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The Business Of Game

Oct 13th, 2011 by

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Culture, Game, Psy Ops, The Id Monster | Comments Off

Wrapped Around His Finger

Oct 12th, 2011 by

We talk a lot about alpha males here, and their mysterious pull on women. We discuss their attributes, their attitude and their game, and how and why it works to vibrate vaginas all across the land. But sometimes the weight of theory can deaden the senses, and it helps to have a real-life, flesh and blood exemplar of alphaness staring you in the face to bring that theory down to solid earth, where you can see and hear it all from your personal first-person view. In that spirit, I will relay a moment in time from my life so that you can feel like you’re stepping in my shoes and witnessing it yourself.

I was at a large social event (the more astute readers will be able to figure out the type of event from details in this post) and was seated at a table with mostly women — all in their mid to late 20s — and a couple of men. As a keen observer of sexual dynamics, the rapport between one of the men and his girlfriend was especially entertaining to me.

She was completely enamored of him, leaning against him, smiling at him (and when she wasn’t smiling she was “smizing” at him  – smiling with her eyes), touching him on his hands and arms and shoulders and thighs, blushing periodically when he deigned to smirk at her (which wasn’t often), flattering him, imperceptibly nudging her chair closer to his, nuzzling into his man-nook where pec meets armpit, gazing up at his face (and I do mean UP, as she would deliberately arch her back and neck so that her body was compressed in the vertical and he was looming over the top of her head), defending him when her girl friends were challenging him on something he said, and, best of all, apologizing profusely for imagined slights that she believed she had accidentally committed against him. When she spoke, either to him or to others in his company, she sounded, not to put too fine a point on it, like a ditz. Yes, she was doing all this in front of about ten people, some total strangers to her.

For his part, he was behaving and speaking in almost the exact opposite manner as his girlfriend. He would sit straight, neither leaning away nor into her, would speak in a heavy and deep monotone, would rarely smile (and when he did it was always a half-assed “yeah i’m the douchebag you wish you were” effort), would only touch her when he was reaching around to grab her ass for a makeout, seemed oblivious to her cloying flattery, effected an air of imperturbable indifference, showed little outward signs of affection for her except for the one time I caught sight of them absconding to what they thought was a private location, occasionally spoke ill of her even to the point of insulting her, never complimented her, looked straight ahead in the middle distance when she complimented him, never said “thank you” or “excuse me”, never excused or “forgave” her when she was excessively apologizing to him (in fact, he seemed to relish her clumsy supplication), would sometimes insult her friends right in front of her, would often command (not ask) her to get him a drink, and, best of all, flirted with other hot girls at the table.

There was a telling moment of the nature of their relationship early in the night. She was giddy and excitable as she laughed with her girlfriends and some new arrivals, when it suddenly dawned on her that she had neglected to promptly introduce her boyfriend to everyone. (And by promptly, I mean not more than three seconds had passed before she caught herself in this supposed irredeemable faux pas.) Red-faced, she humbly corrected herself.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” she pleaded as she looked at him. “I’m so sorry! So sorry! I forgot to introduce you to everyone! Everyone, this is [name], my boyfriend.” Now semi-whispering to him, “Sorry, baby! Sorry.”

His facial expression remained unmoved. A powerful pause heightened the awkwardness before he answered. “Don’t worry about it. I got it.” He then nods in the direction of the others.

His vocal tone and expression are important here. It was not consolingly beta, where the pitch rises on “worry” and descends to a loving shoulder rub on an elongated “I got it”, as his eyes crinkle at the corners in reassurance. Nope, it was more like a staccato, Draper-esque, punch to the face, flatly delivered, emotionless except for a hint of contempt, which was noticeable in the way he commandeered the drama by addressing the table himself and refusing to glance at her as she effused with apologia.

I watched admiringly. The other man at the table glanced at his feet nervously. The girls were a mix of hatred and arousal.

This guy was the flawless encapsulation of the jerk. The dick. The narcissistic prick. All together now…

The Asshole Hot Chicks Love.

And she? She was the hot chick who loves an asshole. Every mannerism, word and body shift — right down to the tiniest facial tic — telegraphed her absolute devotion — her ADDICTION — to her jerk boyfriend.

Now some of you will parry with the usual gripes. But before you do, know the following:

She graduated from a top-tier Ivy. Her degree is in a numbers-related field. She is hot, a hard 8.5. Her body is worthy of a sacrificial fuckening. According to my sources, when she isn’t with her alpha-squared asshole boyfriend, she is one of the smartest, most put-together and confident girls in a room. The ditz act, apparently, only blossoms in his presence. Her girl friends are jealous of her even though they hate what she becomes when she’s with him. And the blow that I know will sting beta males the worst? She COULD have almost any man she wanted — good men, solid company men, respectable men of their communities — but she chooses to be with an arrogant renegade.

And him? Decent looking. Easy on the eyes, I suppose most women would say. Certainly not Hollywood looks. Not a big or muscular guy. Lean to the point of skinny. Edgy, downscale style. (She showed up at this event poured into an exquisite cocktail dress. He arrived late with her, wearing frayed designer jeans and an untucked tight flannel shirt over a white Hanes wifebeater that was showing through the top. Most of the other men were wearing suits.) He was short. Yes, he might have been a half inch shorter than his gf. Unemployed.

You read that right. He lost his [redacted] industry job six months ago and was living off her earnings. He has money, but he doesn’t spend it because, as he explained to me, he’s saving it for a few years of fun-time travel. Whether he intends her to go with him or not is left to interpretation.

None of this is new to me. I’ve met guys like him before. I’ve *been* that guy plenty of times, when the mood strikes. I’m intimately familiar with the adoring love copping such a grotesque asshole alpha attitude inspires in women. There is no escaping that this is a reality of female sexual nature, a powerfully harsh reality that sends shockwaves of disbelief and disillusion through the more tenderhearted of the inexperienced idealists. Some learn from what they see behind the curtain; others cocoon further into self-medicating platitudes.

And what about the spectators? What did the men and women in attendance think of him, both those who knew and knew of him? From what I could glean, the men were largely neutral. Some hated him (usually the biggest betas with overbearing girlfriends), some liked him (maybe not surprising, the alphas and the omegas were affable toward him), and most were willing to throw him under the bus in furtive conversation at the behest of their gossipy girlfriends.

More pertinently, how did the women — all of them well-educated urbanite professionals — feel about him? In his company, they were girlish and borderline shy, or self-conscious. Behind his back, they were disparaging, complaining bitterly of the way he treats his girlfriend (bitterness was correlated with their closeness to her), and constantly — I mean CONSTANTLY — working to install his ouster. I saw one girl drag her away so that she could introduce her to a man who, unknown to her at the time, was a handsome gay man.

If you held any doubts that girl friends will not conspire against you should they find you unacceptable boyfriend material for their friend, well… you can put those doubts to rest now.

Of course, none of their efforts worked in the least. He had been dating his girlfriend for many years, during which time he has cheated on her for months at a stretch with more than one woman. His cheating, his aloof treatment of her, her friends’ dispproval… none of it seemed to have dampened her love for him. Or her loyalty to him, for as I learned from a trusted source, she never, not once in the sumptuous prime of her life when she had every excuse and rationale to do so, cheated on him.

Remember that the next time you hear of some whiny ho cheating on her beta boyfriend, and rationalizing it by blaming it all on him.

The professed hate the girls had for this asshole boyfriend of one of their friends, and the wet glower in their eyes when they spoke of him, belied a primitive attraction. It was not the impassioned hate a man has for another man who has humiliated him, or the withering hate a woman has for a weak ex-lover who now repulses her. When I heard them talk about him, their words ostensibly carried a payload of anger and disgust, but it was a gossamer veneer; to a hardened pro of female codespeak like myself, the dulcet harmonies of untamed curiosity sent their words aloft on a stanza of gina tingles. Listen closely, and you can hear the subliminal poetry asserting itself — “ode to why oh why do i hate this guy but feel like i do?”

Interestingly, there was one girl, a looker in every way and smart as tacks to boot, whose loathing for the asshole boyfriend of her best friend seemed the most genuine. I say “seemed”, because it may merely be the case that she was best at concealing her shameful intrigue. Whatever the true motivation, I found her responses to him the most cutting. She was clearly aiming for the throat, and her eyes pierced like laser beams, her voice cold and still as sheet ice. Lesser men would have suffered a grievous wound from her attacks, for her barbs were sharp and subtle enough to avoid triggering a hen phalanx of social diplomacy. But the asshole deflected her thrusts without breaking a sweat. In the smarts department, he was outclassed, but in the attitude department he had her number.

Why did I find this dynamic the most interesting? Background helps. She was dating a considerably older man who was not present at this event, an alpha male in his own right, for many years. Perhaps, intimate familiarity with her own alpha braces her for the abyss that always looms ominously to eternally capture a woman’s heart should she become completely unguarded. She sees in the asshole boyfriend of her friend the power the alpha male has over all female sense and reason, and she wants to put him on notice. It is her redemption.

More interesting, she alone among all the girl friends never consoled her smitten friend, never attempted to introduce her to new men, and never assuaged her ego by telling her she could do better. She was smart enough to know those kinds of interventions have no effect and, worse, usually result in the opposite of what was intended. There’s an unwritten rule among very high-value women who date alpha males — the hate is for show. No woman would seriously give up the pleasure she gets from dating the alpha jerks she loves. They’d all poach each other’s boyfriends given half the chance, and they know it.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Alpha, The Good Life | Comments Off

The Pill And Female Mate Preference

Oct 11th, 2011 by

This blog has touched upon the effect that the birth control pill, now a fifty-year-old institution, has on women’s attraction mechanism. However, the studies examining the matter don’t seem to agree. I have read, (and experienced), contradictory evidence that supports both theses that women on the pill prefer niceguy betas or badboy alphas.

Does anyone have clear, updated information on this topic? It strikes me as one of major importance in any discussion about changes in Western female temperament, mating preference and even looks. Not to mention, the pill may cause changes in men who have to drink the water that is now polluted with estrogenic compounds. The subject deserves more rigorous science than it is currently getting. Naturally, it’s understandable why feminists would be loath to broach the subject, but that’s no excuse for the paucity of corroborating science by non-feminists, aka rational people.

UPDATE

JR writes:

I don’t know of any recent scientific studies, but you only have to think rationally in order to shed light on the topic. Unless the pill has in fact affected women’s biochemical processes, it stands to reason that they have reverted back to a more or less ‘pre-cultural’ preference for ‘alpha males’ of the crudest variety because the pill has freed them from considering the potential negative consequences of sexuality.

The female preference for alphas is basically a given, so the only question is: are there artificial forces preventing them from chasing them constantly?

This is a good point, and one that’s been discussed before. The pill exerts a psychological and a physiological effect on women. How much emphasis to give each effect is up for debate (though I tend to agree with JR that the psychological influence is just as strong as the physiological influence), but that there is an influence seems to me unassailable. You just can’t fuck with the primal forces of nature without some kind of blowback.

Note that the psychological conditioning caused by the pill is not limited to just the pill; condoms and other forms of prophylactics would have the same mate choice conditioning effect as the pill, if not to the same degree. The difference with the pill is that it alone could seriously fuck with the physiological engine of female mate choice.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Biomechanics is God, Culture, Girls | Comments Off

The Real Reason Why America Is Declining

Oct 11th, 2011 by

Over at TCCC’s, (insiders will know who I’m talking about), conversation abounds with explanations for why the American median income is stagnating or falling, and why the country seems on an unstoppable collision course with a protracted recession/depression and diminution of world influence. (Read Peter Schaeffer’s comments for some righteous ownage of TCCC’s libertardian equalist crew and open border nutjob mercenaries, and then read Chris’s comments for the traitorous filth viewpoint.)

However, no one, in my opinion, comes as close to nailing in as succinct a manner as possible, what is really ailing America (and by extension the West) as commenter Charlesz Martel, who broadsides:

In a previous post, I mentioned that real-estate developers own politicians, or end up owning them. In this case, the bankers ended up owning the regulators.

What is happening to this country is simple: We are being re-assessed as to whether we are truly a first world country, or not. For years, America was a first-world country with a third world country inside it. This third world portion has now grown to almost a third of the country. We are now somewhere between a first and a second tier country; we just happen to be the biggest kid in the sandbox.

Read all about it:
http://gatesofvienna.blogspot.com/2008/10/real-mark-to-market.html

And then lay down by the rivers of Babylon, and weep for what was and should have been.

Final note: Anytime you see a situation you don’t understand, look for the financial interest angle. (HT- Karl Marx). or, as Lenin said; “Who? Whom?”

It’s a funny thing. By their actions, every single motherfucking elitist liberal agrees in practice with what Martel wrote above. And yet not a one of them will cop to it. No, they’ll at best speak in euphemism, or they’ll gloat like moralistic hypocrites.

It’s status games all the way down… until the bottom is reached and it’s too late to crawl back out.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Culture, Goodbye America | Comments Off

A Test Of Your Game: The Group Approach

Oct 11th, 2011 by

Sidewinder writes:

In-the-field game question:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

UPDATE

Anonymous writes:

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

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

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

Cell phones are now one of the best props ever.

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

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Game | Comments Off

Occupy Cupertino

Oct 8th, 2011 by

A lot of these hipster OccupyWallStreet nitwits posting photos of their debt-laden lamentations online (sometimes accompanied by ridiculously pretentious props like manual ribbon typewriters) are targeting the wrong bad guys. The Wall Street bailouts and securitized mortgage repackagings were bad, to be sure, and I wouldn’t mind a day-of-the-rope for a lot of these cognocryptic leeches, but if you look at the OWS complaints you’ll see that a common thread is the neck-deep debt they’ve incurred from student loans.

Yo, braheems, word of advice: you should be directing your righteous rage against the professors, faculty and admin of your chosen school of hard ownage. You went there, they gave you a shitty, useless libtarts degree and saddled you with mounds of debt. You compounded that debt because the college experience just wouldn’t be intellectual enough if you didn’t splurge on status whoring necessities like $5 lattes and Macbook pros. Now the world is changing with smart and industrious billion-plus Chinese coming on board to gut the value of your social media relations dreamjobs that you and the rest of the country wants and you’re pissed about it. Truth is, the university system is the droid you’re looking for.

But no, you’ll obey your leftie professors’ marching orders and fall back on tired old protest cliches, railing against the finance fat cats when the more pertinent oppressors (in your cases) are the monopolists who run academia and the federal government which subsidizes their bust-the-inflation curve tuition hike increases with giveaway loan programs. Coupled with the credentialist zeitgeist pushing idiots into college and open borders human capital depreciation that devalues vocational work and college degrees alike, the academia fleecing steamrolls through your future. And you lash out impotently.

Maybe next time you’re in class, or thinking about that alumni donation, you might want to remember this. A more fitting protest would be reclaiming your parents’ hard-earned dollars spent on useless gadgets with engineered obsolescence and degrees with hopeless prospects. Call it Occupy Cupertino. You can solemnly hold up your iPhones with a burning dollar flickering on the screen.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Culture, Current Events | Comments Off

Comment Of The Week: Fat Chicks And Their Ludicrous Standards

Oct 6th, 2011 by

In yesterday’s post, Days of Broken Arrows made the following observation:

“Fatties also have a problem of unreasonable standards. I don’t think I’ve ever met a fat chick who was not convinced that she was still entitled to a 99-point checklist [Ed: 463 bullet point checklist is the term of art] and a man every bit as desirable as what her younger, thinner self would have bagged.”

I’ve been going through online dating Web site profiles and this statement is DEFINITELY true. It’s disturbing and doesn’t bode well for the country that seriously obese women will put out profiles demanding men be a certain height and weight. WTF?

I don’t spend much time at online dating sites, but I’ve seen the same attitude in real life. It’s preposterous, laughable. Fat chicks who pull the “I’m too good for any man” card are engaging in a very transparent example of sour grapes. It’s easy and emotionally cost-free for a fat chick/old chick/ugly chick/single mommy to have standards no man will meet when most men who aren’t losers couldn’t be bothered to meet her standards in the first place. It’s analogous to crowing about being virtuous when there is no temptation to vice.

Anyhow, in response to DoBA, I wrote:

My take on what’s going on: When you have such horribly low Sexual Market Value that most men find you repulsive, it makes a certain amount of self-gratifying sense to carelessly throw realistic expectations out the window and feed (heh) your ego as a dopamine substitute.

And that’s why you see the perverse phenomenon of so many loser chicks flaunting an unrealistic checklist in men when they themselves have little to offer. It’s not about the men; it’s about them. Their egos must be salvaged before their love lives can be rescued.

Remember, too, that once a girl passes a threshold of sexual inactivity (on average, three to six months), she slips more easily into quasi-involuntary celibacy (quasi, because there is always a loser who will dump a five second fuck in a low SMV girl if she’s willing to swallow (heh) her pride) than a man would. Women are built like worker bees in that respect; once acclimated to celibacy and the dull drone of useless paper-pushing office life, they forget the joys sexual abandon. Or, perhaps, rather than forget, they simply don’t experience the same vital urgency to renew sexual relief the way men do. Consequently, it’s easier for a woman in asexual frigidity mode to maintain a facade of high standards that she must know on a subconscious level will never get her sex and commitment, or even a second date, from the men she wants.

And this phenomenon is more acute amongst fat chicks who were once thin. They fondly recall what it was like to be pursued by men, to turn away those who didn’t meet their expectations, and to experience the thrill of men attempting to satisfy their demands, doing it all for the top-notch nookie. But now, as a fatty (or a cougar or a single mom or an acid burn victim), the men they find desirable shun them and, adding insult to injury, the beta males who once lacked the confidence to approach now hit on them with a grating expectation of success.

What’s a put-upon woman to do? Right. Lie to herself. Happy feelings on the cheap. Better yet, surround herself with yenta friends who will abet her self-delusions.

But neither of the quotes above are the comment of the week. That honor belongs to “uh”, who replied to both of us:

There’s not enough neurochemical payoff for a [fat] woman in admitting the truth to herself if the choice is between that and easy self-affirmation. Given that choice, which may be thought of as a false consciousness imposed/reinforced from above (media), and laterally (other women), the woman becomes alienated from true acceptance of herself as a relational being and enters the narrow straits of denial. Neurochemically this almost resembles the pathway of cigarette addiction: cheap self-affirmation gives quick temporary rewards necessitated only by the presence of the toxin — the subnarrative itself.

This is a concise and penetrating explanation of the common female frailty herein known as Absurd Standards Syndrome (ASS). Insulated by the PC media, glam mags, academia, beta suckups and female friends, women have lost touch with their rank relative to other women and are thus finding it easy to slip into a comfortable bubble of self-delusion. Similar to cigarette addiction, the quick dopamine fix — necessitated by the subnarrative, as uh puts it — trumps the harsher acceptance of personal flaws that must be remedied by willpower and self-control (or simply accommodated) to achieve longer term and more fulfilling rewards, or to come to terms in a dignified manner with one’s diminution of mate choice. This subnarrative toxin, an effluvium of pretty lies, perpetuated by feminists, groupthink apparatchiks and fat acceptors alike, is the wicked poison that courses through the sludgy veins of the Western woman, corroding her from the inside out until she is a mere husk of the feminine ideal that once held sway over the hearts of men. Well done, uh.

Men — particularly internet nerds without a hope of meeting a woman in real life — suffer from this syndrome as well, but not nearly to the same degree that it perplexes women. As has been explained before on this blog, the reason ASS afflicts women more than men is because men, as the chosen sex, have to be more in touch with reality to get what they want in the dating market. A deluded man is quickly a celibate man. A woman in her prime, on the other hand, can stand around looking good, ignorant of the rules of mate choice reality, and men will hit on her… until reality rudely turns against her.

Interestingly, uh’s comment has parallels with the denial inherent in economists’ inability to grasp that the drive for relative status is a bigger motivator of human behavior than the urge to maximize utility. (Want to watch a libertardian squirm? Bring up the subject of status jockeying.) Economists, stuck in the narrow straits of the rational actor (their toxic subnarrative), have become alienated from the commonsensical wisdom that humans are relational beings who sometimes do seemingly inexplicable things just to gain status points over a neighbor. Like fat chicks on an ego-assuaging bender, economists in thrall to their theories have forsaken the long hard look at human nature in favor of the quick pleasure fix of aggregate demand and open borders circle jerk pontificating.

The impetus for our economic decisions is not so far removed from the mechanism guiding our mating decisions. Quite the contrary; economics is servant to sexuality — the one market to rule them all.

Solution: people of good (and not so good) intent must strike at the heart of the toxic subnarratives, killing them and salting the neuronal fields in which they grow, unafraid of the certain immune response it will spastically trigger, before the human psyche (and body) can be healed. The way to kill the subnarratives is one this blog has stressed countless times, and which we here happily, some might say sadistically, pursue — The Three Rs of human psychological manipulation:

Reframe.
Reject.
Ridicule.

Progress will be slow at first, but momentum will inevitably build. It only takes 10% of a population holding an unshakable belief to cause that belief to be adopted by the majority of the society. Your goal of spreading better ideas is not as out of reach as you imagine. Alinsky leftists and ideological warriors have known this fact about group dynamics for generations. It’s time for you to know it too.

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Posted in Comment Winners, Hungry Hungry Hippos, Status Is King, The Id Monster, Ugly Truths, Vanity | Comments Off

The Modren Man

Oct 5th, 2011 by

The only thing this picture is missing that would make it the absolute perfect representation of the de-balled and de-souled modern SWPL man-lite is a “vibrant” infant tucked into the fat bride’s meatloaf arm.

secret secret, i’ve got a secret!

You might call this the 21st century Western equivalent of the drawing and quartering.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Beta, Funny/Lolblogs, Goodbye America, Hungry Hungry Hippos, Marriage Is For Chumps | Comments Off

Niceguys Lose… Again

Oct 4th, 2011 by

Proud-to-be-an-omega-male linked to two studies and wrote:

[These two studies are] a gift for Heartiste, both of which are just more science supporting what [is] stated countless times on this blog.

The first study, titled “Niceness and Dating Success: A Further Test of the Nice Guy Stereotype” provides evidence for the widely held observation that niceguys don’t get as much sex as badboys.

Proponents of the nice guy stereotype argue that women often say they wish to date kind, sensitive men, but, in reality, still choose to date macho men over nice guys, especially if the macho men are more physically attractive. We investigated the relationship between men’s agreeableness, physical attractiveness, and their dating success across different relationship contexts. One hundred and ninety-one male college students completed a computerized questionnaire to assess their levels of agreeableness and aspects of their dating history. Twenty college-aged women rated the men’s photographs for attractiveness. Results supported the nice guy stereotype. Lower levels of agreeableness predicted more less-committed, casual, sexual relationships.

The sexual appeal to women of disagreeableness in men comes up quite often in studies examining the topic of mating preferences, and the results are usually not feelgood pablum to warm the hearts of weepy romantics or righteous white knighters. The executive summary: chicks dig jerks. The god of the golden rule wept.

So you want to get laid? Try being less agreeable, less nice, and less accommodating. I bet your mom won’t teach you that, and I doubly bet you won’t hear that advice from any übercredentialed marriage counselor or couples therapist, shysters the lot of them.

The second study confirms more reality-based (aka anti-feminism) wisdom that niceguys are preferred by women for low-sex long-term relationships, but shunned for hot n’ sexy flings.

Many researchers have attempted to discover what types of men women consider most desirable for relationship partners. This study investigated university women’s (N = 165) perceptions of ”nice guys,” specifically whether women perceived nice guys to be more or less sexually successful than guys who are considered not nice. Both quantitative and qualitative analyses were used. The qualitative analysis was useful in understanding women’s differing interpretations of the nice guy label. More than one half of the women agreed that nice guys have fewer sexual partners. However, more than one half also reported a preference for a nice guy over a bad boy as a date. As hypothesized, women who placed a lesser emphasis on the importance of sex, who had fewer sexual partners, and who were less accepting of men who had many sexual partners were more likely to choose the nice guy as a dating partner. The findings indicate that nice guys are likely to have fewer sexual partners but are more desired for committed relationships.

You’ll note a couple of conclusions here. One, more than half of coed women (the hot ones in the age bracket we care about) agreed that niceguys have fewer sexual partners. This is bad news for niceguys, because female preselection is a powerful attractant that men can wield to entice women. If women think you don’t get any, you are more likely to not get any. It’s self-fulfilling.

Two, more than one half of women reported a preference for a niceguy over a badboy as a date. That means a little less than one half of women had no preference or PREFERRED A BADBOY for a date! That is an astounding number, if you think about it. The leverage the niceguys hold over women looking for LTRs is not as great as they like to think, nor is it equivalent in effectiveness to the leverage that badboys hold over women seeking sexytime.

It’s also important to keep in mind that the word “date”, as used by the women in this study, means “sexless date”. Women who placed less importance on sex — i.e., frigid ice queens — were more likely to asexually date a niceguy. So, yeah, niceguys are preferred for sexless dates that result in their wallets being considerably lighter and their dicks drier at the end of the night. If you are a niceguy, this news has GOT to make you feel like a sucker. A dupe. A fool. A chump. To paraphrase the memorable GBFM:

“Why would you pay more for less that guys before you got hotter, tighter, younger for free?”

Good question. Any takers?

The third study is a gift from me. You’ll have to get access to the full study to read some of the juicy tidbits within, which basically support the darker, more cynical CH hypothesis that badboys not only get more sex, but they get more chances to convert that sex into loving LTRs, should they so desire to go that route.

The more recent research of McDaniel (2005) and Urbaniak and Kilman (2006) suggest that women find “nice guys” to be socially undesirable and sexually unattractive, contradicting the previous findings of Jensen-Campbell et al. The researchers also found that “bad boys” (operationalized as “fun/sexy guys” by McDaniel and “cute, macho guys” by Urbaniak and Kilman) were highly desired for both short-term and long-term committed relationships, whereas “nice guys” were not desired as sex partners within either relationship context, contradicting the previous findings of Herold and Milhausen. McDaniel writes:

First, being suitable for high commitment dating alone is not enough (by a long shot) to increase a nice guy’s likelihood to progress into or beyond the experimentation stage of relationship escalation. Second, young women who are interested in frequent casual dating are not going to select a nice guy as a dating partner because he cannot meet her recreational dating needs. And, because the fun/sexy guy seems to be more suitable for low commitment dating, he is going to be chosen more often for it, which provides him with an increased opportunity to progress well into and beyond the experimentation stage.

Young women’s dating behavior: Why/Why not date a nice guy? by McDaniel, 2005

So this study, the most recent one, tells us that women prefer badboys for short term *and* long term relationships. Man, those niceguys can’t catch a break! The theory is simple: If badboys are rounding the bases to home plate a lot more often and a lot quicker than niceguys, despite women’s opinions that niceguys make for better high commitment dating partners, then badboys are also getting more opportunities to escalate relationships into the long-term category. The fact that a lot of badboys choose not to convert short term flings into LTRs does NOT mean that the opportunity for them to do so is not available.

In other words, you need to get your dick in the pussy door before you can even begin to think about any one chick as a potential girlfriend or wife.

Now maybe the dating scene was different in the past. But we don’t live in the past. We live in the here and now, and that means doing what you need to do to get what you want. Are you adaptable?

None of this is to say that niceguys don’t have their place in the universe. After all, some women at some time must have desired niceguys, or they wouldn’t be around today. In fact, there may have been a fairytale moment in human history when genuine niceguys scored the majority of bangs and impregnated the majority of wombs. But the Four Sirens of the Sexual Apocalypse (coming soon to theaters near you) shredded that (partially contrived) sexual compact, and the state of nature — aka the forager mentality — has reasserted itself, with consequences none can know, but based on prior results aren’t likely to be good if civilization is your thing.

The evidence in total is becoming clear. If it’s sex with cute, young chicks you want, then being a badboy, or learning to be a simulacra of a badboy, is your best avenue to success. If it’s LTRs you want, even then your best bet is to be a badboy, because fast sex opens doors to long term (and long germ, if you aren’t careful) possibilities.

But clearly women, and particularly women of more northerly latitudes, retain a vestige of love in their hearts for reliable, predictable niceguys as LTR fodder, and this is borne out in many studies; it’s scary to take a chance on a badboy who might leave you to the harsh winters to raise your kids alone. So ideally, as the master seducer you wish to become (or you wouldn’t be reading here), the pose to strike is one of charmingly aloof badboyness coupled with hints of undercurrents of loving, dependable niceguyness. Not too much more than a hint of an undercurrent, though. You don’t want to frighten the kitty; you want to entice the kitty with dangling strings.

With experience, you’ll be able to accurately gauge when you are pushing a woman away instead of drawing her closer. You’ll know when you are being too cocky and aloof, and you’ll adjust accordingly with a sappy story about your deceased labrador or your adorable niece whom you can’t stop doting upon. Similarly, you’ll know when you are being too cloying or treacly, and you’ll step back into laconic alphatude so that she may have the pleasure of resuming her chase of you.

An armored badboy attitude + a vulnerable niceguy underbelly = winning combination to unlock pussy for long term goals.

For short term goals, you don’t need to be much else besides a jerk.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Beta, Biomechanics is God, Guy Rules, Ugly Truths | Comments Off

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

Oct 3rd, 2011 by

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

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

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

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

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

Here’s the money quote:

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

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

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

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

As the reader who emailed this study wrote:

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

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

You got it.

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

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

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Biomechanics is God, Game, Girls, Guy Rules, Status Is King | Comments Off

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