When a girl flaked (i.e., unexpectedly cancelled or failed to show for a date, or screened your calls) on you in the not too distant past, it usually meant there was a lack of attraction or she lost what little attraction there was in the interim between meeting her and calling her the next day. Occasionally, flakes were legitimate consequences of bad logistics or real plans that she had.
But, today, with the proliferation of smart phones and dumb disrespect, flaking has become de rigeur in certain segments of the female population. The NewYorkBetaTimes is on top of the trend (h/t reader M Serious):
Not long before that, Leandra Medine, the 23-year-old fashion blogger behind Man Repeller, sat down at the SoHo restaurant Jack’s Wife Freda and waited for her three friends. As she nursed a glass of wine, she glanced down at her phone to learn, via text, that all of her friends had bailed.
Random missed connections? Not quite.
Texting and instant messaging make it easier to navigate our social lives, but they are also turning us into ill-mannered flakes. Not long ago, the only way to break a social engagement, outside of blowing off someone completely, was to do it in person or on the phone. An effusive apology was expected, or at least the appearance of contrition.
But now, when our fingers tap our way out of social obligations, the barriers to canceling have been lowered. Not feeling up for going out? Have better plans? Just type a note on the fly (“Sorry can’t make it tonight”) and hit send.
And don’t worry about giving advance notice. The later, the better. After all, bailing on dinner via text message doesn’t feel as disrespectful as standing up someone, or as embarrassing.
Social media isn’t bringing us together as its creators and cheerleaders promised it would; it’s tearing apart our humanity. Our social minds have evolved in a face-to-face medium, not a faceless ASCII ether. When you can’t see the disappointment or anger on the face of the person you’re shafting, you don’t feel bad about it. Smartphones feed the shamelessness of our culture.
And it is practically endemic among those in their 20s and younger, who were raised in the age of instant chatter.
“Texting is lazy, and it encourages and promotes flakiness,” Mr. Cohen said. “You’re not treating anything with any weight, and it turns us all into 14-year-olds. We’re all 14-year-olds in suits and high heels.”
Social media is also making emotionally stunted children out of all of us. Or, more precisely, emotionally blank aspie idiots. I wonder if the ability to read emotions from a person’s face and body language is declining in lockstep with the rise of texting and IMing? If it is, as I suspect, then salesmen with cunning social skills will be able to clean up in an environment of over-trusting spergy kiddies. Some of you will be able to see the connection to antagonistic mass diversity here.
Rachel Libeskind, a 23-year-old artist who lives in TriBeCa, is constantly navigating her social circles from her iPhone. She finds that she’ll triple- or even quadruple-book plans on weekend nights, knowing there’s only a 60 percent chance she’ll engage in any of them.
“People will text me, ‘Let’s do something this week,’ and I’ll have three or four plans laid out for the week, and on average, more than half of them fall through,” she said. “The social plans I make are always changing, always shifting.”
Girls especially love this age of electronic “micro-coordinating”, because the plethora of shallow plans make them feel wanted, loved, desired, popular, BUSY BUSY BUSY. It’s an incipient attention whore’s paradise. Until 4 out of 5 plans fall through, and she has to micro-coordinate another ten plans to get her lookatme! fix.
Players like this situation as well, because it allows them to juggle multiple women seamlessly and to cut girls off without undue chick drama.
Moreover, it’s not considered boorish when her peers abandon one another. “Because there is very little at stake in terms of having these plans, it’s not that rude,” she said. “It’s implicit because that’s how everyone is operating.”
Social media and smartphones have ensured that nothing is important, because the second something *is* important, there are real consequences for flaking on it. And no woman-child wants to deal with icky real consequences. Yuk!
“My parents always say that when you make a plan, even if your finger is falling off, even if you’re bleeding, you can’t stand people up,” said Ms. Medine, the fashion blogger. [editor: “fashion blogger”. jesus. all i want for christmas is a day of the rope… a day of the rope…] “But to me, it’s not rude. If your plans fall through, that’s fine. We live in a city where there are a million other plans waiting for you.”
This is why the modern day player has to have, as part of his seduction arsenal, professional anti-flaking techniques. If you don’t know how to handle the flakes that will inevitably occur, you are handicapped in the mating market. And you know what kind of guy thrives in the Age of Flakes? — The guy who knows how to flip the script and get women to chase *him*, so that he is the one with the option to flake.
Ms. Medine added that she would often R.S.V.P. to five events a night, knowing there’s little chance she would attend them all. “I don’t think any plan is a plan until you’re inside the restaurant looking at someone else,” she said.
Player: “I don’t think any plan is a plan until you’re inside her vagina looking into her eyes.”
Hey, what’s good for the goose…
PS You will see a photo of MIZZ Medine alongside the article, and, well… manjaw’s gonna manjaw.
Seriously, what the fuck is up with American women acting and looking like men, and American men acting and looking like manboobs? Did a silent enemy slip something into our water supply? Are my balls just astronomically bigger than the average man’s because I don’t apologize for my manhood, and I prefer feminine women?
My techie-minded prediction is that the Age of Flaking will slowly come to an end when video-texting and video calling become widely used. Once you can’t text or IM without seeing a moving face before you, the boorishness will wither with the rising shame.
“If you text a friend that you can’t make dinner because you’re feeling sick, and then a picture of you dancing on a bar shows up on someone’s Instagram feed, you just got caught,” Mr. Blasberg said. “With the rise of social media and technology, it’s harder to use little white lies to get out of things.”
Orwell was only partly right. Big Brother is everywhere, but he is as much your friend or neighbor as he is your government.
A classic CH anti-flaking technique can be found here.
Somewhere in Brazil, an alpha prankster (you’d need to be alpha to pull this off for as long as he did with a smirk on your face) trolled a slut walk full of unhygienic feminists hard. He rolled up and rolled his dick out in solidarity with the concept of slut pride, as seething, violent, hyper-emotional feminist cuntrags, who wouldn’t know irony if it walked up and boob-slapped them, threw stuff at him, missing 100% of the time from three feet out. Because girls can’t throw.
Awareness raised! For some reason, I have it in my mind that this guy is actually mischievous commenter “gig” moonlighting as a rapscallion. You go, gig!
Anyhow, the Youtube comments are gold, demonstrating once again that the best American comedy is to be found lurking on Youtube under anonymous troll cover. Ex:
So this is why my sandwich is still not made. Damn the March of the Sluts.
“There are only two ways of telling great humor without getting fined for sexual harassment — anonymously and posthumously.”
– Thomas Sowell
So I take it Brazil is now filled to the rafters with inane feminists who lack the awareness to perceive their hypocrisy. Yay globalization! We’ve come a long way from Blame it on Rio. I wonder if a single one of those shrieking skanks offended (shamefully aroused?) by the sight of penis blowin’ in the breeze grasps the irony that they betrayed the principle of their slut walk by reacting in judgmental horror to a guy who just wanted to empower himself and dress the way he wants. Can’t a guy stroll through a feminist coven proudly showcasing some serpent skin without being accosted, institutionally raped, and deprivileged by the matriarchy? There should be laws against women who victimize men because they can’t control themselves when they see penis. Hey hey, ho ho, penis haters got to go!
A master troll who knows his craft can smash a million pretty lies with one mighty unzip of his pants.
Let’s have a closer look at the alpha mug which drove a horde of feminists apoplectic with self-realization.
Readers sometimes ask what exactly “bemused mastery” looks like. I think this should answer their question.
The smirk of satisfaction. Don’t expect a cringing display of beta supplicating apologetics from this face. He knows he’s getting laid for his effrontery.
If you scan the crowd, you’ll see a few white knight omegaboy lasanga vegetables shitting their panties. Gotta love their utter demasculinizing uselessness out there. Lapdog mascots who will lick the boots of their cunty masters for a grateful nibble of fetid swamp snatch when the moon aligns with Uranus. But enough about Hugo Schwyzer.
Debra Davis and Rhoades met in the early ’80s at a Houston bar called Chipkikkers. Rhoades was dressed that night as an airline pilot, and it was months before Davis found out he wasn’t one. The remarkable thing is that when she did, she didn’t dump him. But Rhoades was cunning and highly charismatic. When the FBI extradited him to Illinois, he was able to get a phone number off a waitress while shackled hand and foot and wearing an orange prison suit. This obviously doesn’t recommend the waitress’s judgment, but at least some of the credit has to go to Rhoades.
“There was just something about him. I can’t explain it.”
Beta males the world over woo women with flowers and flattery and get put on ice as a reward. A charismatic psychopath scores digits while decked out in prison chic and chained hand and foot.
Ah, women. Lift the veil of their sweetness a little too far, and…
Four years ago, this esteemed blog laid out in detail the reasons why men can’t be friends with bangable women, and under which conditions male-female friendships could plausibly form and endure.
Men and women simply cannot be friends unless certain conditions are met.
Mutual lack of attraction
This is easy. When there’s no loin burning to get in the way a girl buddy is like a guy buddy, except you can dump on her about your dating troubles and give your opinion of in-season colors without getting laughed at.
[…]
One way attraction, girl to guy
Girls find it easier to keep their sex drives in check, which is why they can retain their sanity while remaining friends with uninterested guys they are attracted to far longer than the reverse scenario. Men who are attracted to their girl buddies cannot stay friends for long without either making a sloppy move and killing the friendship or sacrificing their last ounce of dignity as they go insane from blue balls toxic shock.
[…]
One way attraction, player to girl
There is only one way a single man can be friends with a woman he wants to bang and that’s when his balls are so drained from fucking other women that he feels no testicular pressure to act on his desire. You’ll notice that a typical sexually satisfied alpha has lots of hot girl acquaintances he doesn’t bother gaming because the effort required is not worth the very small marginal increase in pleasure or risk of losing the girls as social proof and as friends.
[…]
The man is married or in a relationship
If you’re looking to be a cool friend to hot chicks without falling victim to the temptation to hit on them, you can acquire this noble virtue on the cheap by shackling your vice within the artificial prison of marriage or exclusive relationships. (Note: The opposite doesn’t work — most men will sleep with a hot married woman given the chance and in spite of the risk.) This is the foolproof method for betas to be relaxed and emotionally stable friends with attractive girls they’d love to bang. They simply tell themselves that they already have a girl waiting for them at home who they love very much or, if they don’t love her, who would be really pissed if they cheated on her, and so the pressure is off. They can therefore rationalize their asexual acquiescence to LJBFdom as a pose of moral rectitude.
[…]
She’s on the internet and you can’t see her in person
Pretty simple trick to be platonic with a chick when she’s a flick on your monitor and a thousand miles away.
As per usual, the Chateau was more right than it knew, and ahead of its time. Recently, a scientific study has confirmed just about every observationally sound assertion put forth in that seminal post.
[T]he possibility remains that this apparently platonic coexistence is merely a façade, an elaborate dance covering up countless sexual impulses bubbling just beneath the surface.
New research suggests that there may be some truth to this possibility—that we may think we’re capable of being “just friends” with members of the opposite sex, but the opportunity (or perceived opportunity) for “romance” is often lurking just around the corner, waiting to pounce at the most inopportune moment. […]
The results suggest large gender differences in how men and women experience opposite-sex friendships. Men were much more attracted to their female friends than vice versa. Men were also more likely than women to think that their opposite-sex friends were attracted to them—a clearly misguided belief. In fact, men’s estimates of how attractive they were to their female friends had virtually nothing to do with how these women actually felt, and almost everything to do with how the men themselves felt—basically, males assumed that any romantic attraction they experienced was mutual, and were blind to the actual level of romantic interest felt by their female friends. Women, too, were blind to the mindset of their opposite-sex friends; because females generally were not attracted to their male friends, they assumed that this lack of attraction was mutual. As a result, men consistently overestimated the level of attraction felt by their female friends and women consistently underestimated the level of attraction felt by their male friends. […]
These results suggest that men, relative to women, have a particularly hard time being “just friends.” What makes these results particularly interesting is that they were found within particular friendships (remember, each participant was only asked about the specific, platonic, friend with whom they entered the lab). This is not just a bit of confirmation for stereotypes about sex-hungry males and naïve females; it is direct proof that two people can experience the exact same relationship in radically different ways. Men seem to see myriad opportunities for romance in their supposedly platonic opposite-sex friendships. The women in these friendships, however, seem to have a completely different orientation—one that is actually platonic.
Science ♥s Heartiste. It feels good being so right so often, but honestly a high “being right to being wrong” ratio isn’t that difficult to achieve as long as you are open to seeing reality for what it is, rather than what you wish it to be. The study’s money quote:
Taken together, these studies suggest that men and women have vastly different views of what it means to be “just friends”—and that these differing views have the potential to lead to trouble. Although women seem to be genuine in their belief that opposite-sex friendships are platonic, men seem unable to turn off their desire for something more. And even though both genders agree overall that attraction between platonic friends is more negative than positive, males are less likely than females to hold this view.
If you were to read nothing in life except this blog, you would be better equipped to successfully navigate the obstacles life throws at you than a feminist or manboob who has read 10,000 cathedral-certified gender studies textbooks at $100 a pop.
Like anyone would be I am flattered by your fascination with me Like any hot blooded woman I have simply wanted an object to crave
– “Uninvited”
Women overestimate, and men underestimate, the impact makeup has on women’s looks. For the majority of women, expertly applied makeup adds half a point to 1 point to their facial attractiveness. A minority benefits from a generous 2 point increase to their beauty ranking. A few very ugly women see no improvement (lipstick on a pig syndrome). And a very few odd-looking catwalk models with angular, bony faces can see incredible leaps of beauty from makeup (and favorable lighting), sometimes on the order of a 4 or 5 point jump up the looks scale.
The average woman, of course, thinks that makeup conceals all her flaws (it doesn’t, particularly flaws arising from asymmetry or masculinized features, such as manjaws) and beautifies her beyond her relative beauty ranking in the general female population. The average man, who, it should be noted, has little experience bedding a lot of pretty women, thinks women won’t look very different in the morning, sans makeup. These neophyte men are often shocked by the difference dim light and eye shadow can play on their perception. Makeup may only grant a one point improvement to women, but one point is serious business on a ten point scale.
Since nearly all women use makeup on a regular or semi-regular basis, the advantage any one woman gets from makeup is that it allows her to stay in the game. Not using makeup is akin to walking into a heated mating environment with curlers in her hair and bits of tissue paper on her freshly popped zits. She’s gotta keep up with the Janeses. Unless she is part of the 1% of women with unearthly natural beauty that shines better without makeup, going out in public without her “face” on is accepting a severe handicap to her SMV.
So makeup does give women a nontrivial boost to their absolute SMV, if not their relative SMV. This matters, because absolute female beauty is more important than relative female beauty for attracting men. A plain jane in a roomful of warpigs will doubtless earn more male attention, but she still won’t be any man’s ideal mate. Men have the golden ratio embedded in their brains, and a less ugly girl is not the same as a pretty girl.
We know makeup has mating value for women, else they wouldn’t spend billions caking themselves in it. But does makeup have less value today than it did in the recent past? Think about the typical woman’s dating life 100 years ago, or even 50 years ago. She lived with her parents until she got married. Long courtships were the norm. She was dropped off at home by her date before the night was out. If there was a morning after, it usually meant wedding nuptials were exchanged the day before. If there was premarital sex, it happened under conditions (read: non-cohabitating) that ensured the woman would still be made up post-coitus.
The effect of this dating system was that men would hardly ever see the women they dated *without* their makeup on. Many a man didn’t see the honest, true woman he was dating/sexing until he put a ring on it. The women of yore benefited from this system that allowed them to avoid “just being themselves” just long enough to entrap entranced men in lifelong servitude.
Fast forward to today. Morning afters happen within weeks, sometimes within hours, of meeting a woman. This means men are seeing women in all their natural glory long before any marital vows are whispered about. That hot babe you wanted to fuck so badly the night before has morphed into a moldy loaf of bread with half her face mashed into a wrinkled mess in your pillow. The illusion shattered, a relationship with this creature has suddenly seemed a lot less inviting.
The power of makeup is not what it used to be, for the simple reason that men are seeing women without their makeup sooner, and more often. This unpainted state of affairs has hit cougars and marginal girls the hardest, for whom makeup is their last salvation from a life of depressing singledom.
Is the denuded woman’s face her worst foe? A good case can be made that a culture stripped of its illusory power of makeup has contributed to falling marriage rates and delayed marriage and men in general not giving a flying fuck about impressing women. Yeah, maybe it’s not a major contributor, (female obesity would claim the corpulent crown as a major contributor), but it could play a role. The story of decivilizing cultures is partly the story of women ousted from their vaunted position in society as sublime muses for men’s hearts.
PS Occasionally a dummy feminist hater (but i repeat myself thricely!) will stroll in this happy cunting ground claiming makeup allows her to fool men that she’s hotter than she is, and to get what she wants from them, even marriage. I always respond that such a claim conveniently overlooks the reality of the morning after. You can dye, but you can’t hide…
A father seeks advice on how to helpfully navigate his daughter past badboy shoals:
My daughter has just turned 16 and has a throng of suitors persuing her (she’s easily a high 8, inherited the best feminine mix of traits from a Chinese mother & white father). However, I have no illusions about the id that lurks within her & it’s susceptibility to aloof assholes.
My question is what can I do as a father to reduce the risk of having some smirking lowlife with tight game (Like Josh Camacho from the latest ‘Chicks Dig Jerks’) ruining my daughter for a legitimately high-status husband or having his bastard whelp become my grandchild.
One word: belittle.
Remember, you are still the ultimate alpha male in her life. The pinnacle of authority. Does the ultimate alpha sweat challenges from upstart alphalings? No. He laughs them off. If you get to feeling that she’s drifting into a crowd of jerks and nah boys, you react like you would if you were her alpha male boyfriend: tease her for her childish taste in men. Tell her, “I think that boy (always use the term “boy”) with the dorky tattoo has a puppy crush on you. He gets so tongue-tied around you. Maybe you can teach him how to speak like an adult?”
If the wigger tool ever winds up at your house, that is your opportunity to humiliate him in front of your daughter with extreme prejudice. You want to plant the seed in your daughter’s head that her asshole suitor is lame, nerdy, stupid, humorless, immature, gullible and, most disparaging, cowardly. She won’t appreciate your intervention, but, like a toddler hearing a new word and repeating it days later after it has sunk in, the slanderous seed will have germinated in her brain and poisoned her puerile love for the prick, eventually driving a hypergamously-lubed wedge between them.
I understand your fear, though, because a daughter succumbing to a worthless layabout’s charms is just about a father’s worst nightmare come true.
My advice to would-be fathers: pray you have all sons. That way if they get their fuck on, you will feel proud instead of panicked.
Email #2
A reader requests break-up advice:
Do you have any suggestions for breaking up with a girlfriend that give you the upper-hand but without being too hurtful to her?
She is of almost a year, a nice girl and pretty sensitive. There’s probably no easy way to do it, but don’t want a rep as a cheater or anything like that. (I’ve already cheated on her anyways but don’t want to be known as that)
Any suggestions would be much appreciated. thanks
It’s (almost) impossible to both initiate a painless break up with a girl and retain the upper hand, if by “upper hand” we mean awesome alpha maleness. As long as she doesn’t want the break-up, she will be hurt, no matter how delicately you deliver the news. The only surefire method for breaking up with a girl that leaves her feeling relieved rather than hurt is to go Full Metal Beta over the course of a few months, until she’s sick of your mewling.
Gunnery Sergeant Hamster: [sniffing] Holy Jesus! What is that? What the fuck is that? WHAT IS THAT, PRIVATE BOYFRIEND?
You: Ma,am, a scented poem, ma’am!
Gunnery Sergeant Hamster: A scented poem?
You: Ma’am, yes, ma’am!
Gunnery Sergeant Hamster: How did it get here?
You: Ma’am, I wrote it for you and watermarked it with my tears of joy.
Gunnery Sergeant Hamster: Is a scented poem supposed to make me feel better?
You: Ma’am, yes, ma’am!
Gunnery Sergeant Hamster: Are you thinking I want to have sex with you because of this scented poem?
You: Ma’am, yes, ma’am!
Gunnery Sergeant Hamster: And why, Private Boyfriend?
You: Ma’am, because it’s proof that you are my world, ma’am!
Gunnery Sergeant Hamster: Because you are a disgusting cloying beta, Private Boyfriend, I DO NOT want to have sex with you!
You: Ma’am, yes, ma’am!
Gunnery Sergeant Hamster: Then why did you try to write this poem for me, Private Boyfriend?
You: Ma’am, because I was seeking your approval, ma’am!
Gunnery Sergeant Hamster: Because you were seeking my approval… [grabs her phone to show Private Boyfriend all the texts from aspiring suitors]
Gunnery Sergeant Hamster: Private Boyfriend, you have dishonored yourself and dishonored the male gender. I have tried to drop hints. But I have failed. I have failed because you suddenly decided that supplicating betatude is what I needed, despite all fucking evidence to the contrary. So, from now on, as a show of proof that your way is the way of failure, I want you to read this text conversation I had last night with a man who understands me the way you used to. Notice the part where I thank him for letting me puff on his peter. [shoves phone in Private Boyfriend’s face]
Gunnery Sergeant Hamster: Are you feeling ill yet?
You: Ma’am, does this mean we’re broken up, ma’am?
Gunnery Sergeant Hamster: You’re goddamned right this means we’re broken up, maggot!
You: [phew]
This will work, but you sure won’t feel like you left with the upper hand. My suggestion, if you want to dump her using less manipulative tactics while sparing her feelings as best you can, is to tell her that, although you love her in many ways, you never got over your ex-girlfriend, and you recently met her and fell in love again. For whatever reason, girls are more forgiving of rifts caused by the return of an old love you have nursed for years. It hits their romance buttons.
Or just announce that you’re gay.
Email #3
A college student wants to know why the sex is drying up:
I’m a Senior college student who has been in a great relationship for 9 months. The past two months my gf has often not been in the mood. What do i do? getting denied drives me crazy
1. She’s recently gotten in touch with an ex-boyfriend she still likes.
2. She recently met, however innocently, an alpha male who pushed all her buttons.
3. You’re turning Betanese.
4. Some combination of all the above.
Without more info, I can’t tell you which of those explanations is relevant in your case, but the cause of her sexual withdrawal is most likely one of those reasons. My advice: Begin abandonment protocol. Women value men who are mysterious and scarce; your job is to give her that little reminder that you can’t be taken for granted. A calculated disappearing act should do the trick. Double down by being seen by her in the company of other women.
Whatever you do, DO NOT beg for sex, in any manner. Sticking around like an underfed puppy dog waiting on table scraps is a guaranteed way to reduce your attractiveness to zero.
Email #4
Somewhat long-ish reader request to analyze his game:
I went to a bar I never go to in order to see a band I really like tonight. I had a great time, and afterward I was busy talking to a friend and he encouraged me to go talk to some girls. I was drunk, so I felt more confident than usual, but I still couldn’t bring myself to do it since I’m so inexperienced at cold approaches.
Then a girl I haven’t seen much of since high school came up to me. She’s very attractive and thus is very used to guys hitting on her, so I knew if I was going to make it happen I would need tight game. We talked for a few moments, I initiated some physical contact and then I let her wander off to see her friends. My friend gave me a pep talk to go back after it. After getting my mind in the right place and ordering another drink, I wandered upstairs to see if I could locate her.
I went onto the balcony and she was in a large group comprising mostly people I know from high school but haven’t seen in a while. They invited me to join the group. I was a loser in high school, but I feel that I did very well tonight putting up the image that I’m confident and secure in myself. It was probably the alcohol, but it taught me how I should be most of the time.
I was in the group for a while and engaged the different girls individually, knocking each off their pedestal and emitting an aura of dominance. These are the girls that require negs, and I made effective use of them. I was on my game for 95% of the night, but I might have screwed up in the end by showing too much interest in the girl I’m after. To be fair, this is a high-quality girl that requires a flawless performance, and I feel like I would have definitely been successful if it had been someone of lower quality. I was feeling it tonight, but I might have screwed up a bit. I’m inexperienced at this sort of thing but I would have never imagined that I would have been as confident as I was. Regardless of how this situation works out, it’s a building block for my game.
Toward the end, when the girls said they were going to another bar, I attempted to stop the girl I’m after. Since our high school isn’t too far away from where we now attend college and she generally attends high school football games and such since her mother teaches there, I asked her if she’d be at homecoming next weekend (we’ve been out for three years now — we’re both 21). She said she thought it was last week (a definite lie) and started to walk off and said that she would come back to this bar later. I told her to “wait just a goddamn minute” and stomped out my cigarette and followed the group inside. I tapped her on the head from behind but she ignored me.
Her (smoking hot) friend stayed behind as they walked off and engaged me. Conversation goes as follows (using a neg I pulled from a PUA site, possible this one but I can’t remember):
Me: “Is she always like this?”
Her: “What’s she being like?”
Me: “Well, she’s kind of being a bitch. Tell her that it’s not too late to enroll in charm school. I hear that’s making a big comeback.”
Her group left, and I promptly bounced instead of waiting around to see if they’d come back. I have a feeling that they didn’t, and I sure as fuck wasn’t going to be the chump that sat around waiting or followed them to the other bar. I got in my car and drove off.
So, how should I proceed from here? I’m hoping her friend gave her my message. I usually don’t get too much into PUA philosophy but it was needed here as I was punching way above my weight. All in all, even if I did fuck up, I did way better than I could have imagined.
I know that it’s preached in PUA circles that if you need advice on how to pursue a girl that you won’t get her, but I’m going to try to play this one out to the end. Can I salvage this?
Don’t depend on a girl’s friends to “deliver” your tight game her. She has to be there in your company, hearing you spit it. If anything, calling her a bitch to her friend is going to make you look weak and insecure as it winds its way through the female grapevine, which is, as if it needed saying, utterly out of your control to influence as an outsider to the group.
I don’t know if it’s salvageable with the girl you really want, but her lying about not knowing the date of the homecoming tells me that she probably thought you were trying to slyly insinuate yourself into her homecoming plans. I don’t think it looks good, because I’m not seeing any signals of interest from her in your retelling of the night’s events. You should mack her friend, instead.
Email #5
A reader asks:
Would definitely appreciate your thoughts or a post on good/funny lines to reopen texting that dies down. Have a great weekend.
A reader wants to know where he dropped the balls:
Hey, I love your website and I have learned a great deal from you. Can you give me your input on something? I’m very confused. I’ll try and keep it short.
I’ve been hanging out with this girl about once every other week for a couple months. We have slept in the same bed multiple times (no sex…every time I go for her pussy, she pushes my hand away.) we have made out, spooned, messed around, pretty much everything except sex.
She invited me over and she cooked dinner for me a little over a week ago and we always split the bill when we go out.
At dinner she told me she gave her ex a second chance, but he never changed and is the same person so she is done for good with him. And she went to the fair with some guy that puked on the ride with her, and she has been ignoring him since Then she asks me if I have met any cute girls lately (shit test?).
I texted her Sunday night and she never replied. I haven’t talked to her since she made me dinner over a week ago.
When I first met her I was a huge dick to her, buying everyone drinks except her, etc. She was really into me. But I have started being nicer to her lately and I think that is why she is losing attraction for me. Her last Facebook status said “It seems that I have a thing for men who are from Scotland, Ireland, and London… Maybe I wasn’t meant to live in the U.S. because I can’t seem to find a guy that compares to men from Europe.” Her ex is Scottish.
Tell me where I went wrong here, was it because I turned down the asshole vibe?
You, sir, are a train wreck, and your spilled cargo is a debris field of beta. First, NEVER platonically sleep in the same bed with a girl you desire. The bed is sacred. The bed is enthroned. The bed is where your kingship is ratified. The bed is where the penis meets the vagina. Or at least some orifice that is a reasonable facsimile of the vagina.
Multiple times you have lain next to her in bed, your balls filled with unexpectorated sperms? Multiple times she has pushed your hand away, taunting you like a cat might paw at an injured mouse before delivering the killing bite? On top of all this slander to your manhood, she casually regales you over dinner with tales of the ex-boyfriend she obviously still loves? (Don’t let her precise words to the contrary fool you; a woman who mentions an old lover out of the blue still pines for him.) And finally, the shiv strikes soft underbelly when she asks if you’ve found yourself a nice girl.
Can’t you see what’s going on here? I’ll just cut to the chase. You are the classic betaboy emotional tampon. An asexual lump who listens like a champ, restrains his sexual urges with stoic mastery, and feeds her need for self-esteem.
She has never “seen you that way”. Something happened over that last dinner that scared her away. Probably you said something which revealed a hint of your animal desire for her, something which crossed the invisible line demarcating the friendship zone she thought was operational, that jolted her comfy world where the two of you are cute little cartoon friends without sexual organs who talk girl stuff all the day and night, and with whom she can unload her issues she has with jerks who know how to make her pussy quake.
My final judgment: lost cause. Excise her from your life like she’s a tumor, because that’s exactly what she is, an emotional tumor sucking nutrients from the manlier portions of your viscera. Yes, you most likely blew it when you turned to the Nice Side, somewhere between the time you stopped gunning for her pussy to instead “hang out” in perpetuity, and the time you voluntarily bedded with her without the usual payoff that most men expect from such intimate arrangement. Accompany an alpha male friend to hit on girls, to help get your head screwed on right.
