have developed a cocktail of ingredients that forestalls major aspects of the aging process. […]

The study found that a complex dietary supplement powerfully offsets this key symptom of ageing in old mice by increasing the activity of the cellular furnaces that supply energy—or mitochondria— and by reducing emissions from these furnaces—or free radicals—that are thought to be the basic cause of ageing itself.

Using bagel bits soaked in the supplement to ensure consistent and accurate dosing, the formula maintained youthful levels of locomotor activity into old age whereas old mice that were not given the supplement showed a 50 per cent loss in daily movement, a similar dramatic loss in the activity of the cellular furnaces that make our energy, and declines in brain signaling chemicals relevant to locomotion. This builds on the team’s findings that the supplement extends longevity, prevents cognitive declines, and protects mice from radiation.

Ingredients consists of items that were purchased in local stores selling vitamin and health supplements for people, including vitamins B1, C, D, E, acetylsalicylic acid, beta carotene, folic acid, garlic, ginger root, ginkgo biloba, ginseng, green tea extract, magnesium, melatonin, potassium, cod liver oil, and flax seed oil. Multiple ingredients were combined based on their ability to offset five mechanisms involved in ageing.

I’ll be a happier man than I already am if we can put a stop to the scourge of declining female beauty.

***

Because sometimes a reminder is needed:

Optimal Waist-to-Hip Ratios in Women Activate Neural Reward Centers in Men

Secondary sexual characteristics convey information about reproductive potential. In the same way that facial symmetry and masculinity, and shoulder-to-hip ratio convey information about reproductive/genetic quality in males, waist-to-hip-ratio (WHR) is a phenotypic cue to fertility, fecundity, neurodevelopmental resources in offspring, and overall health, and is indicative of “good genes” in women. Here, using fMRI, we found that males show activation in brain reward centers in response to naked female bodies when surgically altered to express an optimal (~0.7) WHR with redistributed body fat, but relatively unaffected body mass index (BMI). Relative to presurgical bodies, brain activation to postsurgical bodies was observed in bilateral orbital frontal cortex. While changes in BMI only revealed activation in visual brain substrates, changes in WHR revealed activation in the anterior cingulate cortex, an area associated with reward processing and decision-making. When regressing ratings of attractiveness on brain activation, we observed activation in forebrain substrates, notably the nucleus accumbens, a forebrain nucleus highly involved in reward processes. These findings suggest that an hourglass figure (i.e., an optimal WHR) activates brain centers that drive appetitive sociality/attention toward females that represent the highest-quality reproductive partners. This is the first description of a neural correlate implicating WHR as a putative honest biological signal of female reproductive viability and its effects on men’s neurological processing.

Executive summary: No fat chicks.

***

S. wrote:

Say you go to a bar and strike a conversation with two girls. One is really hot. The other one is a classic beta.

The hot one says, “Dude, you’re nuts, totally, Avatar, was, like, awesome! Hurt what? Sorry, haven’t seen that one. But, seriously, come on, Avatar was AWESOME! Like, fucking, really… I mean, great movie. Remember how he goes PFFF on that dragon? I can’t believe you didn’t get it.” And she wrinkles her pretty nose. And the bar stand is reflected in her eyes. When it’s not reflected, you can see the back of her head in there. Sort of.

The other girl is smart and funny and loved District 9. She wants to discuss the 2blowhards blog with you or the latest article in New Yorker. She is flirty and has a nice smile. The problem is… what was her problem? Oh, I remember now. Her BMI is 27. She’s not gorgeous. Her hair is slightly frizzy.

Needless to say, you are going to leave with the first girl. Right? ‘Cause, you know, she’s like, awesome, dude.  And you want to fuck, not discuss Almodovar. You already have a great outlet for your intellect – this blog.

Sigh.

I find your cynicism and rejection of bland political correctness refreshing. But I would love, love, love to talk to you in 20 years. Heck, make that 10.

Next time you are in Potomac/Rockville area, let me know. I have many more questions to ask. (Oh, and don’t worry: I am almost 40, have two kids, wear size 10-12, and am not interested in Greek alphabet measurements of human worth, even sexual worth. Just immensely curious.)

You keep writing.
S.

“PFFF on that dragon”. Lol.

Taking your scenario at face value (that is, I’ll dismiss for the moment the valid objection that it is presumptuous to assume a random hot chick a man meets must be a bubblehead), I’m afraid you won’t like my answer.

Here, across the internet where I can’t know what you look like, I’m drawn to your style. Left to my own imagination, I would have envisioned you as sexy as possible. But now that I know you are almost 40, with two kids, and a BMI of 27, you might say the blood has been let out of my chub. I don’t relish this fact. I’m a slave to my bioalgorithm as much as you are, as we all are. I cannot will myself to feel sexually attracted to an unattractive woman no matter how cleverly obscure her cultural references.

So the answer to your question is: yes, I would take the hotter chick home. And I would continue dating women who met both my criteria of physical attractiveness as well as mental stimulation.

***

Smoke wrote:

I have a super hot Polish cleaning lady. She’s maybe 22 and comes to clean through a service twice a month.

Any tips on closing her?

Ah, Polish girls. Beautiful, romantic, sweetly naive Polish girls. I have a gripping story about a Polish girl I loved that I thought about revealing on this blog, but decided against. Maybe I’ll save it for the book.

Tip: She’s a cleaning lady and foreign. Your status is already sky high relative to hers, so you need to connect with her by bridging the gap. Right now, she truly believes you are out of her league, and will likely deflect any of your flirting with her because of this. A little alpha-style self-deprecation is in order. (Don’t go overboard.) Learn a couple of funny Polish words and mispronounce them on purpose. She’ll giggle and correct you. You’re off to the races.

***

Sman wrote:

Hey!!!! Thanks again for another round of reader replies. I wanted to bring something to your attention.

A friend recently showed me a clip from the Tyra Banks show about women that train their young daughters to be gold diggers from an early age.

How early? The youngest girl there was 6 years old.

Early intervention is always best, I say. But a difficulty presents itself when attempting to instill the righteous values of reductionism in your little princesses — at 6 years old you can’t be sure she’ll grow up hot enough to successfully play the golddigger game. Parents of ugly daughters may want to take this into consideration and fast track their little monsters into Womyn’s Studies at the overpriced private grad school of their choice, where she’ll be safe from the predations of men and their penetrating rapebringers.

***

Anise wrote in a comment to my HIIIII!! post:

Talking about men, clothes and food with one’s girlfriends is one of the joys of being a woman and having girlfriends. Sheesh. I don’t care if you don’t like my tone. This is not your conversation.

As for the gays, they are owed a debt by aspiring PUAs. Grooming, fitness, hygiene, the glorification of youth and sexual pleasure über alles. Sound familiar, fruitcake?

Anise has a point. The influence of gay culture has spruced up some of the less appealing aspects of the straight male culture. It may not be palatable to a lot of traditional men with grit under their fingernails, but we live in a day and age when male peacocking is making a strong resurgence as an effective tool of seducing women. Yes, men who wear armbands and cowboy hats are drawing the attention of women and getting laid. I like to dabble in the gentlemanly art of fine styling, myself.

Of course, this works the other way. Gays left to their own devices, free of any societal shaming or disgust or benign influence from surrounding tribal groups, rapidly spin out of control, reformulating their world until it resembles a technicolor musical complete with frills, doilies, and dogs small enough to fit in shirt pockets. So gays with a touch of the masculine (and from what I’ve heard, most gay men prefer gay lovers who exude some masculinity) owe a debt to the straight males in their midst.

Btw, when you screech “Hiiiii!!!!” really loud so the whole bar can learn how well-liked you are by your peers, yes, it becomes a part of my conversation. Know that you are being mercilessly mocked. Suck it up.

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Photographs Of The Nobel Committee Members

Hmm, some kind of pattern here… *furrows brow*… can’t quite put my finger on it…

(Photograph link provided by reader Ovid.)

PS: I repeat, you can date the decline of America to when women got the vote.

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Safeway Siren

Standing in the mixed nuts section of Safeway, a blur of blonde caught my peripheral vision. Turning, I saw a gorgeous girl following a middle-aged man around the fruit bins. She looked about 18 years old, at the peak of her womanly ripeness. She was wearing velvet athletic shorts so small that the underside of her ass barely poked through the bottom, a divine demarcation between legs and buttocks. Her breasts were perfection — round, firm C cups that pulled her t-shirt taut. She walked with the bouncy, playful, slightly self-conscious gait of a younger girl swathed in the fleshy encumbrances of an older developed woman. She was a solid 9.

The man was pasty, dumpy, 45-ish, and smiling like a goof; a very happy herb, indeed. His body language was animated and he talked rapidly, cheerfully. Something about this duo was peculiar. This wasn’t a father-daughter team. I gathered my nuts and left the two behind. We rendezvoused again in aisle 9, next to the sardines and canned tuna. This time, the girl glanced at me with big eyes and parted lips, and if it wasn’t a trick of store lighting, her face blushed a pink hue. I matched her glance while the herb continued chattering in her ear, oblivious to our silent flirtation.

I lingered a bit around them to gather valuable information. She had an accent. She looked northern european; I suspected she was Dane or Norwegian, perhaps of Baltic descent. She had a limited grasp of English and, presumably, American culture, as the herb, who looked like he was about to die of a heart attack from swelling happiness, spent a lot of time slowly explaining the foodstuffs for sale and the pricing convention to her.

It didn’t take long for me to assess the situation; she was either an au pair or a foreign exchange student and the herb was the host family herbiarch. This was the most likely scenario. The three of us passed each other a few more times in aisles 7, 4 and 1. Each time she met my eyes with tender, yearning lust.

What grabbed my attention wasn’t so much that an au pair was flirting with me, but the behavior of the herb. I’ve never seen a more joyous middle-aged man. He was practically skipping down the aisles, his gums flapping a million miles an hour, his jowly cheeks inflamed a crimson hue, his voice a confident baritone of manly vigor. This was a man who clearly felt infused with new life. The physically close company of this young woman, who it should be noted smiled warmly at the herb and listened attentively when he spoke, shaved 20 years of age off his life. No windfall of riches, no business success, no winning home sports team can inspirit a man as vitally as a young, pretty woman in his thrall.

Naturally, the herb imagined more thrall than there was, if his au pair’s surreptitious flirting with me was any indication. But picture the likely contours of this herb’s life: A fat and dumpy sow wife, ingrate kids, crippling mortgage on an oversized house, sensible sedan, shit job, depressing neighbors, and a gloomy sunken aging face that young American women no longer seriously entertain with their flirtations staring back at him apathetically in the mirror every morning. One can understand why a herb of this caliber would spring to life inhaling the meagerest estrogenic perfumes of an 18 year old vixen.

At the cash register, herb and hottie rolled up behind me. As I placed my selection of delicious fruits and almond butter on the conveyor the girl nervously fidgeted with her shirt and peered down at her feet. A wave of shyness contorted her face and body. She pulled out a pack of gum which she fumbled and dropped to the floor. It landed on my shoe, so I bent over and retrieved it for her, never letting my eyes waver from hers. The herb must have noticed this change in her countenance because he stopped chattering about the great items one can find in an American supermarket and took his first look at me. Perhaps he pieced it together, but probably not. I smiled at them both and left the store.

My future. It won’t be that herb’s. Hookers, game and, if need be, expatriation to cash in on my Americanness with a much younger loving, sexy East European or South Asian woman. Anything less would be… uncivilized.

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A Jaunt Around The Internet

Many readers have sent me this UK tabloid story about a tacky British slut (redundant?) who asks the sex advice columnist (there’s a 21st century New Girl Order occupation of pointlessness) Rowan Pelling whether she should reveal to her boyfriend the truth about her, uh, comprehensive sexual history.

I’ve been with my boyfriend for six months, we’re both 34 and I am fairly sure he’s The One. The other night we ended up having a conversation about how many lovers we’d had. He told me he had slept with eight women and suddenly I felt nervous about confessing the truth  –  I had a lot of flings at university and in my first job at an ad agency, so my tally is closer to 40. But I found myself saying ten and even then he looked horrified. I hate being untruthful with him, but don’t want to be judged either. What should I do?

Here’s my advice: Lie your whore ass off. We all know, thanks to the “Double Whatever Number She Claims” rule, that you’ve banged 80 cocks, 40 of them probably swarthy immigrant cock. This means that there is no chance your boyfriend is “The One” since it’s impossible for a woman to make a soulmate connection once her gina has tingled over the four corners of the earth. More precisely, you have found “The One Last Hope” that could save you from spinsterhood. You are walking on thin ice what with your advanced age and bedraggled labia, so the last thing you want to do is fuck it up by giving your boyfriend a justifiable excuse to dump your rode-hard flat British ass. “But why would he do that?”, you whine. I think you already know why, otherwise you wouldn’t be fretting about what to do. You have demonstrated by your inability to be more discriminating with your womanly wares that you are a potential cuckold/infidelity/divorce theft risk. Men have scientifically and observationally valid reason to avoid commiting to skanks such as yourself, so recognize this reality of the male psyche and hope he doesn’t find your All Male Revue Facebook page.

That’ll be $200.

Now here’s the advice Rowan Pelling “sex columnist” gave to her:

To be honest, if your man really loves you he should be able to take the full tally with equanimity. But then that would presume that he’s secure in his own skin and, as we all know, a great many people aren’t. What you perceive as censure may well be old-fashioned male insecurity. […]

Having said all that, I think most lovebirds should steer clear of going into the minutiae of previous conquests.

And if a man is unwise enough to ask a woman how many lovers she’s had, can I suggest the following response: ‘Let’s just say I won’t wear white at the wedding.’

Naturally, her advice is retarded. I expect nothing less from 99.9999% of women writing sex and relationship advice columns. The male insecurity trope is the “Get Out of Self Examination Free” card, and is readily whipped out by the Slut&Skank Syndicate and the Fatass Feminist Fatwa whenever their wishful thinking collides with the immutable force of male nature. To make it as clear as possible for them: Men pump and dump party time pussies, but they don’t marry them when more chaste options are available.

To put it in terms that cater to women’s self-absorption, is it old-fashioned female insecurity when women balk at sleeping with plush, niceguy betas? Are women insecure in their own skin when they hesitate to marry unemployed men? The question answers itself.

By the way, a woman who sneeringly tells her fiancee she wouldn’t be fit to wear white at their wedding is just begging to be dumped like yesterday’s trash. However, it is a clever shit test. Any man INSECURE enough to stick around after such a cackling, sordid revelation has proven his beta bonafides.

******

Another reader sent me a link to fashion model tryouts in Russia. He knows this blog well. After perusing the photos (fully unclothed perusing) I composed this Ode to Russian Women:

Oh Sweet Russkie
Your beauty is like vuuudka
To incapacitate my mule
Your chiclet teeth like pearls
To chomp my borschty tool
Your round pushed-in face
Makes my ballsack quiver
When I shoot my load
In your mouth, it’s a river
Just one thing to note
Before I end this ode
Best to get you as a teen
After 30 it’s babushka load!

The description by the event organizers on the website is classic alpha Russian. And by alpha Russian, I mean they know how to BS without veering too far into neutered, politically correct Conor Friedersdorf territory.

Beauty is assessed in a different way.  Various cultures praise various features and traits. It is not  easy to find the diamond.

The desire to be at the podium and be admired is inside every girl. But only those models who succeeded can tell us how many worries and obstacles they had to overcome. The way to fame is paved with hard labor and constant work over oneself. Beauty is especially valued in the modern world. For many this is a chance to be noticed to get to more serious sphere than just unsteady fashion and beauty industry.  In the effort to achieve the aim, the girls are looking for their happiness at the beauty contest. So today we would like to have a look at the stage before the contest, so you are invited to the casting in Minsk. The National School of Beauty in Minsk is going to hold the International Beauty Contest Miss Intercontinental.  This is a beauty pageant known since 1973. What criteria will the jury follow  first of all? This is natural beauty. When asked, the jury was not able to describe the portrait of potential winner, but still accented that the main thing is the inner beauty of the girl.

My favorite part of the website was the link to the Russian meat market girls:

Mmm, that is a fine looking cut of meat.

******

In other news that won’t surprise anyone who isn’t a hermit ignoramus or a feminist, science has once again proven a core tenet of Game: The concept of social proof is real.

The most striking result was in the responses of single women. Offered a single man, 59 per cent were interested in pursuing a relationship. But when he was attached, 90 per cent said they were up for the chase.

Men were keenest on pursuing new mates, but weren’t bothered whether their target was already attached or not. Attached women showed least interest and were slightly more drawn to single men.

You know that typical female lament “All the good men are taken”? It needs to be accurately rendered for the Darwin Generation: “All the taken men are good.” Mystery nailed this ten years ago: chicks dig preselection. The first thing you must do when going to a bar alone is befriend a chick. Start off low and work your way up to the hotties.

******

Over at The American Scene, I read another lame white knighting attempt by our favorite house beta Conor Friedersdorf to grapple with the eeeevil of the neg. The article was the usual misrepresentation of game and umbrage over the fact that men like sex with a variety of women that I’ve come to expect from the chipmunk-cheeked traditionalist conservative crowd, but Steve Sailer did leave a couple of worthy comments that deserve a second look:

The point of “game” is for guys who are stuck in subordinate positions to other men at work to learn techniques to pretend to women in bars that they are dominant over other men during the daytime (at least until the woman figures out that the guy isn’t making alpha male bucks at work).

So, many of the game techniques are ones that dominant men use on subordinate men at work, such as negging.

Consider the relationship between George W. Bush and Karl Rove. Obviously, Rove was smarter and harder working than Bush. So, why was he subordinate to Bush? In part, because Bush carried out classic dominant male behavior of alternating between praising Rove, holding out the vision of how far he could go as Bush’s subordinate, and negging him, calling him “Turd Blossom” and the like, to undermine his self-confidence. Bush always negged Rove with a smile on his face, but neg him he did.

The really interesting question about game is this: if some percentage of subordinate males can actually, through practice, can start fooling women in bars into believing they are dominant males, why not use the same self-improvement techniques to fool men at work? After all, if men believe you are an alpha male, then you are an alpha male. And if men think you are an alpha male, and give you money and power like they think you are an alpha male, then women will think you are an alpha male, too.

So, if these techniques really work, why restrict yourself to getting just Women when you can get Women, Money, and Power?

He’s half right. Some game techniques, like DHVs, compliance, and alpha body language, are mimickry of nonverbal and verbal dominance signals that men employ over other men, but many game concepts are not. For instance, social proof and kino escalation (layman’s term: progressively intimate touching), would get you disdain, envy, or a black eye if used on other men. But they work great on women.

This is why my definition of the alpha male is so elegant. It doesn’t rely on male dominance over other men or male dominance over women, for which those two phenomena overlap to a great degree anyhow. Instead, it quickly cuts to the chase and defines the alpha male by how hot are the women he can attract, how strong is that attraction for him, and how many of those women find him attractive.

Note for the dumbass betas: An alpha male is *not* necessarily the man who sleeps with a lot of women. He is the man who *could* sleep with a lot of women if he so chose.

As for Sailer’s poke at the end, who says Illuminated Men aren’t using game tactics in other areas of their lives? And for those who aren’t bothering to use game to achieve things of monumental importance in the corporate grind, perhaps they prefer the pussy path of least resistance. Not a sermon, just a thought.

Sailer writes another comment:

Negging is essential behavior in the formation of all-male and all-female social spheres.

Females tend to form small cliques and make catty remarks to drive away lower-status females.

Males negging other males can lead to violence, but it’s often less vicious than female negging. It can go on pleasantly for a lifetime: watch how four retired buddies insult each other on the golf course.

The main function of male vs. male negging, however, is hierarchy building. It’s a test of dominance to see who has the personality to be a leader. Leaders encourage it in social settings to check out which younger males have the attributes of quick-wittedness and aggression to become subordinate line managers within his hierarchy, and which would be better suited for staff roles.

The question, therefore, remains: Why not use Game not just in the bars but in the boardrooms to win not just women, but the power, money, and prestige that naturally attract women as well?

Presumably, Pick-Up Artistry works best for aggressive, quick-witted men who have flaws that prevent them from becoming leaders of men (e.g., laziness, need for instant gratification, and so forth).

It’s true that the men who take most quickly to the beauty of the neg are those who are already blessed by genetics with assertiveness and a quick wit, but all this means is that less-gifted men have to train harder to improve their lot with women. Like playing an instrument, it is possible for a man with sufficient practice to get better with women.

******

Dennis Mangan has a post up about game and social collapse. The comments section is ablaze. Take a look. I have been branded a desolate impact on civilization and a representative of the lowest moral order. *preen*

Here’s a clue, chipmunk-cheeked conservatives: If you wish to change the behavior of men, you first must change the behavior of women. The penis parades to the pussy tune, not the other way around. Your chivalry and paeans to honor and duty do nothing but fuel the decline. Guys like me laugh at your sacrifice.

And for those who continue troubling themselves over the conceptually useful and reality-reflecting definitions of alpha male and beta male, let me help clear up the matter. Alpha/beta isn’t a dichotomy. It’s a gradation; an attractiveness bell curve that is somewhat weighted toward the left hand side due to women’s propensity to “date up”. There are plenty of betas who do manage to get laid and find a woman to marry, but the devil is in the details. As you go down the beta scale, you find more men shut out of hot sex with women in their salad days (teens and twenties) and settling later in life with used-up cougars-in-waiting. The further leftward you descend, the more involuntarily celibate lesser betas and omegas you’ll see. The further rightward you ascend, the more happy alphas with their choice of poon dominate the sexual landscape.

******

On a more serious note, apparently Lady Laddie Gaga is a hermaphrodite. She gotta ween! Check it:

She’s a man, baby! David Alexander: “It moved, Jerry.”

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The Italian And The American

I watched my friend open a two set sitting next to the fish tank. His opener — he informs the girls that the orange-colored fish goes by the scientific name “orange creamsicle” — was a little lame, but serviceable. Nothing the God of Game wouldn’t let you into hell for. The prettier of the two girls responded well, with bright eyes and animated gestures. She wasn’t in tip top shape (she had a big bottom) but her face was lean and tan and she had a natural, wholesome beauty. Although my friend addressed both girls, the other girl was not as committed to the conversation, and her eyes wandered around the room. While the prettier girl smiled, her friend’s stiffly pursed lips barely nudged.

I stood nearby in case my friend cued that he needed a wing, but his set didn’t last long enough to require my assistance. The reason for this is because the girl who was less invested in his conversation performed a brazen cockblock move, which involved stepping a few feet away from her friend for a couple of seconds and then stepping back to her friend, grabbing her by the arm, and pulling her away from my buddy with some sort of “Hey, our friends are here” excuse. As cockblock maneuvers go, this one was simple and effective. The RPG of urban sex war.

Why did this girl cockblock? There are many reasons, but one would stand out, which I’ll get to below. For the moment, a general rule of thumb states that girls cockblock when:

1. Their friend signals in girlcode that the guy hitting on her is beta. (This did not happen to my friend in this case.)
2. They sense that the guy hitting on their friend is beta. (This likely did happen to my friend in this case.)
3. They are jealous of the male attention that their friend is receiving. (My friend opened both of them simultaneously, so this was not likely the cause.)

The only time a girl will *help* her friend with a guy (i.e., she’ll be a cockbacker) is when none of the above conditions are operational; she isn’t getting signaled to intervene, she judges the man hitting on her friend to be alpha, and she isn’t motivated by jealousy. This is a rare confluence of preconditions, so when it happens to you be sure to savor every last minute.

I suspected that the reason my friend got blown out by a professional cockblocker had to do with the incongruence between his body language and the words coming out of his mouth. I sensed a disjunct between the confidence exhibited by his verbal game and the lack of confidence conveyed in his nonverbal subcommunication. (And if I could sense it, then certainly the girls with their honed female intuition could sense it.) His strong tonality, voice projection, and decent conversational skills were sabotaged by jerky whole body movements, “pecking”, and overenthusiastic laughter. I’ve seen this phenomenon so often that I’ve come to the conclusion that how a man says what he says to women is far more important than the substance of what he says. If you have the world’s cleverest opener, or gina tingle-iest routine, it will fail if your body language betrays betaness. If your body language is solid, you can get traction with a simple “Hi”.

After the two girls vanished I asked my friend how it went. He said the prettier girl who was smiling and seemingly enjoying his conversation was Italian, in the States for a visit, and the cockblocker with the early onset double chin was American. My friend was doomed from the get-go. Never underestimate the raging jealousy American girls have for foreign girls. Although my buddy’s game was not tight, what really sealed his fate was the unstoppable juggernaut of envy, bitterness, and low class callowness that fuels the American Woman’s pissiness when in the company of foreign women.

The Italian girl may not have been blown away by my buddy’s game, but she treated him with respect and projected an air of feminine charm the whole time. She may have even thought he was beta, but you would never have guessed it by her pleasant demeanor and winning smile. Meanwhile, the American girl acted like a pouting, heavily sighing bitch, a snake in the grass coiled and ready to spring into action with a venomous quick strike cockblock.

Italian girl – feminine and elegant.

American girl – minefield.

There is one thing American women do better than foreign women — suck all the fun out of life. An American woman is always on the lookout for the slightest hint of betaness in a man, unwilling to budge an inch should the conversation not proceed exactly in alignment with her most fervid Cosmo-ized romcom fantasies. American men have perfected the art of game because we have to deal with entitled American women. Foreign women, quite apart from their bloated American sisters, are not hounddogs constantly sniffing out betaness. They are more willing to allow a conversation with a man to slowly develop and see where it leads. Their’s is an attitude of natural curiosity and love of the company of men.

An American woman I’m seeing treats me well, has a big heart, and fucks like a champ. Yet, every time I’m around foreign girls I ask myself the same question: Why am I not in Estonia?

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