The Four Month Flake

Whoever says flaking doesn’t work on women has no experience giving it a go. Do you think the modern woman has so much self respect that she will balk to give a flaky man a second chance? Ha. It is to laugh. She will not only entertain the thought, she’ll eagerly anticipate the excitement such a feckless man will infuse into her dull, rudderless life.

A girl of about 27.5 years of age and glittering auburn hair tromped off a SWPL bus, (which route taken drives carefully within the confines of SWPLland, like some zoo safari jeep rumbling on paved roads behind electrified fence holding at bay a lone, bored cheetah licking his nuts a half mile away. The thrill!) I happened to be walking by with a load of bruised vegetables from the corner farmer’s market when the usual urge, normally stifled by officehive feigned sterility, propelled me to approach and gauge her buying temperature.

“Hi.”

She snaps her head in my direction. “Hi.”

Good start so far.

“How was your ride on the Disney bus?”

Quizzically: “What?”

“The Disney bus. That’s what everyone calls it. Feels like a fun Disney ride through a magical neighborhood.”

“Wow, that’s the weirdest thing anyone’s said to me today.”

“Just today?”

“Ok, maybe this year.”

“That’s more like it.”

A pause to digest. “For your information, the ride was not so great. There was a couple arguing next to me.”

Score! Any girl who would run with this patently absurd discussion topic was the kind of girl straitjacketed by little moral or sexual restraint. “Oh, that’s too bad. Next time ask for your money back.”

We talked for ten more minutes, as it serendipitously turned out she lived two neighborhoods over. (Demarcations subject to revision without prior notice.) In a land grab of impudent proportions, I cut us short with a quick rejoinder to give me her number so we could talk another time. She keeled backward a bit, regrouped, then smiled as she read them off to me. I do not test girls’ numbers by calling or texting them on the spot; it betrays insecurity.

I didn’t call her until four months later (no need to explain the banal reasoning for my flakiness). Unsurprisingly, I got her voicemail. I spoke:

“Hi. It’s [Name redacted, or IgnatiusJReilly if you prefer]. It’s been a while since we met. Call me.”

No benefit would accrue to me by leaving a lengthy, or even not so lengthy, explanation why I waited four months to contact her. What kind of man offers excuses to a woman he has yet to sexiate? Excuses which are really camouflaged apologies — verbal blurts, as we all know, which are a defining characteristic of the beta mindset. A long-winded backstory would only present to her a platter-full of extraneous, lurid detail for her to quickly dismiss my terse entreaty as she basks in the glow of having gained hand.

A wise man feeds the hamster just enough pellet to make it hungry for more. Too little, and it remains unperturbed from its hamster ennui. Too much, and it lumbers away to sleep off a sated stupor.

As expected, she did not return my call right away. No, she waited twenty minutes.

“Wow, I’m surprised you called. You’re lucky I remember you, or I wouldn’t have called back. You were that guy from that day at [X], who said something ridiculous about [Y]?”

“Yes. And of course, I wouldn’t have called if I didn’t remember that either.”

“Four months is a long time to wait. Is that part of your game plan?”

Despite your inclination to do the opposite, it’s best to fess up the truth when you are conceding an obvious transgression on your part. The trick is to present just a hint of the truth; enough to quell her BS radar, but not so much to give her ammo to legalistically argue points of contention until her pussy has dried up like a slug under a mineralstorm of Morton’s.

“For personal reasons I won’t get into, I couldn’t call you at the time. I’ll leave it at that.”

“Guess I’ll have to accept that. So now you want to see me.”

“I hope it’s not too obvious.”

“It is. But I’ll take you up on it.”

Over drinks later, she said it was bold — even ballsy — of me to call her after four months of blowing her off. I said it required no balls at all, only desire. I told her she seemed the type to throw away the rulebook. She was pleased with this assessment.

There is a maxim somewhere in the archives. Seduction is the art of co-opting a woman’s tools of the trade, and using them against her, for a woman loves nothing more than a man who “gets it”, and what man gets it more than a man who understands that women need exactly what they dish out? Men would be well-advised to turn the tables on their quarry and flake on them every once in a while. It’s the stuff of legendary romance.

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The Benefit Of Losing Your Cool (Sometimes)

A reader asks:

I got mad at my girlfriend of a year earlier today for something she did, and after I was cooled off I talked to her about it and everything’s good now, but at one point she said “this is why you’re scary sometimes…these rash reactions and the leaping to conclusions…” and I’m not sure if that’s to be taken as a good thing or a bad thing? Could you give your opinion on this?

A good thing. Unpredictability and volatility are male attractiveness traits, in measured doses. (Too much of either and she’ll begin to devalue you as someone who has no state control.) Losing your cool — as long as you do it infrequently — will keep a woman on her toes and her hamster at full throttle, which translates to long-lasting desire for your attention and love. And rumblestick.

Women’s greatest horniness lies in anxiety.

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The Business Of Game

There’s an interesting article on Yahoo of all places, about the ways in which people are susceptible to subtle advertising and product placement manipulation. The author of a new book “Brandwashed”, uses Whole Foods as an example of the myriad ways you fall under the spell of clever retail strategies. While reading about Whole Foods’ devious treachery, I couldn’t help but notice parallels between retail practices and game.

Let’s take for example Whole Foods, a market chain priding itself on selling the highest quality, freshest, and most environmentally sound produce. No one could argue that their selection of organic food and take-away meals are whole, hearty, and totally delicious. But how much thought have you given to how they’re actually presenting their wares? Have you considered the careful planning that goes into every detail that meets the eye?

Game Parallel: Tight game means the girl will never be consciously aware that she’s being gamed, nor will she ever become cognizant of the amount of effort you, as the man, put into your presentation. Instead, you want her to think it will all seem to “just happen” and “it was magic”. She doesn’t need to be concerned with the messy details of seduction; she only needs to feel those good feelings.

Let’s pay a visit to Whole Foods’ splendid Columbus Circle store in New York City. As you descend the escalator you enter the realm of a freshly cut flowers. These are what advertisers call “symbolics” — unconscious suggestions. In this case, letting us know that what’s before us is bursting with freshness.

Flowers, as everyone knows, are among the freshest, most perishable objects on earth. Which is why fresh flowers are placed right up front — to “prime” us to think of freshness the moment we enter the store. Consider the opposite — what if we entered the store and were greeted with stacks of canned tuna and plastic flowers? Having been primed at the outset, we continue to carry that association, albeit subconsciously, with us as we shop.

Game Parallel: Your first impression has to be good. You are presenting yourself as “fresh, bursting manhood”, not a plastic beta cut-out. Your “symbolics” are your style, your walk, your alpha posture, your body language, your vocal tone and cadence, and any shiny accoutrements you wear to attract the child-like attention of the woman. Having primed a woman at the outset, she will be more willing to hear the rest of your pitch.

The prices for the flowers, as for all the fresh fruits and vegetables, are scrawled in chalk on fragments of black slate — a tradition of outdoor European marketplaces. It’s as if the farmer pulled up in front of Whole Foods just this morning, unloaded his produce, then hopped back in his flatbed truck to drive back upstate to his country farm. The dashed-off scrawl also suggests the price changes daily, just as it might at a roadside farm stand or local market. But in fact, most of the produce was flown in days ago, its price set at the Whole Foods corporate headquarters in Texas. Not only do the prices stay fixed, but what might look like chalk on the board is actually indelible; the signs have been mass-produced in a factory.

Game Parallel: Scripted routines and stories that demonstrate high value. The DHV story is your chalkboard price. She thinks you just rolled up with your high value fresh eggplant and kiwis falling off the truck; little does she know your story is rehearsed and was practiced on multitudes of women before her.

Ever notice that there’s ice everywhere in this store? Why? Does hummus really need to be kept so cold? What about cucumber-and-yogurt dip? No and no. This ice is another symbolic. Similarly, for years now supermarkets have been sprinkling select vegetables with regular drops of water — a trend that began in Denmark. Why? Like ice displays, those sprinkled drops serve as a symbolic, albeit a bogus one, of freshness and purity. Ironically, that same dewy mist makes the vegetables rot more quickly than they would otherwise. So much for perception versus reality.

Game Parallel: Rings, tight t-shirts, bracelets and props. The usual titillating tools of the trade. Also, negs. Negs are the crushed ice of conversation; a helpful reminder that the produce (you) that she’s checking out lays atop a cooling foundation of freshness-preserving amused mastery.

Speaking of fruit, you may think a banana is just a banana, but it’s not. Dole and other banana growers have turned the creation of a banana into a science, in part to manipulate perceptions of freshness. In fact, they’ve issued a banana guide to greengrocers, illustrating the various color stages a banana can attain during its life cycle. Each color represents the sales potential for the banana in question. For example, sales records show that bananas with Pantone color 13-0858 (otherwise known as Vibrant Yellow) are less likely to sell than bananas with Pantone color 12-0752 (also called Buttercup), which is one grade warmer, visually, and seems to imply a riper, fresher fruit.

Game Parallel: Preselection. Chicks dig the buttercup cock. You are convincing her your cock is the perfect Pantone color, at peak ripeness. Quickest way to do this is to be seen with other women, or insinuate that you get plenty of attention from other women.

And as for apples? Believe it or not, my research found that while it may look fresh, the average apple you see in the supermarket is actually 14 months old.

Game Parallel: Non-neediness. You mouthstuffed 14 girls on the walk through the parking lot to the club using the same schtick on them that you are now using on her. But she thinks she just plucked you and she’s the center of your universe.

Then there’s those cardboard boxes with anywhere from eight to ten fresh cantaloupes packed inside each one. These boxes could have been unpacked easily by any one of Whole Foods’ employees, but they’re left that way on purpose. Why? For that rustic, aw-shucks touch. In other words, it’s a symbolic to reinforce the idea of old-time simplicity.

Game Parallel: Strategic vulnerability. Temper your cockiness with brief flashes of empathy. It makes you seem more attainable.

But wait, something about these boxes looks off. Upon close inspection, this stack of crates looks like one giant cardboard box. It can’t be, can it? It is. In fact, it’s one humongous cardboard box with fissures cut carefully down the side that faces consumers (most likely by some industrial machinery at a factory in China) to make it appear as though this one giant cardboard box is made up of multiple stacked boxes. It’s ingenious in its ability to evoke the image of Grapes of Wrath-era laborers piling box after box of fresh fruit into the store.

Game Parallel: Beta provider game. If you’re good, you can plausibly promise marriage and white picket fences for years before she catches on that you’re just one giant box of erect penis.

So the next time you happen to grab your wallet to go shopping, don’t be fooled: retailers for better or for worse, are the masters of seduction and priming — brandwashing us to believe in perception rather than reality.

Game Parallel: The alteration of perception to achieve the ultimate seduction. Game is certainly about altering a girl’s perception of you, but when you do it enough times, the perception becomes reality. It is a reality the girl herself has co-conspired to create.

Whole Foods is in the business of selling produce and expensive cheeses. Whole Game is the business of selling yourself. Why wouldn’t you use every sales technique at your disposal? If you don’t out of some misplaced moral compunction, you will soon be put out of business by the competition.

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A Test Of Your Game: The Group Approach

Sidewinder writes:

In-the-field game question:

In an informal bar setting, lots of people standing and talking within their own social groups-

When approaching or opening (whether the target girl or her friend), a form of bitch shield goes immediately up. Not a rude bitch shield, but a short, indifferent “I-don’t-know-you-and-i’m-going-to-be-polite-for-5-seconds-before-I-stop-talking-to-you” vibe. They provide no opening to DHV. While polite, they seem as if I interrupted their discussion. I believe it to be geniune disinterest and not some form of shit test.

As an average looking man of average height and weight, I completely understand their polite indifference. But I don’t even get a chance to game them. Any tips on how to hook them into a convo?

This sounds like a problem of game fundamentals. Are you opening with a false time constraint? “Hey, guys, I only have a second, but my friend and I were wondering…”. Something along those lines. FTCs are a psychological ploy that put strangers at ease that you aren’t a weirdo who will loiter uncomfortably around their group seeking social validation. It also causes a listener to invest more attention into what you are about to say, since you won’t be around for long. It’s similar in principle to the sales technique of product or price constraint (“This model going fast!” “These rock bottom prices won’t last!”).

Also, are you approaching from an angle, looking at the group from over your shoulder? Body position is critical to approach success. A guy striding into a group head-on will trigger shields faster than a cool dude glancing over his shoulder. Try finding a spot next to the bar so that you can stand facing outward. It makes opening adjacent sets much easier.

Another thought: you might be blowing yourself out with bad body language or poor style. Either of those things can cause a group to immediately shut you out, but particularly the first. (Poor style can be compensated for with confident BL.)

I’d need to know more specifics to give you advice suited to your problem, such as what it is exactly you are saying or doing as you approach. In the meantime, I’ll toss this test-of-your-game discussion to the studio audience to hash out for your benefit (or their amusement).

UPDATE

Anonymous writes:

While looking like you’re writing a text, ask the group if anyone speaks Spanish (or another language one of them is likely to speak and you’re not likely to know as well).

The hottest woman will assume that someone other than she has your thoughts (the person you’re writing to mainly and the volunteer translator secondarily). It’s an open ended question as well, but be prepared to have an amusing sentence to translate, or a mysterious one, or one that confers status without it being obvious what you’re doing. Or all three.

Often you’ll get the translation and sit back down at your spot while they go about their conversation. That’s OK. You’re now an old friend to them or at least a known quantity. Your status is higher as a result. You can reopen with a different sentence to translate or open with something else. You’ve got good guy cred at that point.

Cell phones are now one of the best props ever.

Excellent DQ/DHV all in one. Might as well use technology to your maximum benefit. For even better results, ask girl(s) if anyone speaks Russian.

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Another Game-Validating Scientific Study: Make Decisions, Get Laid

It’s been said before on this blog that women are turned off by men who don’t take charge, and are particularly contemptuous of men who relegate the decision-making process to them. Women, contrary the bleatings of the feminism lobby, are more sexually attracted to men who remove some of the need for female independence.

Well, chalk up another scientific validation of a CH game concept: Women who make more decisions have less sex.

A new study published in the Journal of Sex reports that the more decisions a woman makes on her own, the less likely she is to have sex.

Researchers from Johns Hopkins University arrived at these results after they surveyed women from six African countries about how intimate they were with their partners. They focused specifically on the last time these women had sex “as well as who had the final say on decisions ranging from healthcare to household purchases.” For women who answered that they were in control of such decisions, researchers found they had less sex and more time had passed since their last encounter.

The usual caveats about racial population group differences apply, but the general finding is, in my observation, applicable to women from all racial backgrounds. As women take control of more of the major decisions in a relationship (or in their lives in general), their ardor for their male partners (or for men in general) decreases.

Here’s the money quote:

Not only were these women having less sex, but “the findings showed more dominant and assertive women had approximately 100 times less sex.”

To bring this closer to home, dominant and assertive Western white women probably have higher testosterone levels than normal women, so there is a good chance they are sluttier as well. It may therefore be the case that women who make a lot of decisions sleep around more. But does that necessarily translate into more sex for them than for women who are in more gender polarized, satisfying relationships with dominant men? No. Within relationships of a given matchup, it could very well be the case that less assertive (read: feminine) women have more sex with their dominant male lovers than more assertive women have with their indecisive beta male lovers. Assertive, dominant women — you know the type, lawyercunts to a T — when they aren’t lashing the whip upon the flayed backs of their beta provider suckups, are studiously avoiding having sex with them. These types of women get more emotional satisfaction out of nagging and berating and using their betaboys than they do out of fucking them.

(And what do the betaboys get out of these relationships? Well, they get a woman. Sort of.)

I think we’ve all scratched our heads and wondered why a particular domineering woman with a high-flying career had a schlubby, charmless milquetoast for a boyfriend or husband. You may rest easy as order is restored to the universe, because a lot of these odd pairings hide demented secrets of sexual aridity and pathological nagging. And now science has shed light on the phenomenon with evidence confirming conventional and PUA wisdom that dominating women really do have less sex than their sweetly submissive peers.

As the reader who emailed this study wrote:

“Has science EVER gone the other way on Game? [Ed: No.] Has msm EVER failed to spin even the most egregious bullshit about female psychology into a positive for women? [Ed: No.]

The advice for men: take decisions away from your woman, take the punch out of her dominant streaks, and you will be rewarded with 100 times more sex.”

You got it.

I’ll relate a pleasant little story from my own life. As my propensity in moments of self-amusement tends toward the satisfyingly manipulative, I have dabbled in the perverse arts of anti-game just to witness and enjoy the predictable reaction it induces from a girlfriend. So this one time, in band camp, my girl asked me what we should do for the evening, and instead of my usual tack of offering a couple suggestions (but not more!) and announcing with royal decree which one I would prefer and she should also prefer, (absent any severely allergic disagreement on her part), I hemmed and hawed and diplomatically dodged “I don’t know” and “What do *you* want to do?” and basically foisted the decision-making process entirely onto her. Priceless to the point of caricature, the expression on her face spoke a million words. And none of them flirty or sexual.

There are some primal forces of nature that were never meant to be meddled with.

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Game Trumps Looks

File under: “Give me five minutes to talk away my ugly face and I can bed a hard 10.” -Voltaire. A reader (kept anonymous for obvious reasons) emails:

I started reading your blog about a week ago after my girlfriend chewed me up and spit me out like the beta I am. I knew about Game before but figured there was no reason to apply it on her. Obviously a mistake. No one would believe the shit she put me through…except the readers of your blog. That’s not why I’m writing, though. You’ve heard it a thousand times.

I wanted to relate this:

Today I am meeting with a girl on my group for a group project. I’m leading this thing but, christ, no real alpha would lower himself to leading a group project. They never do, in my experience. It’s a low status activity, so I just try to keep everyone on task and make sure we show up in class with something worth half a shit.

Anyway, through dint of scheduling I have to meet with this girl alone instead of with the four other people. I figure I might as well start practicing high status behavior so, when I noticed I was going to be early, I decided to hang around the quad until I was a couple minutes late. When I walk through the door I notice, potentially for the first time, that she is a fucking ten if there ever was one. 19 yrs, tight, flawless skin with just enough tan, full c breasts, beautiful symmetrical exotic features that sing, and the kind of wavy brunette hair that any girl outside of a pantene spot would literally kill for. Me: short, freckles, red hair, glasses, slim but doughy and pale, and 28 years of betadom to back it all up. Not terribly disciplined. Socially shy, but like most betas dominant when there is real work to do. I run and physically I’m a…4-5? On a good day. In the interests of full disclosure, I have some small scabs on my arms from skin picking, a lovely anxiety habit. Just a few but it’s the most unattractive thing ever. It’s harder to quit than smoking. On the plus side, I recently grew a beard to hide my weak chin. So let’s say that today I’m a 4.

But in spite of all this I said to myself: I am not scared of this girl. When she started talking about her many ‘accomplishments’ like her job, or her high status family (prof dad), or her many ap credits… I refused to compliment her. I actually pitied her, since it seems likely that she’s high achieving and will become a professional lady or something similar that makes her unhappy and prices her out of the marriage market.

She started twisting her hair. It was a little anxiety habit–kind of like my skin picking, except cute and girly and not destructive. In the past I would have just said to myself: hair twisting is nothing compared to the shit you do to yourself. But…I thought maybe it might be fun to neg her. “I should grow out my hair,” I said, “so I can twist it.” She apologized about her hair twisting. She started apologizing about all kinds of stuff, actually. She drank too much coffee and was really jittery. She had a ‘long day’ filled with her many accomplishments in life and her brain was ‘fried’. I told her she only had to keep it together for another hour and a half. She cracked her joints and I smiled and looked at her. She demured and I chuckled and mentioned that, when I was young, someone told me that would ruin my joints. But that ‘probably isn’t true. People tell kids lots of things.” Plenty of eye contact. Didn’t cross my legs in a girly way like I always do.

I wasn’t exactly making no mistakes here. I didn’t touch her. I accidentally spoke frankly about my chances for grad school. I asked about her wavy hair, figuring it HAD to be a perm or something. “Is your hair naturally curly?” I asked. It was, in fact, naturally curly and beautiful like Aphrodite’s might be if she were a brunette. “Not as curly as mine.” I responded, trying to ameliorate a body-directed compliment but accidentally calling attention to my curly red hair, a bit of a deficiency. Double mistake. I told her that I found her spanish fluency impressive–which I did, having struggled to learn a language myself. I thought that was bad at the time, but in retrospect complimenting beautiful women on their intellectual achievements isn’t as bad as complimenting them on their hair.

We did some practice runs of the presentation. I was a much, much better speaker than she was. By the time we were ready to leave she was giggling and falling all over herself. All bubbly smiles and eye contact and apologies.  Was she trying to DHV…to ME? Did she really just forget how impressive she was on every level: her perfect body, her high class, her raw intelligence? Could she not see that I am a bit of a classical loser, which is practically an image I’ve embraced and cultivated like she has being beautiful and smart? I was just…dumbfounded. I am awful at is reading female body language–you can’t understand a language without studying it or being immersed–so I don’t know if she was attracted to me or merely not repulsed by me, but I don’t believe I’ve ever been alone in a room with a ten for that long without it ending in cool businesslike contempt. I’ll ask her out to coffee and we’ll find out, I guess.

So thanks for saving my confidence and helping me start to heal my terrible breakup. Keep up the good work. It’s been eye opening.

The biggest difference between men and women in the dating market? A man can talk away his ugly face. A woman cannot. The reader is learning this valuable lesson, and like others before him who have trod the same path of game knowledge, he almost cannot believe the girl’s reaction he sees with his own eyes.

All the negs and teasing employed by this emailer were excellent: not too obviously insulting, with just the right amount of sting. I especially liked when he told her to “try to keep it together for an hour and a half”. Commanding, insouciant, fearless, funny. Chick crack, iow.

Pitying a woman, or lamenting her childishness and naivete, are actually very good frames to have when dealing with hot chicks. This frame is supercilious without being spiteful or hateful. A haughty disdain leavened with bemusement is a character trait that women find irresistible in men. It is the hallmark of alpha males. You could almost call it charisma.

But, unfortunately, I predict this emailer will not ask her out for coffee. (And, helpful tip, you should be taking a girl out for alcoholic beverages if possible, instead of coffee. You don’t want coffee to mentally stimulate her recall of her 463 bullet point checklist.) That “I guess” toward the end of his missive is a dead giveaway of untamed betatude. You guess? No, sir, you don’t guess. You reach down, cradle your gargantuan balls with lovingkindness, and gently coo to them “Thing 1? Thing 2? I’m letting you out of your cage again. Try not to get me in too much trouble.”

Footnote: “Not as curly as mine” was not a mistake. It was, in fact, quite an effective compliment-neutering counterattack. Remember, when you call attention to a possible flaw in a woman’s appearance or style that inadvertently highlights one of your own flaws, she’ll be too busy vaingloriously fretting to even notice what the hell flaw of yours you were concerned about. Or if she does notice and shit tests you over it, it will only serve as convenient conversational springboard to demonstrate your cool-as-fuck bona fides.

Anyhow, glad this blog is helping your dating life. Now you can stop bolding the words loser and glasses. It’s killing your inner resolve. A bolded word is a window to the id.

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The Subtle Art Of The Insidious Neg

In-her-face negs are really only suited for very hot girls (8s and above) who think too much of themselves, work in a sex field (stripper, pharmaceutical sales rep), are ovulating, or are in a social context such as a club where they are primed for flirty banter. The rest of the time, your negs should be crafted in such a manner that they deliver their payload with sneaky plausible deniability, like a homing missile launched from a hidden bunker aimed at the soft chewy center of her ego. The best negs are those which are conceivably meant as compliments, but which linger in her psyche for hours afterward, undermining her self-conception and encouraging her to qualify herself to you.

I’ll give you an example of what I mean. I was at a party talking with a girl, a cute 7.5, and I mentioned offhandedly (or so it seemed to her, for little I do or say isn’t calculated to maximize my personal advantage) that she seemed really modest. (My assessment wasn’t wholly without merit, judging by her clothes and shy demeanor. Another defining feature of the best negs are that they have the ring of truth to them.)

Naturally, and predictably, she, being a member in good standing of the SWPL industrial complex where modesty is considered a character flaw, balked at this. “Modest? You think that? What do you mean by that?”

I ignored the first importuning, but by the second I had to address her metastasizing concern.

“Modesty is a lost art. It’s not a bad thing… usually. Not everyone feels a need to be an exhibitionist.”

You’ll note three things in my response. One, I didn’t back off from my initial assertion. Nothing kills tingles faster than defensiveness or apologia. Two, I continued the ruse under the assumption that my insidious neg was actually a compliment. Three, I added the qualifier “usually” as a means of keeping her hamster in full throttle spin mode.

I see a lot of guys throwing out community-approved negs on 6s, 7s and sometimes 8s like they are jokey zingers, and the result is often bad, as the girl turns on him or slinks away to find better company. No wonder; their technique carries the whiff of insult, which under normal circumstances with normal cute girls will backfire. (Very hot girls who crave assholes tend to better channel direct insults straight to their vagina region.)

The neg is, as Mystery used to implore, almost a hidden code within the larger conversational framework. It’s supposed to be perceived as a throwaway line of sincere and innocent intent that serves two purposes: one, it disqualifies you to sexy babes who start on the assumption that you’re just another joe schmoe who wants in their pants, and two, it infiltrates a girl’s subconscious so that she spends more mental energy analyzing her worth than she does analyzing yours.

Negs often can be as simple as one-word descriptions that are as easily interpreted as unflattering observations as they are as compliments; and therein lies their effectiveness. No need to memorize one-liners. All you have to have at your disposal is a handy list of vital and penetrating adjectives that cause a click and a whirring in the female limbic system. To wit:

modest.
strict.
humble.
wallflower.
unassuming.
strait-laced.
serious.
responsible.
responsible one.
introverted.
conservative.
upright.
polite.
proper.
good person.
moral.
respectable.
hard-headed.
nonconformist.
don’t care about other people’s opinions.
fastidious.
overeager.
excited to be here.
innocent.
out of her element.
guarded.
social butterfly.
above it all.
queen bee.
march to her own drummer.
individualist.
social/fashion/party maven.
netflix kind of girl.
calm.
low-key.
put up a facade for the crowd.
judgemental.
keep to herself.
energized by the scene.
natural performer.
happiest person here.
brooding.
good friend qualities.
easy to approach.
careful.
tentative.

You’ll also note that a lot of these unnervingly ambiguous observations focus on a girl’s presumed inability to cut loose and have some fun. They are designed, in other words, to eradicate anti-slut defenses and persuade her to open up… to you, the fearless judger of her feminine worth. Some others focus on her social naivete, or her craving for attention. Sprinkle to taste. Some of these negs fall under the category of cold reads; the difference being that cold reads are usually unambiguous compliments worded to entrap a girl deeper into conversation by getting her to talk about herself.

Seduction is the art of contrived concealment. You want to seduce without revealing the machinery of your mind, or the purpose of your words. You introduce the dangerous idea, and if you are successful, she picks up the idea and joins you in her own seduction.

At the end of the night she proved to me her bona fide immodesty with a streetlamp illuminated makeout.

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