I don’t bang my first 26yr-old Ukranian shop girl – Part One

November 28, 2015

As noted in the earlier post, I was in the enviable and entirely unexpected position of being able to feed entirely on Kiev girls who IOI’d me or who otherwise triggered my spider-sense of being susceptible to my approach. It made daygame so easy that it felt like shooting fish in a barrel and once more I decided that good-looking guys have no business at all trying to talk about approach anxiety. They don’t understand how incredibly easy they have it when girls are visibly checking them out.

Every open I did I felt bulletproof from the first moment.

After four days of picking warm targets I actually completely lost interest in pure cold approach. I told my wing, “I’m not gonna approach blind. I might as well use this novel situation as an opportunity to practice warm approach game. Finally I’ve got enough sets to be able to collect real data and try different things.” When I did contemplate a blind open (i.e. the girl gave no indication whatsoever that she’s be amenable to stopping) I was reminded of the need for a bit of character strength and thought “fuck that, why bother?”

I can understand why good-looking guys weasel out of genuine cold approach and settle for a -2 point hypergamy deficit. When you’re used to sliding downhill into pussy, climbing mountains becomes pretty unappealing. I wasn’t happy about taking the easy route. Not that I want game to be tough but I felt like I was underselling myself by going after what was easy rather than what I wanted. A hot well-put together girl walked past me in an underground mall and I felt that DNA tug. This would be completely cold.

  • No IOI. She hadn’t even noticed my existence.
  • No spider sense. She was walking briskly towards the bus stop, obviously having just finished work.
  • No softners in her style. She was smartly dressed in expensive well-coordinated clothes.
A lot like this

Her later selfies looked a lot like this, at first

There was no reason at all to suppose she liked me or would like being stopped. Okay, that’s the blind approach I need to discipline myself. I was expecting to get a figurative splash of cold water across the face but I followed her anyway. She was moving fast, already halfway up the escalator and I didn’t catch up until street level at her bus stop. I talk a lot about the Russian Minute but I rarely get it anymore. These days they all either walk off immediately or smile and start eye-spazzing. This girl reminded me of the more difficult times as she looked stone-cold, expressionless and answered everything with clipped polite language. She actually said “what do you want?”

Not to be deterred I ploughed on and she softened. Two minutes in she said “My bus comes now” so I took a number. Mentally, it was filed in the going-nowhere box. Nonetheless I send out my feeler the next day. Surprisingly, she agreed to coffee with little preamble. I figured she wasn’t much of a texter when she didn’t bite on the banter fodder I threw out. She quickly snatched the frame and my heart sank. When a girl starts switching plans or telling you where she wants to go it’s a pretty good sign that she’s going to waste your time or start a frame war.

Kiev girl feeler to date

Thing is, if it’s the latter you might actually fuck her. Nobody kicks a dead dog and girls don’t frame-war a guy they are uninterested in. I decided I was willing to invest an hour in coffee to find out which. I didn’t have a lot of date action going on at the time. I started to lean towards the frame-war interpretation when she remained in contact and felt sufficiently accountable to me that kept me up to date with her status. Not a big sign, but moving in the right direction.

The date itself was straight out of my 2012 experiences in the Balkans. High value girl, fairly mainstream, intelligent, strong-willed and unwilling to surrender the frame without a strong test. I know greyhounds so I knew the battle-plan. Ten minutes into the date I’d given up on the squirrel/cat strategies of spiking them silly or turning on the secret society sleaze. This girl was probably Suspicious On and was going to insist I jump through some hoops first. I could either accept that (at the risk of having my time wasted) or walk. What wouldn’t work is trying to crush her frame and move it along fast.

Fortunately she was a pleasure to talk to, had decent English, and had planned a nice walk through the park to finish in a good cafe. It’s not losing the frame to let a girl in her hometown give you a mini-tour of some places she likes. I played along to enjoy the new sights and deployed my Most Interesting Man In The World Game. It really felt like 2012. My objectives were simple, in chronological order:

Settle into a comfortable vibe -> Display MIMITW value -> Let her kick the tires -> Qualify her -> Go for kiss.

I didn’t care if I got the kiss this date. This was a case of soft physical escalation because she was going to judge me as a value proposition rather than a spur-of-the-moment adventure. Everything about her showed her forebrain was in full control, chaperoning her hindbrain like a Victorian aunt. She never eye sparkled, her laughter was dinner-party-like, and when she allowed me to kino-test her fingers and hair she looked at me like a ballroom dancer being led through steps she’s already studied.

I felt her warming to me and could almost here her private checklist being ticked off. But what I didn’t know is if the final score would add up to “okay hindbrain, I’m going to leave you two alone now”. There were a number of frame-control tests that I just instinctively passed such as her wandering off a bit, leaving long silences, asking direct questions and so on. It didn’t feel the slightest bit impolite. It was more like Duelling Banjos where she was the city slicker throwing out some challenge chords and I was the retarded hillbilly kid smashing them back with interest until we were both ready to jam.

It started raining and after an hour I had to make my excuses to go, setting a limit on my time. I knew I couldn’t escalate my way to an answer on the “is she a timewaster” question – not on this date. Instead I had to make my move and allow the bubble to burst. If she allowed me to reblow the bubble over texting the next day, it would be a successful date. So as we walked through the park to her bus stop I did the “See that lampost? That’s where I’ll kiss you” move and she deftly eluded three kiss close attempts. I didn’t try too hard. She’d got the message. The retarded hillbilly kid had run up and down the scales, now it was up to her.

An interview with NYC womanizer Goldmund Unleashed

November 25, 2015

My podcast series Womanizer’s Bible has grown beyond its humble beginnings. It was originally just an excuse to revamp my YouTube channel and give me another outlet for mindwank than just the blog. And here we are, eight months later putting up episode #17 which clocks in at a FULL HOUR and it’s only the first half of the interview. That’s a neutron bomb level mindwank!

If you haven’t checked out Goldmund over at his blog, I’d recommend you have a look. He’s a cad and a bounder, writing gleefully about his indiscretions and frequently posting video and photos. This interview gives him a full introduction so no need to repeat it in text. Just click and away you go.

I’ll post up the concluding segment in a week or so. Comments and feedback appreciated either here or on the YouTube channel. So far I’ve put out a whopping 646 minutes of free content, nearly ELEVEN HOURS. Damn, I must like the sound of my own voice! I’m surprised it hasn’t caught on more in terms of views compared to the blog, suggesting either others aren’t quite as enamoured with my voice or else the material is just too niche for the casual masses. Perhaps that’s the inevitable trade-off when trying to do more advanced material. Dunno, what do you think?

Every group of men has it’s “ladies man”

November 22, 2015

Let me relate a story to you that my Brazilan friend and former RSG Bastard told of his early days in London game.

On rolling up in England, Fernando found a job as a tradesman working on commercial properties in central London. While he was back at base with the various carpenters, joiners, electricians and so on they’d quite naturally banter on the shopfloor and while snatching cigarette breaks in the delivery bays. One such colleague – let’s call him Franco – was known as the ladies man. Every Monday without fail he’d have a good story from the weekend of drinking, carousing, and sometimes depravity.

The men had come to look forward to his stories. It took the edge off being back at work for another week.

Fernando was an eager listener. Franco was getting hammered in bars and making out with girls, sometimes taking them home and other times sharing a knee-trembler in the back alley behind the nightclub. There were stories of wives, nurses, tarts….. all of them eye-popping. Franco knew how to tell a story and these ones rang true. Damn, it sounded great being a ladies man, Fernando thought, but it’s so alien to my own life: work, sleep, a few beers with friends.

As readers of my Balls Deep memoir know, Fernando read the Neil Strauss book and decided to try this Game thing. He attended a PUAtraining bootcamp in London (there wasn’t much else out there at the time) and then tried daygame. A few sessions in he saw me number close a hot girl and came introduced himself. We became friends very quickly and Fernando “got it” faster than I did.

Skip forwards a year or so and Fernando finally decides to tell his workmates his own saucy stories, of pulling two Polish blondes out of a Lodz nightclub so he and fellow RSG Bastard Ace can fuck them. Of a couple of girls in Vilnius, Lithuania. Of a girl he pulled home from a salsa night in Clapham. Finally, he felt like he could swap stories with Franco on level-terms. He was becoming a bit of a ladies man himself.

Monday morning during the first cigarette break, he tells his story. There’s a pause…. how will Franco take it? He takes a drag on his cigarette, looks out into space and laughs.

“Haha, nice one mate! Give the next girl one from me!” he says, giving Fernando a friendly pat on the back.

Next week Fernando has another story, of near miss with a tall black girl he met outside Covent Garden underground station. Then another one the week after. And another. Swapping stories every Monday morning, Fernando and Franco are bonding over the shared experiences. Then the bomb drops.

Fernando is regalling the boys with his latest story, another Polish conquest. They all stand in a huddle by the cargo doors because it’s windy. One of the plumbers pipes up.

“Was she hot, mate?”

“Actually” Fernando thinks aloud, “I’ve probably got a photo of her. She’s on my Facebook now” and she opens the app to scroll through. “Right, this is her” he says and pans the screen around the group.

Franco drops his cigarette in disbelief.

“Wait…. wait…. that’s the kind of bird you’re fucking?” he almost stammers.

“Yeah. Come on, you must have a few dirty photos of your birds, you horny bastard” Fernando replies.

“Yeah, Franco. Show us!” encourage the group of eager lads. “You’re the ladies man”

There’s a long silence.

“Um. I’d rather not” he replies.

This is a true story, though I’ve embellished the dialogue. Fernando said it was one of the moments he knew he’d arrived in Game. You can read more about him on his blog here.

Outlaw Daygame

November 20, 2015

One thing I’ve noticed over 2015 is that London Daygame is most definitely a “thing” and Euro Jaunting is an increasingly popular lifestyle choice. Some men get to take their income geographically independent and live the Ferris-like dream. Others prefer to “oil-rig” it by working a few months on / few months off model. The less lucky souls have the 9-5 office grind but scalp a few long weekends here and there to board a flight Thursday night and still be back in the office Tuesday morning.

Personally, I have mixed feelings about it all.

On the one hand it’s great that there’s a pool of ever-improving men living the life I do and whether it’s a quick street chat when they recognise me, or a new friendship when we realise we hit it off well. There’s something less lonely and isolated about knowing that in any major city in Europe I know exactly where to go and what to look for to find a fellow traveller. It’s like Fight Club.


Happens every time I idate to a cafe

The fact they all buy my products and thus enable me to live like this is purely a coincidence. Honest.

The downside is that cities can get burned. There are enough barriers to overcome in getting laid from daygame without contending with the additional early-open Bitch Shield every girl suddenly developed because word got round that a bunch of foreigners are spamming the town and posting videos on the internet. Usually, it’s not a problem but every now and then it really stinks a place out.

All things considered, it’s mostly upside. I’ve met 7 or 8 fellows this year who I really like and now treat as travel buddies. There’s probably another 15 who I wouldn’t ever call up to arrange a trip but if they see me on the street I might share a coffee and a chat. Take it from me, when you’ve been Euro Jaunting as long as I have you come to really appreciate how difficult it is to find suitable friends. The pre-requisites each must meet are vanishingly rare and then they’ve got to like you too. Considering what a stubborn, obsessive bunch daygamers are (myself included) it’s surprising we don’t come to blows on a high-pressure Game trip.

When it works out, there’s a real Rat Pack vibe on trips. There’s a genuine underground community and it’s increasingly taking shape and becoming self-aware. With that in mind lets talk about my next public speaking enagement – Outlaw Daygame. It’s in London on Sunday 6th December beginning 11am. See the sign-up page here for details.

Admit it, you're scared

Admit it, you’re scared

Back in March, Tom and I were in Prague filming our Beginner Daygame free video and we got talking about if there’s some way to bring the separate practitioners of the London daygame style together. We felt like the r-selection shift was working well but their must be a way of pushing further forward. There must be a way to keep the solo sigma attitude of daygame but take the harsh edges off its isolation and pressure. Beer was drunk and eventually we hit upon the outlaw biker gang as an opt metaphor. While we don’t run guns, peddle drugs, or have an excellent TV series about us there are some similarities.

We’d long felt like our nomadic solo daygame made us outsiders. There is something inherently rebellious and fuck-the-system about it. You could say we were dating against some kind of machine. Six months pass and then Tom is in Kazakhstan with Eddie from Street Attraction bemoaning the woeful lack of local talent to shoot at. Minds wander and they soon hatch a plan to put on event in London that will put an exclamation point on this gradually emerging London Daygame movement.

“Nick, would you like to be involved?” says Eddie. “Me, you, Tom and Richard.”

Everyone reading this knows all about Tom’s skills and material. Through 2015 I’d had a couple of trips with Eddie and one with Richard so I’d seen with my own eyes that they belong. Right then, count me in! There’ll be a talk from each of us, a long Q&A, and probably also a general meet & greet over beers afterwards. Anyone bringing a book can have it signed, if that’s the sort of thing you like. I haven’t actually finalised my talk so if anyone has good ideas, let me know in the comments.

Kiev Diaries

November 19, 2015

“I cannot forecast to you the action of Russia. It is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma; but perhaps there is a key” Winston Churchill, 1st October 1939

There was something in the air during my October trip to Kiev. A couple of months earlier I’d taken my first trip out and been reasonably impressed over the ten days – nice city centre architecture, lively atmosphere, pretty girls, decent reactions on the street. However I’d come away scratching another location off my quest for Pussy Paradise. In some respects it was like sitting in the front row of a Victoria Secrets catwalk show – just because hot lithe girls are parading a few feet away in tight clothes does not mean you’re any closer to fucking them than if you were in an igloo in Greenland watching it over a flickering TV signal. I fucked a very hot 17yr old but she was an extreme outlier. Eddie fucked a pretty girl and she was also an extreme outlier. My other (anonymous) buddy fucked a MILF and she was also an extreme outlier. Tom had been a few months earlier and done the same thing.

Sigh, yet another game of “find the outlier”.

An outlier, yesterday

An outlier, yesterday

Things were different in October. For a start it was cold and rainy, so the streets never had that lets-just-hang-out-because-it’s-fun-to-be-here vibe for the hot girls and the men who chase them. Most of the time the girls were hurrying to be somewhere and trying to keep their street time to a minimum. Gone were the summer days of girls just sitting around on kerbs eating ice cream, gazing absently into space. It also meant that being on the streets took a little out of us because it was so cold.

You’d think that would translate into a shitty daygame trip, but no. It was weird.

For some reason I’d accidentally sprayed on Pussy Catnip and my experience was like the fantasy of the Lynx deodorant advert. For the first five days I was constantly IOI’d. Any given day I’d get at least thirty of them, some of which were head-turning tongue-hanging-out mong looks from younger-hotter-tighter girls. Pretty much every set hooked strong and my phone rapidly filled up. I thought to myself, “Jesus fucking Christ, I’m going to smash this town!”

My new street game, infield photo

My new street game, infield photo

Alas, it was not to be. I was instead about to get a lesson in the iron self-discipline of Ukranian girls in sticking to their boyfriend script. If Warsaw/Krakow metrics applied, I think I’d have gotten laid every single night of my trip. Instead I banged two new girls. Both hot, both young but also both a pain in the arse to close*. So I was getting half of Pussy Paradise:

Warsaw: Few IOIs, few hotties, but all of them are dirty whores ready to go fast.
Ukraine: Many IOIs, many hotties, but all of them patient value-extractors taking it slow.

It was like getting served a cup of tea without the milk and sugar. What’s the point of that? [or for Americans, it was like getting peanut butter without the jelly]. Many thoughts went through my mind during the first week of the trip. Once the initial disbelief at my reactions died down, I thought:

  • This is what it’s like to be Steve Jabba, where literally half the girls in a town get wet just looking at you. I can pick and choose my opens according to who I like best and gives the strongest IOI. No need for a cold approach.
  • It wasn’t like this in August
  • Why can’t it always be like this? It’s so easy and so much fun.
  • What is different that’s causing such a change in pre-open IOIs and the solid hooks?

My brain was working overtime to figure out if there was a way to bottle the magic. By the second week when the flaking epidemic hit, I was wondering if there was in fact any magic to bottle, or if it was fools gold. I still don’t know the answer but I do know the reactions were so extreme and so consistent that there was something different going on. Now I must stress that my end-result laycount was no different to a normal trip. Two girls in three weeks. That’s at the low end of what I consider a decent trip. In Serbia and Belarus trips I’ve trebled that before without resorting to barrel-scraping. Here are my unstructured, unpolished thoughts on what might’ve been going on.

  1. I’d gotten back into the gym and gained about eight pounds of muscle in 2015 while keeping body fat constant (a bit fat, but not fatter). While in August I had to wear t-shirts and shorts due to the heat, in October I could layer up with a leather jacket so I gained all the advantage of the muscle mass without any of the disadvantages of looking a bit thick around the middle. So, a girl’s initial once-over to clock my body shape was more favourable now.
  2. My fashion was back to my Overkill style – leather bike jacket, open shirt, t-shirt, accessories, jeans, leather boots, hat. It really stood out against the local men. I literally didn’t see anyone who dressed anything like me. So, my shiniess worked better in cold weather.
  3. My vibe was absolutely glowing. From the very first day I was in a great mood and the constant stream of good reactions and IOIs just snowballed it. I felt extremely attractive. It felt like walking into a nightclub knowing you’re the best-looking guy there. My cold approach game has been honed through five years of being sexually invisible until I open my mouth. It was nice to play the game on easy mode like a good-looking guy and my vibe responded to create a virtuous spiral.
  4. My face and body language were extremely open and pure. I never felt like I was wearing a mask or trying to project a certain emotion. I just walked around feeling great and let that radiate outwards. It felt like I’d been carefully cleaning and polishing the lense on my movie projector for years and now it was time to spool the reels and see an image projected with perfect fidelity. Non-players don’t appreciate that this isn’t “being yourself” or “dropping game”. It’s the opposite. Rejecting game / behaviour modelling / identity change means you just lazily whip out your dirty cracked lense and expect the audience to be happy with the shitty image on screen.
  5. I always followed the principles of my game, but I frequently abandoned the prescriptive model. I’d open girls by shouting at them from ten metres away: “Hey you! Miserable looking girl with the black coat. Stop!” (that was a catwalk model idate – but went nowhere). I’d open by pointing and not saying a word. I even opened three sets. Nothing mattered because I was in full flow and riffing off all the lessons I’d internalised.

But of course despite the unbelievable strength of my initial reactions, things dropped off sharply when it came to getting laid and I was right back to the usual results. Why is that? The major drop off came in two stages. Almost every girl replied to my feeler text but very few came out on dates. Frustratingly, many would keep up a fun flirty exchange, send me (not dirty) photos and then literally just not reply when I sent the date invitation. A few girls messaged me things like “I’m on Khreshatyk street now, let’s meet!” and then when I replied “Ok, outside McDonalds in 15 minutes?” they literally didn’t reply for several days. The other major drop-off came on the date when I went for a kiss. Incredibly, I only kissed four girls, and three of them ended up naked on my bed. The rest rebuffed the kiss.

My daygame face, October

My daygame face, October

This is what I think. Again, I’m not sure. The whole experience was like Bizarro World where nothing meant the same as it would mean in any other city I’ve been to.

  1. I was plugging directly into a girls hindbrain on the street and frying her circuits. This meant I was getting massive attraction from No Girls just from the power of my presence. They’d love it, lap it up, and then return to No Girl status when they cooled down back home. As I write in Daygame Mastery, good street game will make timewasters out of No Girls that would simply blow out a guy with shit game. That’s why you should always be highly suspicious of men with high number-to-date ratios. They are doing pure Yes Girl filtering, punching below their weight.
  2. My extreme shininess was inducing No Girls to let themselves come out for coffee Day 2 / idates as a diversion to their otherwise routine lives. Many of them had study, homework and part-time jobs so they really don’t do much else any given week. The girls would enjoy the date, thank me for coffee, and go back to their lives unfucked. They knew if they tried to extend it to a second date they’d have to start putting out because I’d subcommunicated my unwillingness to be strung along. So they cashed in their small winnings rather than risk getting fucked while trying to increase their stack of attention chips.
  3. That same shininess and horniness is why the text exchanges dropped off. They loved the process until the moment they were forced to get off the fence. Being conflict avoidant, girls would rather ghost you than give an overt “no thanks” reply.
  4. A bunch of girls were attracted to me and available but they wanted a boyfriend. I quickly formed the impression that Kiev girls are either gold-digging bitches (a tiny proportion overall, but vastly more than in any other city) or straight-laced village good girls. The date became a subtle frame-control battle where they held out for me to audition as boyfriend and when I refused, they disengaged because they’d rather have nothing than have casual sex with a stranger. It was all at a I-know-that-you-know level. I set out my stall and she decided the product warranty wasn’t comprehensive enough. I was unwilling to invest additional time in D3s, D4s etc because once the freshness of the first hour with a new girl wears off, dating bores me now. I’d rather just play a video game.

Kiev has a reputation for being a tough city to get laid in (for free). I can go along with that. Most reports are that you get a ton of harsh blow outs while filtering for the rare outlier Yes Girl. I can believe that too. It never happened to me but I saw it happen to most others. I think I reached a higher level of failure – almost non stop good reactions and getting my eventual “No” further down the line.

A typical reaction to m street stop

A typical reaction to my street stop

So, based on my two trips I’m rating Kiev about the same level as Belgrade in that it’s painful and demoralising for beginners (stick to Prague or Berlin guys), a ton of work for rare but decent reward for intermediates, and an addictive mirage for advanced guys who get to sit front row for the Victoria Secrets show close enough to smell their panties but not able to sample the goods as much as you think you’re going to.

I’ll solve the puzzle. For now I’ve opened the enigma and unwrapped the mystery, but the riddle remains.

* I define “pain in the arse to close” as “didn’t display willingness to jump into bed with me two hours after we met”. These days, if I get any kind of resistance to my escalation I switch off and lose interest. I can’t help it. I think it’s my subconscious trying to tell me to stop being a player. I’ll write about it sometime because I think this is probably the biggest negative impact on my 2015 results – I rarely give a shit about the girl in front of me and she smells it. While I still really enjoy the street (probably due to the constant novelty of each girl), everything else gets boring if it doesn’t go exactly my way on exactly my timetable.  It’s probably some kind of notch-fatigue. Like Jimmy said to me recently, “Nick, you’ve fucked enough girls.”

Why are women a pain in the arse?

November 18, 2015

I’ve created a new post category of Mindwank. This one belongs there.

Dealing with women is often a pain in the arse. As men, our hormones compel us to seek out and try to fuck hot women. We develop our brains, create wealth, build bridges, develop art. We pacify nature and then build civilisation on top of it. Women, on the other hand, mostly just stand around, occasionally moving their womb from one place to another. In the interim, they bitch and moan.

A mobile womb, yesterday

A mobile womb, yesterday

Believe it or not, this is a perfect state of affairs. Without it, we wouldn’t have civilisation. We wouldn’t have feather duvets to sleep in, hot water showers to wake us up, or rich aroma coffee to properly wake us up. We owe our entire quality of life to women being stubborn lazy bitches and men being overly addicted to the slightest whiff of pussy.

Women are the problem and men are the solution.

Or, more correctly for seduction, women set the puzzle and the rewards go to the men who figure out the puzzle. If you can figure it out then – by default – you are worthy of the rewards. And if you can’t, then your DNA is worthless to the future of humanity. In this sense it’s factually correct to say that a man can be judged by whether hot women want to fuck him. It becomes more complicated when you consider how the puzzle is solved. To get this straight you have to understand the difference between totalitarianism and freedon, between dead and living, between Call Of Duty (single player) and Metal Gear Solid Phantom Pain. Yes, I warned you this is mindwank.

Think of how a CoD campaign works. You begin with a flashy opening scene of some bad guy fucking stuff up and giving you a goal (kill bad guy). You step into the shoes of a voiced cookie-cut character and then play a game of “follow the NPC”. Your HUD comes up and you are taken through a quick tutorial of “press L to sprint”, “press X to climb” etc and then the next six hours are one long corridor with periodic duck shoots. In gaming parlance we say it’s “on rails” because the game has decided what experience you will have and micro-managed it down to a series of set piece skirmishes. It’s like watching a movie and occasionally pressing X.

It’s fun but hugely contrived and limiting. Your character can’t vault over the low walls that form the boundaries of the playable area. You have to clear the area before the NPC will kick open the door to the next skirmish – a door that your character couldn’t open despite holding an RPG and several cakes of C4.

MGS:PP is an entirely different type of modern military shooter campaign. It relies upon “emergent gameplay”. That means it sets up the rules of its world, introduces you to a set of mechanics (e.g. how to sneak, how to aim), gives some objectives and then….. just leaves you to it. Go anywhere, do anything. Some enemy bases are too tough until you’ve researched better tech but you could still try to infiltrate them. Not a wise move, but you’re allowed to try. The real beauty of MGS:PP is that is never tries to get you back on track. You can sneak in or try all guns blazing – the enemy AI reacts accordingly by its own rules. Or you can sneak, say “fuck this” and start blazing. Usually pandemonium breaks out but it all follows the rules. The game doesn’t even force you to complete the objective – you might be tasked to steal a blueprint but you can just blow up their helicopters instead. You won’t get the set mission reward but you’ll still progress something.

Emergence, yesterday

Emergence, yesterday

In this sense CoD is a totalitarian, dead game. MGS:PP is a freedom-loving alive game. Both have their place depending upon your mood. Interestingly, CoD multiplayer is closer to MGS:PP in its role as a rule-bound sandbox that doesn’t try to dictate your actions.

This same tension between totalitarianism and freedom can be seen in political ideology. A philosophy teacher once said to me, “Nick, either you want people to be controlled or you don’t. That’s all it really comes down to.” I agree. One set of ideologies are designed to lock people down and control their daily lives – such as Planned Economies of the Marxist variant, or the thought- and speech-policing of our modern day SJWs. Other ideologies set up some mechanics and rules, then let you play in the sandbox.

The jocular saying is that, in England, “everything which is not forbidden is allowed”, while, in Germany, the opposite applies, so “everything which is not allowed is forbidden”. This may be extended to France — “everything is allowed even if it is forbidden” — and Russia where “everything is forbidden, even that which is expressly allowed”. While in North Korea it is said that “everything that is not forbidden is compulsory”

It’s the first and last which represent the extreme difference between freedom (England) and totalitarianism (North Korea). At least before Labour won their first election in my country. Once you look for it you see it everywhere. For example in martial arts you have the alive ones which set rules of illegal techniques and ways to win, then let you figure out your own answers – boxing, wrestling, BJJ, judo, sambo. Then you have the dead ones which tell you exactly what moves you must do and have judges score you on how well you do it – basically figure skating not fighting.

Now let’s pull this back to women and game.

Evolution is a freedom-based system. Nature sets rules on what is forbidden (death without reproduction) and then it’s a free-for-all for who can game the reward system to consume energy and stay alive long enough to pass on the blueprints. Pre-Darwin, philosophers couldn’t get their head around it. They thought each species had a prescriptive role like a citizen in North Korea allocated to either an office or the salt mines. Consequently their philosophical systems tended to be very large rulebooks as they tried to outline what script each role followed.

There is no spoon.

Likely location of spoon

Likely location of spoon

Underlying freedom vs totalitarianism is a meta-level world view. Is the world a chaotic, ever-changing river or is it a fixed immutable rock? Capitalists believe the former and thus wealth is something that is created anew every day and the economy is a shifting array of preferences and alliances where you can strike it rich and then blow it all. They want to learn how to swim in the river and take advantage of changing currents. Communists believe the world is static and there’s a big pot of wealth out there in the world, that people and circumstances have no feedback loops, and once you establish a position you’ve got it forever. They want to climb up the rock and then sit on their preferred ledge forever.

As the wildly divergent fates of capitalist and communist nations shows, the communists are dead wrong. The UFC proved the dead martial arts were dead wrong. They are fighting nature every step of the way, demanding that the tide doesn’t come in. So it is with women and game.

Here's an economy I planned earlier

Here’s an economy I planned earlier

Nature has decreed that women will be the puzzle and as men we must solve it. Nature does not hand us a script micro-managing how that must be done. The end justifies the means. If you have a system which gets you the hot pussy, then by default that’s good. It doesn’t matter how noble, clever or just your system is if women keep you locked out of pussy paradise. You failed. You’re wrong.

Throughout the ages, all kinds of strategies have worked. Be good-looking. Be rich. Be a victorious army. Be sneaky. Be a rapist. Be charming. As far as Nature is concerned, tying a woman up and raping her until pregnant solves the puzzle just as effectively as charming her knickers off and making her fall in love.

The point is not to give up game and start raping, but to accept that solving the puzzle is the priority. Losing beautifully is still losing. Winning ugly is still winning. To win you need the “freedom” meta-level world view.

Think of pick-up with a nature-based metaphor such as hunting or fishing and you’ll unlock your creativity and puzzle-solving skills.

Think of it like linear-programming and you’ll fossilize, wither and die.

It’s not easy because there’s something comforting about the linear-programming route. You can focus blindly on the process and your inputs, ignoring the shitty outputs. It feels like you have more of the game under your control than is really the case. In the real world, you’ll never control more than 20% of the process. The vast majority of factors determining if you lay a girl this week are completely outside your control.

“But Nick, Daygame Mastery is extremely micro-managed. Isn’t that a totalitarian system?” a troll cries.

Daygame Mastery is a deconstruction of my game. It says right there in the Introduction: I have written about what I do and what I think about when picking up girls. It’s my system. Other guys do daygame a different way. Mastery outlines the physics and the engineering behind what’s going on and then lays out hundreds of practical examples of how I operationalise the principles into specific actions. Your specific actions will differ, eventually.

Mastery’s examples will guide you through the Imitate and Assimilate phases, where you switch from your previous shitty system to my good system. At some point it clicks and you move into the Innovate phase where you fully grasp the emergent creative nature of solving the Woman Puzzle and figure out your way to play in the sandbox. In that sense Daygame Mastery is like those Prima strategy guides that give you the level maps, bestiaries and tables ranking the stats of all the weapons. When you’re good at the game you just refer back to it, you’re not a slave to it.

Women are a pain in the arse because they are supposed to be. They are the Dark Souls of humanity. And like the game, it often feels like they are stealing your humanity and rendering you hollow. Your job is to overcome the challenge.

Daygame Convalescence

November 12, 2015

Imagine you’ve just endured a few years working in the smog conditions of early-20th century London (and these pea-soupers continued well after the war too). Every morning upon waking you toss your alarm clock across the room, rise up to sit on the edge of your bed and begin coughing up phlegm. You shuffle across the linoleum floor into the shower and let the hot water take some of the edge off your early start. A glass of orange juice and a freshly-brewed coffee temporarily clear your persistent headache and you dress for work.

Closing the heavy wooden front door you step onto the street and breath in the damp air. Is it mist or smog that softens the distant buildings? It’s time to trudge to the Underground station and jostle through the crowd onto a rickety carriage, swapping bacteria with the other passengers.

A pea-souper

A pea-souper

By lunchtime you scurry out because today you’ve got an appointment with the GP and the boss has let you take an afternoon’s leave. Sitting in the waiting room you see crying babies softly bounced on their mother’s knees, and an old couple patiently staring at the various information leaflets pinned onto the noticeboard by reception. The nurse calls you in and after fifteen minute’s tapping your chest, talking your blood pressure and shining a light into your ears and mouth the doctor gives his advice.

“You’ve got a developing case of Chodular Fever. It’s not far gone but I imagine you’ve already had trouble sleeping, frequent bouts of irritability, and unexplained periods of low mental function” he says.

Yes, you recognise the symptoms. You thought this was just a normal part of ageing in the modern world. The doctor pulls his notepad across and begins scribbling.

“I’m going to recommend you take a Euro Jaunt”

Stage Four Chodular Fever

Stage Four Chodular Fever

Two weeks ago I was in Kiev with a pair of travel buddies (one of whom is on my latest podcast here). It was a blustery day so we had our jackets zipped and woolly hats on. As we walked through a park in front of Shevchenko university a thought occurred to me.

This is so pleasant. So much so that I could imagine a doctor recommending it as a convalescence holiday. We stopped at one of the many specialist coffee carts and ordered cappuccinos and while I made small talk with the young barista as he told me he’d recently been to New York, I let my eyes wander to the long rows of tall trees covered in yellow autumn leaves. My friend was at another coffee cart a few metres away chatting to a young university student he’d just stopped.

We took our coffees and walked back through the park to a small square full of retired old men in flat caps playing chess on specially-installed tables, their dozens of quiet conversations melding together into a low buzz. It’s nice to see the elderly getting out of their apartments and socialising around a shared passion. It was almost 3pm so I was able to pick a girl out of the rush streaming from the nearby Metro station to the university, hurrying to lectures. I don’t remember if I got her number.

I checked my pedometer and I’d already logged 8km walking and it would reach 15km by the end of the evening by which time the three of us were sitting in a quaint restaurant that looked like a 1960s Parisian cafe, working our way through bowls of the local borsch soup. We raised a toast to the Good Life.

It reminded me of the advice doctors would give back in the late-19th century onwards to city dwellers who were getting run down by city life. Britain had a whole network of spa towns, often in the mountains or by the seaside, where you could book in for a fortnight and let the worries of life fall from your shoulders. Fresh sea air, sunshine, walking, resting, sleeping, and of course sitting sipping coffee with friends as you watch the world go by. Perhaps meet a few like-minded souls.

A relaxing place to stay, yesterday

A relaxing place to stay, yesterday

As my mind turned I thought back to the hit Nintendo DS game in Japan, Brain Training. The (psuedo)-scientific rationale trumpeted in the marketing was that solving the puzzles in the game would keep your brain ticking over and maintain cognitive function longer into old age. So the games activities were all chopped down into short exercises that could be rattled off on the train to work or short coffee breaks. The popular London equivalent was to take a sudoko or logic problems workbook with you on your commute.

Daygame is convalescence and brain-training combined.

What does my typical Euro Jaunt involve? The first thing is to get out of dodge and roll up into a new foreign town full of it’s own local quirks and charms. Almost always it’s got fresher air than London and a slower pace. There’s none of the crush that the average working Londoner endures every weekday. Once I’ve set my bags down and settled into a daily pattern it goes like this:

  • Wake up whenever I damn well please, after my body has decided it’s fully rested. I suffer none of the persistent sleep deprivation that is the base state for a city worker.
  • Open my front door and I’m immediately in the mix without any kind of commute. I walk where I want under my own steam without contending with ticket machines, virus-bearing commuters, or delayed trains.
  • Roll up at my favourite cafe a few hundred metres away and work my way through a (very) late breakfast of orange juice, coffee and pasta. At some point my friends arrive and our morning routines converge.
  • Once we feel like it, take a walk. Chat, enjoy the atmosphere of the streets, and pick off girls as and when we feel like it.

Freedom has become almost tangible, like every breath of air and every step forwards. It’s all so pleasant. By the end of the day we’ve been in the open air for hours, walked many kilometres, and done an extended cardio routine without even noticing. Often my feet will ache a little and it’s not until I check my pedometer that I realise I’ve done another urban hike. This is the kind of patient low-intensity exercise that men will drive into the countryside once a month to get. My legs feel supple and strong. My posture is good because the whole time I’ve been aware of it. It’s the opposite of being chained to a cubicle in an artificially-lit office with the nearest window ten metres away.

That’s the convalescence but how about the brain training?

Imagine doing twenty engaging and fascinating crossword puzzles over a few hours. That’s how your brain is working when doing twenty sets with girls you are trying to fuck. You’re trying to calibrate her reactions, engage your creative juices, and logically work through a model. And then in the time between sets you can comfortably flip into a meditative state of mindfullness. Twenty times over a few hours.

After a fun but disciplined session of daygame you can feel drained. By 8pm when you raise the glass of your first beer to toast your friends you’ve earned it. Your brain wants rest. I sometimes return from a Euro Jaunt feeling like a boxer the day before a big fight. My body and mind are dialled in and respond with lightning speed. Gone is any trace of slothfulness, inertia or lack of focus.

Me, 8pm

Me, 8pm

It’s a common joke that carrying your shopping home is “training”. Walking up the stairs because the escalator is broken is “training”. We laugh because it’s true. We all know that the lifestyle of convenience is a fools errand. A man must engage his body and his mind on a daily basis to remain alert and alive.

Daygame is not about lying on the sofa right-swiping Tinder. It’s not about pouring toxins down your throat in a noisy smoky bar full of braying asses. It’s not about outlasting the other chodes at 5am in a nightclub.

Once you’ve overcome the anxiety of it, daygame is an intrinsically healthy activity. Just as small children don’t realise that running around playing tag is training their lungs, muscles, coordination and alertness it’s easy for us daygamers to forget that no matter what the day returns us in phone numbers or dates, it always gives us convalescence and brain training.

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