When I first heard about Game I had preconceptions. I think everyone does. I looked at the cover for Neil Strauss’s book and it has an idealised cartoon image of the “player”. The Player is a cool, well-dressed lounge lizard who cocks his head and winks slyly at the camera while in repose at the VIP table in a top-end club, lots of club bunnies around him. There is the tinkle of girl’s laughter above the music. Perhaps on the weekend he’ll drive his Ferrari into the hills on a date.
The Player has an expensive flowing haircut, like an Argentinian footballer (or Johnny Wisdom). His shirt is loose, open and from the most expensive salon. You can smell Old Spice on his collar.
As I got more into game I had an epiphany. This is pure higher beta, modified for the bar environment. This is the GQ / Esquire / Mens Health version of the “guy who fucks hot girls”. This is the supplicating version. The guy who tries too hard.
As I got further into game and started seeing these guys around I saw how brittle their self esteem is. They do attract girls but I lost count of how many times I saw them fuck it up by going all beta. The charisma wasn’t there. They were like little boys and they hadn’t taken the red pill. Guys with those advantages ought to be killing it but they weren’t. Getting laid occasionally, sure, but never with girls equal to them in immediate value. Bizarre.
Sitting in my flat in Latvia I had another realisation. The guys who fuck loads of hot women are nothing like the urban player myth. What they actually do is sit around in their underwear trolling Plenty of Fish. They hustle in Covent Garden through wind and rain. They get shitfaced in Hoxton bars and tool big sets. They rapidly escalate in nightclubs and bundle girls into taxis. They get £30 Ryanair flights to foreign cities and then hole up in shithole apartments plotting their next move.
They are semi-employed. They had some personality flaws that drive them to master the skillset and fuck loads of girls. They sometimes fuck fatties just to get a good story. What they don’t do – ever – is spend £hundreds on clothes and grooming products, two hours getting ready, and then swan around a top end club looking like a player.