The evolutonary psychologists recruited a rotating team of male and female interviewers who paired up and evaluated more than two hundred married participants in the Midwest. Each subject was judged for physical attractiveness and assessed in three separate sessions for the factors they valued and insisted on in choosing a mate. The prettiest women had the highest standards — they wanted and expected their partners to be masculine, fit, physically attractive, loving, educated, a few years older than themselves, and desirous of home and children, with a high income potential. Surprising to the researchers there was only one quality beautiful women did not insist on more than plainer women did: intelligence.
No surprise here that the hottest women have the highest overall standards. Hot chicks and high status men have the sexual market options available to them to plausibly hold very high standards for themselves. What is perhaps interesting to the game neophyte and the nerd proud of his electric ham’s horsepower is the finding that beautiful women don’t place much stock in a man’s intelligence. If you can score that CEO gig with a 90 IQ and a psychopathic personality, women will still love you just as hard.
This study comports with the Chateau Dating Market Value Test for men at the top of the blog front page, which has a section on male intelligence that only added a point for smarts that were somewhat above average, and deducted a point for smarts that were in the stratosphere (where personality defects start to manifest.) Women may say they want a smart guy, but in my observation of couples in which the girl was hot, the guy was more usually kind of a douchey middle of the road mental mediocrity. But he had the right attitude, and alpha attitude trumps smarts any day of the week.
This is not to say smarts won’t help a man with women. A very smart man uses his gift to seduce, but also to conceal or ameliorate the most obvious vestiges of his mental prowess. In other words, since most chicks are average intelligence, it is paramount for the master seducer to calm women’s fears of being mentally outclassed by a wide enough margin that discomfort arises. All else equal, women like smart men, but they’ll choose cocky mediocrities over cloying geniuses every time. Nerds who hope to bank shot their encyclopedic knowledge of male-centric hobbies into hot babe pussy are shit out of luck.
<nasally whine>
“But why does she go for IDIOTS? I’m a Mensa member!”
</nasally whine>
Back to the masturbatorium with you, nerdling!
The usual caveats apply to self-assessment studies like this one: what women say they want in a man and what they actually go for are often enough not the same thing. I tend to frown upon self-reported sex surveys because of this psychological anomaly; however, I do think the conclusions can hint at, and reveal the shady contours of, women’s innermost desires. But your best teacher is still real world, direct experience.
As for why women, and particularly hot women, don’t much emphasize men’s intelligence as an attractiveness trait… well, it’s hard to say for certain, but I’d stick with the fundamental premise that our sexual desire is fully ensconced in the same hindbrain we had way back in the ancestral environment, where aloof, socially savvy and dominant men pounded pussy “Quest for Fire”-style in front of teary-eyed slabworms who looked upon the proceedings with visions of missile technology to take out the alphas dancing in their heads. And then, of course, the alphas stole credit for the new tech invented by the beta nerds, and still got the women.
Not sure if the relationship game thread is still going, can somebody help?
My girl talks about guys she has dated in the past too much for my taste. It’s annoying. And I’m battling beta insecurity, to be honest. She still texts a guy she used to date that she still has a thing for, which I hate.
if this is a shit test, I don’t know if I’m passing or failing. The only reaction that I have shown to these comments is mild amusement, or polite interest, as though she’s telling boring stories about her extended family or something. I have not let her see any sign of jealousy or insecurity on my part.
Is this the right way to handle it? Is there an alpha way to “claim” her and let her know that these comments get under my skin in a way that will get her hot for me, or should I just keep on acting like I don’t care, or what?
The guy she texts is 2 hours away and she just got full custody of her kids (we’re both divorced) so I would think she’d have a hard time actually seeing him. Insists that they’re just still friends and he knows about me. (this is true, I have snooped and confirmed it, also confirmed that she still has a thing for him, but he seems to just throw her crumbs when he’s bored).
The other guys she brings up are just anecdotes “so and so said one time …” but she was doing it constantly for a while. It has tapered off.
This is bad news. This woman is disrespecting him, no two ways about it. Girlfriends who love you will rarely, if ever, talk about exes or, worse, text exes. Nor will they use exes as clubs to counter your opinions or demean your idiosyncrasies.
The fact that your girlfriend is doing this means one of two things: she’s shit testing you for a jealous reaction, or she’s cheating/thinking about cheating. My guess is that she senses your betaness and is beginning to think she can do better, and this feeling of hers is manifesting in passive-aggressive taunts such as her texting an ex.
Amused mastery is fine for one or two infractions, but continual disloyalty from a bitch, like what she is doing to you, requires more powerful artillery. You have a few options at your disposal.
1. (Re)initiate a flirtation with another girl. Text her all the time. Have drinks with her. Tell your gf it’s just an old friend you like hanging out with. Match, and exceed, her jealousy incitements with your own.
2. Lay down the law, and mean it. “Kind of whorish the game you’re playing here, babe. If you keep texting your ex, I’m outta here. Just letting you know.”
3. Continue ignoring her provocations. If it’s just a garden-variety shit test, she’ll eventually crack and lash out at your indifference. In that case, you are fully in the driver’s seat. If it’s more serious than a shit test, she’ll cheat or you’ll get a sense she’s about to dump you. Get the jump on her and dump her first.
These are my suggestions. If readers have other advice for this gentleman, then help a bro out. Talking about exes is a very female oriented manipulative tactic designed to instigate relationship war, and thus feed her rationalization hamster. “Oh, I was great to him, but then he just started getting all jealous and possessive. So I dumped him. What’s that? Texting exes? I don’t remember doing that. Anyhow, there’s nothing wrong with keeping in touch with old friends. Don’t be a creeper.”
This sort of insidious bullshit is what women do when they want to express disapproval about their man but lack the balls to say so outright. A woman’s coin of the realm is subterfuge and sabotage. They have mastered these arts over millennia to compensate for their weaker physical strength. Don’t ever let a feminist dope or manboobed blubberboy who hasn’t seen vagina since his mother’s birth canal tell you otherwise. In the deception and manipulation sweepstakes, women are furlongs ahead of men.
PS What the hell are you doing worrying about what a single mom thinks of you? You should be waking up every morning gleefully reminding yourself that she has intrinsically lower value than you. Let this knowledge guide your attitude with her.
PPS In rare instances, a woman will have a sincere, platonic friendship with an ex. It’s not often, though. Most women get over broken relationships by completely forgetting about their exes. And since women in their hottest, young prime initiate relationship dumpings far more often than men do, it’s a safe bet that any reasonably attractive, under-30 woman you date has little contact with her exes. Be aware of subtle cues that will tell you whether the ex she talks to is more than just a chat with a friend, like excessive gesticulation when she mentions him. Your working assumption, though, should be to assume that 9 times out of 10, any contact your girlfriend has with an ex-lover is a nascent threat to your relationship. Respond accordingly.
When privy to the secretive, gated world of women, you learn that the idea of relationship leverage — aka “having hand” — is as well-known and accepted among women as it is among pickup artists and naturals. Women are no innocent angels, passively idling their time like pretty mannequins until a good man sweeps them off their feet. Oh no, they are as devious as any hardcore male player with hundreds of notches. The difference is that women channel their deviousness into screening for alpha males and steering relationships in the direction (marriage) they want them to go in. Your average beta male channels his manipulative tactics — or what passes for them — into impressing girls on the first few dates. After that, he’s on auto-pilot. Against the combined relationship management weaponry of your typical woman, the beta male stands no chance.
Having hand is, in fact, so central to women’s interests, that when god created woman, he said “Let there be hand!” And there was. I swear, it’s in the Bible.
Case in point. I was chatting with a girl who was working the angle with some putatively high value guy she likes, but with whom (according to her) she had not yet banged, or even formally dated. They had met at a party, and it had been all texting since then.
So she was showing me text messages that she exchanged with him earlier in the day, hoping for my advice. The text ratio was 4:1 against her favor (i.e., she sent four to every one of his). She thought it would be a good idea to sext him — send him racy sexual texts — and she later admitted that the reason for the sexts was to “get hand” over him by teasing him about what he was missing, and getting him to dance to her tune. Apparently, she has a history of cockteasing beta males into lavishing attention and glorious pursuit on her.
I read one of her sext exchanges.
HER: well we will c what is waiting for us next time. could b good. im wearing those kneehighs u said u liked.
[ten minutes later, after no immediate response]
HER: and fyi, i might be a voyeur. but dont get any ideas.
[twenty minutes later, after no reply]
HER: sorry if im teasing u. im a flirty girl.
[two hours passed]
HIM: Okay!
And he never responded again that night.
That, my friends, is a pure alpha move. She dropped the stinky, sweaty, sexy beta bait in the form of sexts, hoping he’d bite (which is something most men would do), and instead he returned fire with a hilariously ambiguous (and glibly spelled-out) “Okay!”. What’s a girl to make of this? Well, everything. And nothing. And then everything again. That one word text sent her hamster spinning so fast its fur was flying out in tufts. Naturally, she wanted to know my opinion.
“Where should I go with this? What does it mean?”
“It means he’s dating other women and isn’t desperate for sex, so you can’t use that on him. Or he knows how to play the game.”
“But I wasn’t playing a game!”
“Yes you were. You just don’t realize it.”
“So now what?”
“You’re texting him way too much. Every text you send him that he doesn’t reply to makes him think less of you. Stand down. No man who writes ‘okay’ deserves your reply. No more texting, even if it means you never see him again.”
“That’s going to be tough to do. We really hit it off.”
“Sounds like you hit it off with a player!”
“You think he’s a player? Sheesh, yeah, he probably is.”
“Yup. Trust me on this. Stop contacting him from here on out. Then there’s a good chance he’ll reach out to you. If that happens, you’re back in the driver’s seat. You’re back to having hand.”
“Oh, yes, every woman wants to have hand!”
“You bet.”
[lingering high five]
***
Women are quite well aware of the power of having hand, and just about everything a woman does in a dating or relationship context that you suspect is a tactic designed to give her hand, IS a tactic to give her hand, whether intentional or subconsciously coincidental. The good news for my super manly male readers is that men’s hand is FAR MORE DEVASTATING than women’s hand, because men so rarely use, or even comprehend, the concept of having hand. So when a man flips the seduction script and uses the same hand-getting tactics on women, the surprising force of it hits a woman’s ego, superego and id so hard her vagina blossoms like a field of spring tulips after a rainstorm.
I don’t know if my female friend above eventually sealed the deal with her lust interest, but I can tell you with certainty that had he wanted to, Mr. ‘Okay!’ could have easily sealed the deal with her. And at his leisure, on his time, under his discretion. Because his pimp hand was strong. And one strong pimp hand trumps a hundred daintier ho hands.
Over at Cheap Chalupas Central, there’s a rollicking post and discussion thread about female hypergamy and its consequences for society when it is unleashed in full. Recommended reading. Le Chateau Heartiste is proud to be the locus for the mainstreaming and growing interest in female hypergamy. It’s long overdue. Naturally, the Big Chalupa himself is loath to link the relevant posts here, instead preferring the route of swiping tangentially in code. He’s a coy one! Well, whatever. At least we know he reads this blog religiously. Perhaps under the bed with a flashlight?
When I had made an end of my morning labors slathering lotion on my skin to protect it from the sizzling tropical sun, it was eleven o’clock — hot but now tolerable, the air stirred by cooling winds, the rays glancing at a blinding angle off the sand. Laying on my towel face up, inviting the browning of my flesh, I swiveled my head to the left and right, to ensure my immediate area was clear for uninterrupted napping, and to savor perhaps one more plump, glistening nude buttock before I closed my eyes.
Sunlight ricocheted off the pocked sand, blinding me as I squinted to the smallest aperture possible to view my surroundings. To my right, about ten feet, two girls, early 20s, lay on a blanket on their backs, faces craned skyward. Skimpy bikinis concealed only the most imprudent parts of their lithe figures, and their pale skin, nearly as light in hue as the sand which enveloped them, showcased off-toned strap lines. I knew this because they had untangled their tops, letting the cloth rest loosely on their breasts. Giddy with freedom, they nonetheless couldn’t muster the insouciance to splay out entirely naked. Here they allowed a mere hint of their wares on one of the most notorious full nudity beaches in the world.
My right eye lingered on one girl’s twinkling side boob until I began to drift off.
As the surf sounded the seconds, there came a faint, seemingly distant patter approaching from my left.
slap slap slap
At first I thought it was the blood rushing through my ears, but as the sound congealed it became apparent the source was foreign and the noise it made strangely rhythmic, almost monotonic.
I smiled, — for what had I to wonder? Although the beach was only a third full, nothing of note ever occurred except the infrequent native pitchman hawking his trinkets. I strained to catch sight of the intruder, curious about his product for sale, but saw nothing save for bloated humps of tourist flesh possibly rolled over on their infant walruses. I grimaced that such aging monstrosities are often the ones least susceptible to self-regulating modesty.
I bade sleep welcome. But not soon enough, for the steady patter returned.
slap slap slap slap slap slap
I listened intently this time, agreeing with myself that the sound most resembled the light thwacking of a heavy, uncooked sausage against a wall or open palm. It grew ever so slightly in loudness, until, Doppler-like, it passed behind my head at its zenith and then receded, to return to prominence again in a few minutes as it swooped around the opposite side where my feet pointed.
slap slap slap SLAP SLAP SLAP slap slap slap
Ere long, I felt myself getting disconcerted and wished the sound gone. My head heavy with stupor, each time I looked around to locate my pattering torment, dazzling sunlight obscured my vision.
Had no one else been hearing what I heard? The walrus humans snorted and quivered like Jell-O, periodically scratching a fold. I fancied a hallucination brought on by the heat: but still the terrible soft patter encircled me. The gentle slaps became more distinct, less distinct, then more distinct again: I talked myself into believing it was an energetic small child bemused by a new toy to get rid of my curiosity: but it continued and once more gained definiteness — until, at length, I found that the noise had stopped ten feet from me.
No doubt I now grew very intrigued; — but I remained unwilling to sit up for a clearer visual inspection that would solve my mystery, for there were only a few minutes left to the conclusion of my facial bronzing, a chore I had planned in advance and hoped to premiere at that night’s danceclub opening. Yet the sound stopping aggravated me even more — and why would that be so? It had stopped for a reason, and so close by, and I had to know its purpose.
I arched my head to the right, toward the girls again, and slowly gazed upward into the blackest silhouette imaginable, backlit by the blazing sun. I could see the geometric contour of a thin, sinewy man, standing close to six feet tall, looming over the heads of the girls, his face totally hidden in shadows like an eclipse, and below his torso, equally cast in impenetrable shadow, a tubular structure swung languidly like a pendulum, its edges shimmering from a corona of sunlight.
I propped myself on my elbows — could it be? And yet the beachgoers saw it not, or pretended not. The girls had just opened their eyes, possibly rousted by the man’s shadow cast across their faces, and one of them audibly gasped as she looked straight up into the vortex of the pendulous tube swaying inches over her forehead, and past it into the barely perceptible grinning mug of the man holding some primitive face masks in his right arm.
Her open mouth frozen in shock, perhaps awe, the man inquired loudly in the local dialect.
“I have masks. Very good art. Good party masks, too. Dancing masks. You wanna buy? Ten dollars, my friends.”
No reply. He talked more quickly — more vehemently; but the girls’ catatonia steadily increased. I stared at the spectacle, pondering a rescue, but all I could see were wispy limbs, torsos and heads swirling nebulously around the mammoth tube.
Finally, the girls both wriggled to their sides, holding their tops against their chests with a free arm, and assumed a kneeling position a few feet away from the pubic proboscis. They erupted in giggles, looking at each other for confirmation that what they were seeing was in fact real, and one of them shook her head no. But the other, ostensibly the mischievous one of the two, asked about his selection, which prompted him to extend his arm full of masks, the motion of which caused the tube to swing in a parabola before their faces, inciting another round of stifled giggles.
Though cast in shadow, his toothy, brilliant grin was nonetheless visible enough, accentuated by the obvious creases in his cheeks. I was certain he prowled defenseless, but easily entertained, fillies in this manner every day of the week.
A brief bargaining ensued with no sale, and the man shrugged and walked off, the slapping noise commencing once again. I watched him retreat, his consciously exaggerated gait betrayed by his muscled legs sweeping outward a bit, and as if excited to fury by the giggles of the women, the tube arched upward then fell heavily from its own weight, thumping against his thigh, grazing the knee.
And then I knew. The slapping — the irrepressible noise of flesh on flesh, growing louder, louder!, then quieter, heard by others for certain who irritated me sourly, for they never let on that they suspected the source of the noise (they knew! they were making a mockery of my horror!), and still they sunbathed pleasantly, and glistened like oiled slugs — the slapping was his enormous member, thick enough around to plug a truck exhaust, bouncing happily off one leg, then the other, as he strolled, each stride punctuated by the beast’s shaft and head landing on the thigh like a breaching whale on the ocean surface, just short of the kneecap, a full 17… 18? 22?… inches from its origin point.
slap slap slap
Oh God! what could I do? I foamed — I raved — I mentally swore at the thing for refusing to suppress my prejudicial stereotyping! I sat up straight from the towel upon which I had been laying, and watched the snake slither across the beach around mounds of apathetic onlookers, pausing every so often to surprise a mark into an impulse buy. I noticed he studiously avoided the naked men, who, I guessed by their indifference, had either seen the snake handler before and were inured of his infamy, or were gallantly hiding evidence of their insecurity with quick hoists of bathing suits over blotchy, reddened privates. In time, every woman, even the old ones, who caught sight of the unearthly appendage tittered like schoolgirls, laced with a hint of anxiety.
“Fake!” I announced to the brightened girls next to me, “It’s so fake. You have to admit it.”
“I don’t know. It looked real to me,” girl one demured.
“Yeah, you were pretty close to it,” scoffed girl two at her friend.
“He could rape a girl from across the beach!” girl one whispered loudly.
Disgusted with their levity, I told them that if they had grabbed the thing and tore it off at the root, they would have found the little guy hiding underneath. That it would be surprising if sex stores didn’t have very lifelike organs nowadays for sale, and this thing was his gimmick to sell child-like art to dumbstruck tourists.
In the distance, a good hundred yards from our spot, maskman waded into the turquoise water, still in shadows, his member nevertheless clearly distinct and hanging like a giant grandfather clock chime from his crotch. He grabbed the shaft in the middle with one hand (his hand did not make it all the way around), the unattached end of the leaden pipe drooping toward the water, and took a piss into the waves.
The girls looked back at me. “Fake?”
I smirked. “Camera tricks.”
Later that evening, for the first time in my life, I was less than proud of my god-given nine inches. It would be nothing but small-vaginaed asian girls for me, from then on.
Game has a reputation among ignoramuses as a player’s handbook for picking up sluts in bars and clubs, but of course these willfully stupid haters are wrong. Not only is game universally attractive to all women, like T&A on a woman is attractive to men, but game as a concept and a strategy is critical to maintaining long-term relationship health. Women do not cease being hypergamously attracted to alpha males once they are in relationships, so game can serve as a welcome corrective to keep women “in the fold”.
A reader writes:
This is a paper you might find interesting (and that betas might find depressing). It claims that women in stable relationships are even more attracted to dominant men when ovulating, compared with single women. Suggesting cheating on LTRs is written deep in women’s genes.
Title: Women’s preference for dominant male odour: effects of menstrual cycle and relationship status
Body odour may provide significant cues about a potential sexual partner’s genetic quality, reproductive status and health. In animals, a key trait in a female’s choice of sexual partner is male dominance but, to date, this has not been examined in humans. Here, we show that women in the fertile phase of their cycle prefer body odour of males who score high on a questionnaire-based dominance scale (international personality items pool). In accordance with the theory of mixed mating strategies, this preference varies with relationship status, being much stronger in fertile women in stable relationships than in fertile single women.
The desire of a woman to rut intimately with an aloof alpha male during her week of ovulation is greater when she’s in a stable relationship with a beta male provider than when she’s single. Chew on that for a second. Your beloved is more likely than the single skank in the bar to tingle for the rude intrusions of alpha cock. And all in service to her genes’ directive to saddle a loyal, unwitting provider chump with the job of helping raise a better cockier man’s issue.
Feeling romantic? Hallmark doesn’t make cards for such occasions.
But only you can prevent vagina fires. Gaming your lover, particularly during her time of ovulation, will keep her in a state of heightened arousal and interest, thereby reducing the chance that she’ll act on her genetic predilection to seek the seed of dominant rivals. Game is more important to relationship management than it is to picking up girls because the cost of losing a girlfriend or wife is much greater than the cost of losing a five minute prospect.
This is why we here at Le Chateau focus so much on relationship game compared to other pick-up sites; the benefits accruing to men in relationships from using game are, both individually and from a societal perspective, more profound in some respects than the rewards from being skilled at bedding numerous women. In the sexual arena, there is no worse sin for a woman to commit, and no graver indignity for a man to suffer, than infidelity motivated by ancient biological urges toward cuckoldry. Game can help contain that evil female impulse, and that’s what makes game truly, a gift from god.
In another grievous blow to feminist and manboob doctrine, this study also highlights the attraction that women have for men who demonstrate personality traits of dominance. So we see here yet another Chateau Heartiste concept validated by science: chicks dig dominant jerks, and dominance is primarily a function of attitude.
Do women engage in the female version of pump and dump? A reader describes:
I learned something new: the pity date. It’s when the girl relents and goes out with a guy she has no attraction for. It’s the female version of pump and dump. Alphas go out with girls they don’t care for, but at least get sex out of it. There’s no sex on a pity date.
I’ve known plenty of women who went on dates with guys they never seriously entertained as sexual prospects. You pick up lots of insight into the female condition when you become part of their in-group, either through massive social proof or long-term dating of one of their friends. And, yes, women do the equivalent of the male pump and dump; they will date “practice men” for their nonsexual attention, just like they will string along beta orbiters for their emotional support. Women who date unwitting suckers and have no intention of banging them — call it ‘chump a hump’, or ‘stroke a dope’ — are typically women who haven’t dated in a long while, are horribly narcissistic, and need a man to dote on them. Most women at most times, though, won’t date men under false pretenses. There’s too much risk to a woman, both in lost time and unpredictable male reaction, to make that kind of investment with no promise of romantic fulfillment.
***
A reader wonders about game saturation.
Will playing the White-Knight ever become optimum strategy with women?
Consider that the concepts of Game/Being a cocky jerk are pretty well known among most healthy 20-35 year old guys; will the ‘edge’ that Game theoretically provides be eroded over time?
My purpose in life is to trade the financial markets and parley a small amount of money in to a fortune. When a given strategy is employed by the masses, any edge that it may once have provided is destroyed… running counter to the crowd might actually present the greatest opportunity.
White knighting is not a totally hopeless beta male strategy. Some tomboys and fully inculcated feminists appreciate it and will reward these men with the honor of licking their clits. A woman who has been dumped by one too many asshole boyfriends will sometimes veer wildly into the arms of a heavily emoting mangina and reward his months of “being there for her” with a gentle moment of anhedonic intimacy, which quickly reminds her how much she misses the less gallant ministrations of jerks. And of course, women past their primes or never in their primes — fugs, fatties, cougars, single moms — who can’t get a sexy man to commit to them to save their lives, will respond to their limited sexual marketplace options by opening up to the possibilities of dating herbly betas. This is why 35 year old tubbos are the most insistent about not dating jerks; they are the women least able to secure a jerk’s attention.
As far as game losing its theoretical edge, it won’t happen. Sure, a few benumbed routines or negs which have made the rounds will occasionally incite backlash from a hottie, but the theory and general strategy of game will never get old, much the same way a pretty face, perky tits, and firm, round ass will never get old with men. When innate, largely immutable sexual desire is properly satisfied, it never seeks inferior means of satisfaction.
I was a shy, nerdy kid who got picked on in junior high. I’m 33 now and am not carrying any baggage from those days, but would you tell a woman you were dating about your nerdy past, even if you’re over it?
On one hand, I would think that bringing it up and joking about it demonstrates confidence she would find attractive. But a lot of women spend their lives endlessly recreating their teenage dramas, and nobody wants to think they got stuck with the class geek. Thoughts?
If I were a guy with a nerdy past, I would bring it up only if there was an opportunity to capitalize on it, such as the scenario where easing a girl’s insecurity about my unattainability were an issue. To be honest, the best game resides in talking about (or acting in) the present and the future. Discussions about the past tend to get bogged down in beta sentimentality and quickly become boring for the girl since she wasn’t there with you when all those things happened.
Comfort building does normally require some talk about your past, and verbally demonstrating higher value through stories is tough without resorting to past experiences. A good way to contextualize your nerdy past to maximize its attractiveness potential is to frame it so that you are a worldly, sexually experienced adult man who fondly recalls his clumsy puppy crushes and how little you knew about women then that you know now:
“It’s funny, but even though I know so much about love now, there was a time when I had no wisdom about women. I was kind of nerdy and would have these awkward puppy crushes on the beautiful popular girls — while totally ignoring all the nerd girls who liked me! — and bravely go up to them saying the stupidest things. A part of me misses that time of life when I was innocent and naive. Now I know too much.” [HEAVY SIGH]
I would avoid talking at all about the bullies who picked on you in high school. That’s just own-goal DLV, man. No need to go down that road.
***
Help is on the way!
Any techniques or maneuvers that will allow me to pull or bag some cougars/milfs? im clueless as to if the general rules of game apply when trying to get with women that are atleast 10 years older than me. Im 21 by the way.
Yes. Show up.
Hahahaha! I keel myself!
What’s that, you say? That’s not the answer you were looking for? Ok. A more serious reply.
Women generally don’t like to date younger men, although the more romantically miserable of them do occasionally entertain the idea of fucking them. Women are wired to desire male status, and older male age is one component of that status. However, a certain type of highly-charged, libidinous, high T cougar wholly in love with her former glory will relish the deflowering of a younger man. As Ben Franklin admonished a younger male acquaintance: “and lastly, they are so grateful!”
So, some ground rules.
1. Be confident. Contrary to popular perception, an older woman does not want to feel like a mother hand-holding a stuttering dweeb. She wants to be desired and pursued by a horny man.
2. Run the same game on older women as you do on younger women (with one minor exception). A woman’s sexuality doesn’t radically change with the advent of years. Does a man’s penis change with years to bestir for ugly women? No.
3. Realize that older women, no matter how much they protest, subconsciously know that their value has diminished. This makes them less judgmental of your errors and more open to less-than-ideal romantic possibilities. Constantly remind yourself of this and you will have no trouble keeping your confidence high around them.
4. The one exception is that older women are less tolerant of asshole game, inconsiderate behavior, or player vibes. Not because they don’t desire these things in men, but because they know that such men are almost unattainable for them and least likely to commit in any form to them. As a woman ages, she tends to become more accepting of beta male behavior. Buy an older woman a drink and, unlike her younger competition, she just might reward you with her… ahem… vigorously hewn vulva.
5. Under no circumstances should you bring up the age difference. Act like it means nothing to you. If she brings it up, reframe. Tell her she’s actually a bit young compared to the women you normally see. She’ll know it’s a lie but she’ll eat it up nonetheless. Lie to me, I promise I’ll believe…
***
Picking up the hostess with the mostess.
I have been reading the blog for awhile now and firmly believe it’s the best out there. Great work!
There is a situation at a restaurant near my house that is of concern. This restaurant is within walking distance of my house, so my roommates and I frequent often. I recently met at hostess/drink running girl. The first time I met her (as she was walking by with drinks), she smiled, I immediately opened her, we had nice/short platonic conversation. She had to go run drinks out (she said she would be right back) but I wasn’t going to stay and wait so that was that.
A week later we are back in the restaurant and she is working the hostess stand. I go up (pretending to forget her name) and start another conversation. This one is longer and more personal. She is asking me a lot of personal questions. The conversation ends when a customer comes up and asks for a ‘to go order.’ She again says that she will be back, I again leave.
2 weeks later we are back at the same restaurant eating dinner (we are known regulars there, so I am stalking). She brings out our drinks to the table and says hi. We finish up eating, pay the bill and begin exiting. I told my friend to meet me outside. I went up the girl and told her:
Me: ‘I want to see you outside of this place’
Her: ’I have a boyfriend’
Me: ‘I have a girlfriend’
Her: ‘I’ll be right back’ (at this point, I am pretty frustrated with her flightiness but I’ll wait for a sec since I see that she is delivering drinks and will be right back)
She straight back over.
Me: ‘You cant have friends?’
Her: ‘Keep coming in and we will see what happens’
That was it. Haven’t been back in since. I don’t want to orbit this girl but I definitely know that she is interested, boyfriend or not. I cant really avoid the place because they have great food/drinks and my roommates always want to go. I know getting familiar with the help at restaurants is the way to go (I’ve been successful in the past) but I am sorta unsure with this one. Any advice would be much appreciated.
I like the boldness of your final push and the reframe of her BF aversion, but I think there was too much platonic chit chat on previous days you talked to her, and the boldness might have come across incongruent to her, like a last ditch effort when all else has failed. Your game here comes perilously close to “Surprise! I have a penis!” anti-game.
Leaving aside for the moment that she actually has a boyfriend (a claim that is either belied when she titillated you with her suggestion to “keep coming in and we’ll see what happens”, or evidence of her poor, cockteaser character), I think she has put you in a spot where every time you go back you will be perceived as dancing to her tune. Not the stuff great seductions are made of.
My advice to you would be to ignore her the next time you’re in her restaurant. She sounds like the type of girl who likes to flirt with men and fill them with hope. To neutralize that, make her hamster go warp speed. Go out of your way to flirt with another girl or another waitress so that she sees it. Bring a date there, or a female friend willing to act as your pivot.
If you wish to be more direct than that, you could attempt to reengage her on terms more favorable to a sexual outcome. “I’m afraid I have to take back my offer. My mom said I’m not allowed to date waitresses.”
Of course, she really could be down to fuck, but I’d only be able to know if that’s the case for sure by observing her body language as she’s interacting with you.
It’s a common complaint heard from the insufferably self-absorbed and eternally single SWPL chick:
“Why didn’t he call?”
Ladies, I’m here to tell you why that guy didn’t call. You’re not gonna like it. Most likely, he was just using you for an ego boost.
Yeah, some guys don’t call back because they’re afraid they’ll be rejected on a first “formal” date. Or the momentum was lost, and he thinks in your sobriety you’ll be less open to meeting again. We call these guys lesser betas.
Fact is, most men don’t think that way. If a guy gets your number, and he’s interested (i.e., he finds you hot enough to fuck and possibly date) and single, he’s going to call you.
I’ve seen attack bitches burning off the shoulder of Club Orion, and thanks to these experiences I can say pretty confidently that men will often not call back because all they wanted was the instant ego boost of a woman’s sexual interest, usually manifest as a phone number close or a make-out. (For the players, a one night stand that precludes any extra dating investment is their idea of a quick ego fix, not to mention pleasure fix.)
If a man doesn’t call you back, it’s because
a) he’s already dating someone and just wanted to see if he still has the pickup magic, or
b) he’s already dating someone but you aren’t hot enough to risk getting caught cheating, or
c) you were a confidence-building stepping stone to test out his game for use on hotter chicks.
That’s pretty much it.
Exceptions to the above rules exist. Some men won’t call back because they didn’t know how to end the conversation with you when you first met, and felt obligated to ask for your number. This is what true niceguys do when they aren’t interested in you. Jerks will never labor under an obligation to number close girls they don’t feel inspired to fuck. The jerk will simply walk away when he’s tired of your witty banter.
Other men are so crippled with anxiety and self-doubt that they frequently defer to thinking the number close ended on a weak note, and won’t risk calling back when a video game with instant status assuaging leveling is a mere chair roll across the floor.
But mostly, when a man doesn’t call you back it’s because you didn’t meet the threshold of further pursuit, but you did meet the threshold for boosting his ego. So the next time you’re staring at your silent phone, remember to think to yourself “Yes, it’s me, not him. I’m not hot enough for him.” If it helps the awful-tasting medicine go down, try to imagine this cruel woman-baiting by egotistical men as the analogue of you ladies outrageously flirting with beta males you have no intention of fucking for the ego thrill of their courtly supplication.
Anytime I define the central attitude of the alpha male as ‘aloof and indifferent’, a chorus of trollsconfused dweebssemantics nerds sincere readers wants to know if that means they should stand in a corner manfully ignoring girls until a girl falls in love with them.
Instead of allowing myself to get sucked into a nerdgasmic duel over definitions, I’ll just quote one of the best characters from pop culture history. This is all the definition of the aloof alpha attitude you need.
The attitude dictates that you don’t care whether she comes, stays, lays, or prays. I mean whatever happens, your toes are still tappin’. Now when you got that, then you have the attitude.
AKA outcome independence. Aloof doesn’t mean silence. It means unconcern for women’s reactions. Nonchalance. Which is not the same as avoiding any romantically-charged, sexually-escalating interaction with women.
Five purple saguaros to the first commenter who can describe the ‘Five Point Plan.’
There is a cottage industry of anti-game, pro-feminist beta males who claimed to tried to learn the crimson arts but failed before seeing results. I suspect what happened to most of them is that they encountered some setbacks on their journey to higher quality, higher frequency poon, but instead of taking lessons from their losses they gave up and turned their frustration outward, against game and its advocates. What doomed them was a combination of defeatism, a lower than average starting suite of attractiveness traits, and unrealistic expectations of what game could accomplish for them.
Let me say, then, that I acknowledge their impotent rage. Most men who aren’t naturals will experience growing pains in their efforts to improve their game and success with women. I have seen all manner of mistakes made by recovering betas (and omegas) determined to increase their attractiveness to women. There is nothing unique or unsolvable about these common newbie game mistakes. If you are a beta starting out with game, you owe it to yourself to anticipate that you will experience the same setbacks that bedevil millions of men just like you traveling the same path of redemption. Anticipating mistakes means it will be a challenge to disappoint yourself, and your fortitude with thus be strengthened.
What follows is a list of the typical learning curve mistakes that men make while trying to become more charismatic ladykillers. I have pulled a couple of these boners myself, so don’t think there is a man alive who is immune to the occasional beta backslide once in a while.
Excitable Boy Syndrome
You’re pumped up for the night. Your face is flushed, your body is wired and your smile is a mile wide. You knocked out a three set of bicep curls just before hitting the clubs. You’re an approach machine. Look at you go! You’re so high on life and the possibilities of your newfound game knowledge that you forgot to remember chicks dig a man with state control. Chicks most definitely do not dig a hyperactive spaz. Don’t worry, soldier of seduction. The world is not going to run out of women tonight.
Overeager Reaction To Her Crumbs Of Interest
Your game has evolved to the point where you’re starting to get positive reactions from women. She touches your arm or pays you a genuine compliment or strokes her hair and beams ear to ear after you teased her. Pleasantly surprised and brimming with the sort of runaway horniness that has been fooled is on the cusp of being relieved, you respond with overeager gratitude, flattery and excessively loud laughter. Her brief window of kindness and flirty interest has opened your beta floodgates. You forget everything you learned and revert to the watery-eyed supplication of your puppy crushing preteen self. You push too hard for a romantic resolution, and you become outcome dependent. You know that old saying “Act like you’ve been there before”? Take it to heart. Chicks really do prefer men who don’t get too excited by female attention. Mystery called this attitude “active disinterest”, and that’s as good a description as any.
Fumble In The Red Zone
Your game has been smooth as silk. She’s standing with you on the sidewalk, a few kisses have transpired, and now you’re faced with the very real prospect that she’s ready to go home with you tonight. But the realization of this — the prospect that you may achieve your goal — freezes you. Instead of leading her to her exquisite doom with unstoppable confidence, you mumble something about maybe, possibly, seeing some band next week that you heard was good, your hands stuffed deep in your pockets. Her face slackens into disappointment. Your reward? A cavalcade of unanswered text messages and grotesque ponderings asking yourself “where did it all go wrong?”.
Overplayed Hand Syndrome
Wow! She really lit up when you dropped that neg! And look how she reacts so well to your cocky teasing. You can’t believe what you’re seeing. Game works!, you say to yourself. So more game must work more!, you answer in reply to yourself. You start dropping C&F on her like it’s going out of style. Slowly, or maybe not so slowly, you notice she’s not laughing as much, not opening her body to you, and not tilting her head to expose her vulnerable neck to you. She’s turtling fast, and now she’s glancing around the room. You captured her interest, and she wanted you to follow up with a deeper connection. An emotional bonding that would have added dimensions to your personality. But you responded with more of the same happy-go-lucky douchery. Game is not a hammer; it’s a scalpel. Use it as such.
Say Anything Stupid Syndrome
Every man fears it: getting stuck with nothing to say. This fear issues from a place of pedestalization. “If I don’t say something witty right now to break this awkward silence, I will lose her.” So in his beta haste he overcompensates by spitting out a jumble of small talk at best, and vibe-killing self-deprecation at worst. When you have nothing to say, the best response is to… say nothing. Let silence be your ally. 90% of the time, a woman confronted with a man’s silence will restart the conversation herself. Once she does that, the seduction script is flipped, and she becomes the chaser, uncontrollably instilling you with higher value. Women who don’t restart the conversation are not invested enough in you, and you may take that as a signal to move on.
Easy Discouragement Syndrome
You’ve arrived. You haven’t started talking to any girls yet. A cute girl sits near you with her friend. You suck in air deep, preparing to deliver your opener. As you turn to face them, you notice across the room a very good-looking guy juggling the interest of three adoring women. Discouraged, you hold your tongue and nurse your drink, alone, for the next three hours. You mumble something about game not working because you can never compete with men like that. Self-satisfied that your failures are thus justified and irredeemable, you slink home while a man who looks about like you do begins making out with a girl at a different bar in the city tonight. I hope I don’t have to spell out the moral of this story.
Stubborn Refusal To Adapt Spergitude
You’ve just dropped an inspired DHV routine on her. But for some inexplicable reason, she hasn’t responded the way you thought she would. The way so many others did. Boredom snakes across her face. You get flustered. “What do I do now??” Instead of changing course to something that might prove more fruitfully engaging for her, you continue blasting at her bunker with permutations of your nigh-invulnerable DHV story, hoping that some new way of saying this or that sentence will be the key to her heart. As an aspie beta nerd with stubborn mule tendencies, you are a victim of your emotional straitjacketing. Learn to adapt in the field by trying new things on the fly. Don’t be afraid to abandon a conversational trail that has gone stale. I’ve seen it so many times — men who stubbornly fix to a line of thought when the girl is moving the conversation in a new direction. The best seducers are masters of opportunistic conversational hijacking, and will lead and follow a girl’s train of thought simultaneously.
Apologia The Destroya
Incoming shit test! Thankfully, with your encyclopedic game knowledge, you know how to disarm it. But wait… she didn’t get that faux shocked, slightly horny look on her face when you slapped down her attempt to belittle you. No, she’s didn’t take your reply well. Another shit test, a nastier one, flies your way. Your brain starts filling up with self-doubt and second-guessing, and instead of nimbly swiping her second shit test aside, you begin apologizing — in so many words — for your impudence. Ughh. Game over, man! You let your wimpy, trembling beta id out for a stroll in the daylight. She took one look at the poor benighted creature and her fangs and claws were bared for the kill. Expect that you will occasionally have to deal with nasty bitches with zero tolerance for weakness in men. It comes with the territory. Knowing this, you will be better prepared to avoid getting entrapped by a woman’s betatization program.
