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Undercover Niceguy

In this Esquire article (with a very disturbing photo at the top), the author recounts his experience trying to set up his drop-dead gorgeous babysitter on a date.  For some inexplicable reason, she can’t seem to find a man on her own, so her host dad decides to help her out by impersonating her on an internet dating site and sifting through the e-suitors until he finds someone acceptable (to her, not to him, though the line is blurred).

Reading about his efforts, I can’t help but think what a milquetoast this guy is, as exemplified by what he imagines his hot nanny would look for in a guy.  It’s a classic case of beta projection.  But I suppose throughout history LJBF’ed betas have served as male cockblocks intercepting the natural desire of girls to hook up with the kinds of men who stomp all over betas.  If I were him, I’d be working the magic on my nanny, not working to get her banged by someone else.

The best part of the article is when the author has an email exchange with a guy who obviously has some knowledge of the Game.

One writes that he wants to know more about Michelle [the babysitter], but adds, “I can tell from your profile that sometimes you’re a handful.”

That’s annoying.

I respond: “What gives you the idea that I’m sometimes a handful?”

He responds: “I am so right!”

Now the bastard has really pissed me off.

Of course he has.  You are a man.  You respond to cocky flirting from another man by rearing up, flattening your ears, and raising your fur.  A woman would respond much differently. 

I click on his profile. A John Turturro look-alike with a smug smile.

He sees “smug”; she would see “confident”.

His opening photo shows him with his arm around a pretty woman with large breasts, as if to say, “I hang around with hot, large-breasted women, so if you are a hot, large-breasted woman, you should also hang around with me.” He likes to “work hard and play harder.” He is “VERY spiritual.”

Social proof, knows how to have fun, and dabbles in the supernatural.  Well-established tactics in the player’s arsenal of seduction.  His nanny would not react to this the way he is.

Michelle is not a handful. In her profile, she says that she’s very open and will let you know when she’s upset. That makes her a handful?

Too funny.  The author, Jacobs, doesn’t realize it, but the suitor’s seduction tactic worked on him.  He’s qualifying himself here!

Anyhow, Jacobs is clueless.  He must be much older because he can’t grasp the nuance of the word “handful” in this context.  Letting a guy know when she’s upset is, in fact, a leading indicator of handfulness.  The suitor has used a qualification technique on the girl designed to put her on the defensive and convince her he has standards in the women he dates.

But I have a theory. I think the fucker is employing an underhanded strategy. I edited an article a couple of years ago about a book called The Game, by Neil Strauss.

A glowing review, I’m sure.  Note to aspiring authors of player manuals — don’t let a beta review your book.

It’s about a nebbishy guy who decides to become the world’s greatest pickup artist, and it became exceedingly popular with a certain type of single man. One major strategy Strauss talks about is to mildly insult a beautiful woman, lower her self-esteem, thus making her more vulnerable to your advances.

This is a common misperception.  The objective is not to lower the self-esteem of the girl but raise the value of the player relative to her and therefore make her lower her bitch shield and become more pliable for conversation.  Backhanded compliments tell the girl that he is a guy who isn’t dazzled by her beauty like all those other losers.

So I e-mail handful guy as Michelle: “Have you read the Game by Neil Strauss?”

He says, “What makes you ask me that?”

Yes! Busted.

Congratulations, Jacobs, you won a moral victory.  Now go back to limply boffing your dumpy ageing wife, said dumpiness no doubt accentuated and rubbed in your effete face by the constant comparisons to the hot unavailable babysitter prancing around your home.

I respond: “I was wondering if your first email was a neg.” A “neg” is pickup patois for the mild insult.

He shoots back: “No, it was playful teasing. And yes, I have read the book.”

Thus commences a flurry of e-mails arguing whether his line qualifies as a neg. Finally, he brings out his trump card: “Considering that I know most of the people in the book personally from before the book was released, I’m gonna have to disagree.”

The player loses his cool here.  Since he still thinks he’s talking to a girl, he shouldn’t have gotten defensive.  His best play would have been to casually acknowledge the Game as something his girl buddy told him about and then bounced the conversation to the related subject of dating and flirting.  In other words, act like it’s no big deal. 

Aha. I hit the sleazeball jackpot, a longtime pickup artist. I tell him I’m glad my womanly radar warned me against him.

Jacobs is giddy that he can stick it to a guy who symbolically represents every jerk he ever resented for getting the girl when he couldn’t.  Settle down, Beavis.

He says, “I was hoping online dating would introduce me to different girls than the ones I pick up and seduce in bars, clubs and starbucks. So far not.”

Bad move.  Too hostile.  This guy is not a player, he’s a struggling ex-beta.  There is much learning ahead for him.

It was the closest thing to an admission of guilt that I was going to get.

I write, “Just remember as you wade through the dating pool [his lame metaphor, by the way]: we women are not just here to be conquered as part of the game.”

Bitter beta resentment – it’s what’s for dinner!

I’m a magnet for scammers. Everyone wants down my pants. Michelle probably would have sniffed this guy out eventually, but I’m proud that I saved her from a date.

Michelle thanks you by flaunting her luscious goods in front of your ineffectual feeble manhood.

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