Dating Traps

Occasionally, after you have been dating a girl for a few weeks, she will ask if you are seeing other girls.

This is the worst sort of beta bait because it is so innocuous sounding. What man wouldn’t want to reassure a girl he is dating that she’s the only one for him? Most betas will chomp down on stinky bait like this so hungrily that it will cause the girl to second guess whether she is high enough in dating market value that she can safely leave the guy for better prospects.

BETA: Nooo baby, I’m not dating anyone else. I wouldn’t even think of dating anyone else while I’m with you. I really like you. All I can think about is you. [Gentle shoulder grab and big, wet eyes.]

GIRL’S SUPEREGO: Oh, that’s good to hear. [GIRL’S ID: Tool.]

Your job, as a man who routinely dates quality women, is to never let her ego convince her that she is too good to be dating you. The best way to do this is simply to not fail her status ascertaining shit tests.

Beta bait and shit tests are similar concepts with some notable distinctions. Shit tests occur with the most regularity and intensity during early game, and at times when the relationship is on the skids. They are normally loaded up front to help the girl quickly take the measure of your alphaness. Beta bait happens at any time while dating a girl, and are spread out evenly in a relationship as a sort of low level boyfriend diagnosis script.

Shit tests are more obvious than beta bait, and thus easier to pass for men with excellent awareness of female hypergamy tactics. A shit test can be quite bold and shocking to newb ears and thus scare off lesser men, but the inveterate player always operates with the frame that shit tests and other assorted confusing and bitchy female behavior are an opportunity rather than an obstacle to demonstrate his mate value. A girl who is giving you shit is a hell of a lot closer to sex with you than a girl who is indifferent to your existence.

Of the two, beta bait is by far more dangerous than shit tests. If you fail a shit test, you move on to the next girl within your field of view. Your pain is over quickly and time is saved for mining new whore. But beta bait is subtler and more insidious; you may not even recognize you’re being baited until she’s screaming “HALF!” and the kid suddenly doesn’t look like you anymore.

But what truly makes beta bait so devilish is that the girl doesn’t even have to know she is baiting you. In fact, it is a mistake to think most girls are aware of their hypergamous status testing. Some are, particularly the heavily made-up club regulars who delight in frustrating men with sassy snark pulled from a crib sheet of well-worn bitchitudes. (I remember this one girl who used to say “take a picture, it’ll last longer” to just about every man she caught checking her out. I wonder what her line will be when she’s 35? “Take my picture, please”?) But most girls aren’t aware of how their female nature operates. To a girl, tossing out beta bait is as unconscious an act as a man chubbing out when admiring a perfectly rounded ass.

It doesn’t matter whether the bloody chum slips off the boat’s deck unsupervised, or if it’s tossed into the water with joyful gusto; you must resist biting into it regardless how tempting it is. Shit tests have less room for error. You fail the first shit test and you may as well write her off. In contrast, beta bait isn’t pass or die; you can safely take the bait occasionally without dooming your relationship, but you should aim for a pass rate of 75%. Once you start latching onto beta bait 50% or more of the time, your days as a man she desires to fuck are numbered.

Back to the original scenario, here is an example of how to resist the bait:

HER: I dunno… maybe. But if we do this I have to know you aren’t seeing other girls.

ENLIGHTENED YOU: Naturally. *kiss*

Note here that you aren’t sappily proclaiming your undying loyalty to the girl, while still easing her mind a little that (perhaps!) she is the only one you are dating. When you must give a girl an answer to something that reeks of beta bait, agree with her without *super* agreeing with her, if you catch my meaning. Sexy alpha answers nimbly dance the semantical line between truth, evasiveness, and provocativeness. Succinctness is always better than loquaciousness. Informality always beats formality. Hints are preferable to straight answers. Is this patronizing to girls? It sure is, and they wouldn’t have it any other way.

Great Scenes Of Game In Music

Commenter walawala posted a link to an annotated video of Robbie Williams running game on a talk show audience during a live performance of one of his songs.

BT = Buying Temperature, or how badly a chick tingles for you.

Now naturally Williams is a rock star on stage, so he’s DHVing through the roof as is and probably doesn’t need all that much game to begin with, but as noted in the annotation, he’s not well-known in America, so the risk of bombing on stage was present. It looks to me like he successfully employed classic game techniques and won the audience — and super alpha Simon Cowell — over. (Or, more accurately, he disarmed super alpha Simon Cowell.) Good find, walawala.

The song is pretty good, too.

Unplugging A Girl From Her iPod

Byron writes:

Reformed “nice guy” here with some feedback and solution to a problem I’ve not yet seen in your experience.

Your blog so succinctly highlights the disparity between what women say they want and what turns them on. A crucial distinction that your haters fail to grasp. Sure (most) women want a beta provider but the best fuck doesn’t come after vacuuming the lounge room floor on a Saturday afternoon. It should be obvious to all but the most deluded denialists that this isn’t a rigid dichotomy but a perfect LTR partner can combine both to raise a brood and resist enough shit tests to maintain dignity and remain attractive.

Today I finally solved a common problem affecting this  urban PUA – separating a woman (an easy 8 in this case) from her iPod. She sat next to me on the bus carrying a fashion bag with a label, blithely plugged into her pod. I casually pulled out my phone to “check Facebook” and after a few moments of indifference, gave her a lascivious look up and down and interrupted her with “Hey, what’s that store name on your bag ?”

She unplugged to tell me and I replied “I’m just going to pick out your new season’s wardrobe.” I was rewarded with a brief grimace, she plugged back in and she spent the next few minutes alternating glances between me and the store’s webpage. The bus ride was too short for any close but it was a good chance for some nonverbal game (smiles, raised eyebrows, nods, rolling eyes at the lingerie page) and I had successfully won her attention. Negs, common interest, rapport, innuendo, all in a packed bus with nary a word spoken.

This isn’t a half bad pickup opener to use on girls on buses and subways. It looks a little disjointed on paper, but I can see this working in the field with the right facial expressions. Logistics would have to be favorable as well; you’d need to be sitting or standing next to the girl. The neg as opener is also a favored tactic of mine.

The bigger theme here is how to get the attention of girls who are essentially deaf to the outside world thanks to their use of personal media players. Walk down any street in the city on any given day and at least half the hotties you pass will either be zoned out with headphones in their ears or tappity-tapping away text messages on their phones. And I’m guilty of this too. I can hardly walk a few blocks without using my iPod to listen to Earth, Wind and Fire. The PMP revolution has been both a blessing and a curse for the urban womanizing warrior. Obviously, it makes it more difficult to grab a girl’s attention, but it also provides a DHV opportunity for the enterprising player who is willing and able to disarm the iPod obstacle. After all, the iPod has probably accounted for a 50% reduction in hookups because of all the men cockblocked by its presence. It’s every single girl’s substitute father figure brandishing a shotgun in your face.

It makes sense to think of iPods as the equivalent of cockblocks. Address the iPod first and disarm it. Make a nonverbal gesture with your hand to your ear signaling the girl to remove her earpiece. That’s one way to unplug her so she can hear you. Another way is to simply talk loudly enough so that the girl will be able to hear you over the dulcet tones of Karen O. Most girls will unplug if they think someone is trying to talk to them.

Opening girls who are walking down the sidewalk with iPods is more difficult. You’ve only got a brief window to catch her attention and she’s not going to hear you until you’re right on top of her. Nonverbally signaling her as you and her close distance is an option, but most girls are not going to remove their earpieces because some random dude walking toward them is gesturing for them to do so. You’d have to instead make strong eye contact and open your mouth as if you’re about to say something, as if you’re a tourist about to ask for directions. This is probably the most elegant way to cajole a girl to unplug so that she may fall victim to experience the full joy of your player charms.

The Unbearable Triteness Of Hating

After three years doing this blog a wearisome predictability in types of hate becomes apparent. The unoriginal uniformity of the hate is its most intriguing feature, as it makes one wonder whether humans come preinstalled with mindware that executes in scripted patterns when certain sensitive buttons are pushed, or if the haters all gather in a secret Hatesonic Temple under the Capitol building to agree upon an approved suite of category hateration.

In the interest of advancing a sociological experiment for the benefit of my amusement alone, I’ve made a compendium of the typical incantations of hate directed at game and at those of us, like yer ‘umble narrator, who preach the Good Word of Game. Below each hate archetype I’ve helpfully included my mischievously glib responses to illustrate the empty-headedness of the hate.

1. “Bitter Beta” Hate

Hater: You are a bitter misogynist.

Translation: Your words make me weep from every pore.

2. Expectation Bias Hate

Hater: No one who writes the horrible things you do could possibly do well with women.

Back in Genghis Khan’s day, haters were known to remark “no one who crushes as many enemies as you do could possibly do well with women.”

3. Moving the Alpha Goalposts Hate

Hater: A real alpha male would be married and raising children as his legacy.

Alphaness required to marry the typical girl and knock her up: minimal.

Alphaness required to avoid the raw deal of marriage and the fun-hindering ballast of children while enjoying the love of many women in long term relationships: sniff my jock strap!

4. StrawHate

Hater: You argue a false alpha/beta dichotomy.

What part of dregs –> lesser omega –> greater omega –> lesser beta –> beta –> greater beta –> lesser alpha –> alpha –> super alpha don’t you understand? (Please note the date stamp of that post.)

5. Etymology Hate

Hater: Your definition of an alpha male is false. In the animal kingdom, the alpha male is leader of the pack, not a cad/badboy/jerk who pumps and dumps women.

Isn’t it just like a nerd to get hysterical over the appropriation of a narrow-sense scientific term to conveniently illustrate broader truths about men and women.

6. Unironic Internet Smear Hate

Hater: Alphas don’t blog. They’re too busy meeting women.

Because, you know, alphas don’t have hobbies. *alpha eye roll*

ps feel free to log off the internet any time.

7. The Political is Personal Hate

Hater: A true alpha lives the life, and does not neurotically obsess about his status on an internet blog.

Other than in a facetious fashion, I don’t think I’ve ever written about my own status, neurotically or otherwise, on this blog. Instead, I simply speak the truth about the world as it is, and give advice about attracting women that has worked for me and many other men. People who are offended by that decide I must be revealing my inner neuroses and obsessions, for any other explanation would surely pucker their sphincters. These people are best suited for careers as buttplug testers.

8. False Premises Hate

Hater: Yeah, sure, game works well for picking up low self-esteem bar skanks.

A great deal of hate is fueled by false premises. Concocting convenient scenarios, imagining the worst of your enemies, and reinterpreting their successes are a salve for the burned ego. Newsflash: your thin-skinned indignation is not my moral crisis.

9. Lifestyle Critique Hate

Hater: You live an empty existence if all you do is have one night stands with sluts.

Some people imagine that because I write about seducing women that must mean I strictly counsel avoiding long term loving relationships in favor of purely physical short term flings. These people are wrong. But they knew that. Of course, that doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with the occasional no muss no fuss empty sexual encounter.

10. Gay Love For John Wayne Hate

Hater: If you’re not a leader of men, you’re not an alpha.

I’m sure every male celebrity and emo punk singer drowning in pussy is crying bitter tears that he does not have the alpha imprimatur of Real Men of Stoicism bootlickers like yourself.

11. Rape Hate

Hater: Rape! Rapety-rape!

When all you have is a desiccated, dusty muff, the whole world looks like an unwelcome phallus.

12. Fallacy of Misdirected Obsession Hate

Hater: A guy who spends his life obsessing over how to get women is a loser.

A guy who spends his life obsessing over climbing the corporate ladder to get more attention from women is a loser.
A guy who spends his life obsessing over mastering guitar and playing in a rock band to get more attention from women is a loser.
A guy who spends his life obsessing over pursuing financial rewards and acquiring resources to get more attention from women is a loser.
A guy who….. ah, you get the point.

13. Fallacy of the Natural Hate

Hater: Naturals get women because they aren’t trying to get them.

After many years of practice, I’m sure it looked like Beethoven wasn’t trying when he played piano.
Or: A natural is simply a man whose game is internalized, but the tactics remain the same.

14. Just Be Yourself Hate

Hater: Game is fake.

Game is no less fake than any other self-improvement pursuit to which a man might set himself in order to move upward from his natural inertial state.

15. Victimology Hate

Hater: You’re using game to manipulate women and control their minds.

In other news, losing 20 pounds was discovered to grant formerly chubby girls strange hypnotic powers over the minds of men. Feeling manipulated, men took to the streets en masse to demand relief from their attraction to these newly slender girls.

16. Dancing Monkey Hate

Hater: Men who run game are just doing the bidding of women. Alphas don’t entertain women.

If you want success with women, you are going to have to entertain them… one way or the other. The same is true of women. Once a woman stops entertaining men with her body, her femininity, and her commitment worthiness by getting fat, old, ugly, bitchy, or single mom-y, she stops having success with men. We are all doing the bidding of our biomechanical overlord, and on our knees to his will we surrender, by force or by choice. You fool yourself if you believe you have some plenary indulgence from this stark reality.
Or: If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.

17. Voyeur Hate

Hater: You’re lying about the women you’ve had. Where are the photos?

I remember having a conversation with a buddy about this, where I mused aloud about what delicious fun it would be if I went nuclear and posted on this blog erotic jpegs of the women I’ve been with (hi blogger chicks!) over the past three years, (excepting those lovely ladies whose privacy I value more than the others), just to enjoy the exquisite paroxysms of cognitive dissonance that would rattle the souls of the haters who have spent so much mental energy comforting themselves with caricatures of me. He said not to bother. He explained that I could have pics of me facialing a slew of cuties and the haters would still find some excuse for not believing their own eyes. In other words, haters gon’ hate. Let them stew.

Two Words Women Love To Hear

I was speaking with a woman of considerable savviness in matters of male-female socializing. I wanted to know how to deal with a situation that required tip-toeing the line between candor and deceit. This is the advice she gave me.

ME: So this girl that I think is cute asks me if the girl she saw me with is my girlfriend. I don’t want to say yes and risk blowing my chances out of the water. I don’t want to say no, either, because I know women are more attracted to men when those men are getting love from other women. And a “no” would have been a lie, anyhow. So I was thinking about saying something close to the truth that also leaves the door open for continued flirting and possible future hooking up. Something along the lines of, “Well, we’re going through a rough patch now. Hard to say how it will turn out. We’re discussing a trial separation.”

GIRL BUDDY: Ugh, no.

ME: Why?

GIRL BUDDY: Too much explaining. By the time you’re finished with that I’m thinking “Wow, sorry I asked!”

ME: You got something better?

GIRL BUDDY: Just say, “It’s complicated.”

ME: “It’s complicated.” And that’s it?

GIRL BUDDY: That’s all you need. When a girl hears “it’s complicated”, she gets inside her head guessing about what you mean. That’s the place you want her to be if you want a shot with her.

ME: What if she follows up by asking me what I mean?

GIRL BUDDY: She won’t. Most girls understand that “it’s complicated” is code for “don’t ask me any more questions about it”. And you know girls love mystery, so they’re not going to ruin a good mystery by trying to solve it.

~~~

So there you go gentlemen. “It’s complicated.” Commit it to memory and deploy liberally. With some field practice, I’ve discovered that “it’s complicated” can serve as a useful stand-in for all sorts of scenarios you may find yourself in with a girl. It’s a go-to answer for all kinds of questions, not just the ones pertaining to your relationship status.

GIRL: So are you dating anyone right now?

YOU: It’s complicated.

***

GIRL: Just how many girls have you been with?

YOU: It’s complicated.

***

GIRL: What are you looking for?

YOU: It’s complicated.

***

GIRL: Will you buy me a drink?

YOU: It’s complicated.

***

GIRL: You’re not going to try to stick it in my ass tonight, are you?

YOU: It’s complicated.

GIRL: *swoon*

Sexual Experience Is Overrated

For women, that is. Men can never have too much sexual experience.

The following conversation I had with Silverback in the City Zeets will explain why.

~~~

Zeets: I’m pretty sure she’s only been with one other guy her whole life.

Me: Is she a virgin?

Zeets: Not a virgin… technically. But emotionally she may as well be. She has almost no experience with men.

Me: Hard to believe there are women like her outside of rural areas still in existence.

Zeets: She’s a foreigner from [a less developed European country].

Me: Bingo.

Zeets: The first time, she didn’t know what she was doing. It’s like I was back in high school. I tried to maneuver for the kill shot, but she kept her legs shut tight. I had to physically pry them apart. As I’m inching in, she’s squeaking like a mouse. “Ow ow ow”, she’s saying. I’m like, “Uh, ok, you’ve gotta relax here, otherwise this isn’t going to work.”

Me: Then what?

Zeets: Then she’s telling me to close all the blinds and blow out the candles. She likes the room pitch black. I guess it was because she was uncomfortable with me seeing her naked body in the lights. She’s got the bedsheets pulled right up to her chin.

Me: But she has a nice body. Doesn’t she know that?

Zeets: I know, tell me about it, but remember this girl is like a teenager fumbling around in the back seat of a car. She’s self-conscious. She doesn’t know what the fuck she’s doing. Eventually, we did do it, but it wasn’t good. She was too uptight, barely moved at all, and the endless foreplay pooped me out.

Me: That was over a month ago. You’re still with her.

Zeets: Yeah, we’ve done it a few more times since then. I was worried that she might have a weird psychological hangup about sex… maybe a religious thing?… but then it started getting better. She listened to my instructions, and followed orders well. Sex got better. She really loosened up.

Me: She got comfortable with you.

Zeets: Now she’s presenting like a red-assed chimp. She is truly loving in bed, totally getting into it. Sex has gotten even better with her than with some other women who knew what they were doing on the first date. Still need to work on proper blowjob technique, though.

~~~

Sluts may know what they’re doing the first time without much prompting from you, but sexually inexperienced girls who have been allowed to blossom into full, exuberant womanhood under your caring tutelage and by your steady temperament are the true prize, the holy grail.

It is a myth that sexually inexperienced girls are sexually repressed girls. Some are, but most of them are simply choosier than their sluttier sisters. It is more fulfilling to have a girl release with you, than to have her come pre-released by a battalion of men before you.

Update: Miranda Kerr Doesn’t Follow Her Own Advice

A reader who requested anonymity sent me some background information on Miranda Kerr.

You probably don’t have many Aussie readers, since they would gleefully point out that Miranda doesn’t take her own advice.

This guy ripped off and lied to her family, just like everyone else around him. Miranda likes the bad boys too.

Search for “Adrian Camilleri” on Google and you’ll find a wealth of shit.

Hey, chicks dig the dark triad.

I wonder if Adrian bought her the right size in between the time he spent stealing hundreds of thousands of dollars from her family? Or maybe it was his diligence at finding a babysitter on those nights when he was taking some time off lying to everyone around him? Perhaps he was good at connecting with her… deeply, so deeply… during moments away from being an über douche master of the universe?

Aaaaannd, take it away, commenters!