I will turn your face to alabaster,
Then you’ll find your servant is your master,
–Sting, “Wrapped Around Your Finger”
But fret not, there are apparently some pretty good recipes out there.
In my last post (which I recommend you read or this one won’t make any sense), I described an interaction I had with a sexy little redheaded actress. I took a poll among my readers at the end of the post, and as of this writing 73.39% of males and 68.18% of females selected the option “Martel took the beta bait. Loser.”
A couple of the comments gave me credit for a decent recovery to a weak beginning, but the general consensus can be summed up by Titanium: “No game. You had her on a pedestal.” A blogger I respect commended me for being “splendidly candid” in my admission of failure.
Earl admits in the comments that he’s uncertain in his judgement because he’s unaware of “the context, body language, vocal tone, etc.” This is true; I intentionally left out a lot.
And among the factoids I left out was that fifteen minutes after this interaction, we were outside, and Emma was pressing her body against mine with her hands on my butt, even though she wouldn’t kiss me because she had a boyfriend (chick logic). After a few minutes outside, she drove me home to pick something up, and then we went to her apartment “to help her pack”. “Helping her pack” consisted of holding one end of the tape down on a couple of boxes until her roommate went to bed. After her roommie went to bed, Emma and I went to the couch. My only complaint that night was that the couch was right next to her roommate’s door. Fortunately, her roommate was a pretty deep sleeper and didn’t drink many fluids that night.
Yet, didn’t I do everything wrong? Or at best almost recover from a really stupid flub?
One could make such a case, but the overall context leads me to believe otherwise. We got along fairly well before the interaction I described, but it was only afterwards that she started teasing me more aggressively, throwing straw wrappers at me, squinting, playing footsie, and biting her lower lip. Before my “mistake”, I thought I might get somewhere with some luck. Within three or four minutes of making my “mistake”, I knew it was on.
My Game skills can be summarized as follows:
Approaches & starting conversations: Below average
Getting a phone number if a conversation somehow actually gets under way: Average
Converting a phone number into a “date”: Downright awful
From the start of the date until a kiss: Expert
Endgame: Supreme with conservative girls, above average with relative sluts
In short, once I get a woman alone in a restaurant or coffee shop, if I’m not a natural, I’m pretty damn close; all such interactions conclude in the time and manner of my choosing. And when I’m with a woman one-on-one, what I did with Emma is the type of thing I do all the time, and during my more successful periods, this is the type of guy I am.
So when I first learned about Game, I got downright confused. By doing what seemed like Game’s opposite, I could be incredibly successful, yet almost the exact same techniques also burned me and damn near rendered me an omega. Defy Game and feast, defy Game and famine.
Until I learned that even when I thought I was defying Game, I wasn’t. It’s just that when I’m playing the Game my way, I’m not just playing cards.
Before I explain why what I did worked, I’ll add some context. In Emma’s honor, I’ll include improperly formatted stage directions to my dialogue. One thing to keep in mind is that the conversation flowed much more quickly than it may feel like it flowed when you read it. *Bold within asterisks* indicates Emma’s facial expression.
Martel: So how do you think things’ll go out there?
Emma: I’m really worried about the competition. (very sincere) *genuine worry, almost looks like the beginning of tears* I know that I can really act, but so many of the girls out there as so beautiful, I don’t know how I’ll ever compete.
Martel: (matter-of-factly, looking at the food, glancing at her, then back to the food) What are you talking about? You’re gorgeous.
Emma: *The worry gradually gives way to the “I’ve got this guy!” face, you know, the one she gives when she’s about to disqualify you* Compared to some of them out there, no way. I’m just–
Martel: (abruptly, annoyed) Don’t be a dumbass. *Shock* (an understanding tone, much like you’d use with a six year-old who’s nervous about going on stage before her first dance recital) Depending on your expression or the light at any given instant, you can go from pretty girl-next-door to exotic siren to classic beauty and back again. *Wow, this guy really seems to care, or appreciate me, or something* (absolutely DRENCHED in sarcasm, as if mocking a 19th century poet). You’re like the perfect mix of biology and art. *Is he fucking with me?*
Emma: But out there they’re so–
Martel. (bored) Yeah, I’m sure they’re hot. Whatever. (with an eye roll as I turn in my seat as if I’m about to leave) You’re a knockout, *I’ve got him, I know it! More compliments coming!, but something’s…wrong* but you’re being an idiot so I’m changing the subject. *Did he just call me an idiot? I thought he worshiped me?* So when you’re trying to get roles in commercials or whatever, do they have a theater scene out there, or how does that work?
Emma: *Some weird clenched thing with her mouth that almost looks like a smile, as if to say “I want to push the issue, but I can’t”* (awkward pause) Ummmm, I’m not really sure how that works, yet. My friend Stacy out there says that…
Blah. Blah. Blah. The End.
Of course she tried repeatedly to get more compliments out of me the rest of the night. Did she get them? Yes, and even better ones, but only after she gave me more visuals to work with.
As we learn Game, we learn of the danger of giving too many compliments, and the danger is real, very real. We also learn about drama whores craving an attention fix and the necessity of not falling into their traps.
If you don’t learn these and other fundamental lessons, you don’t know Game.
But another lesson we should learn is that beta bait goes both ways. Ace gives his “thread winner” award to Anonymous’s response of “Hey, they have sweet potato fries here! I love those things”, which is a great response. Furthermore, Ace write eloquently about the necessity of not falling into her drama, of not letter her “‘bad moods’ [wrongly or rightly] to stick to him.” Again, correct.
Though that’s not what I did. Along with the quest for the tingle, a woman also has the desire to get a men to disqualify themselves, to pedestalize her, to wallow in her crap with her, to inflate her ego at no cost to herself.
Alphas don’t do this, and that’s what makes them attractive. I don’t do it either, but I’m really good at making them think that maybe they can pull it off or disqualify me. She’s always about to trap me but never quite pulls it off, her hamster’s always near the finish line but never crosses it. I use the desires of her frame against her.
Until she gives up, exhausted.
The dangers of complimenting women and/or helping a woman with her problems are among the first things any man learns about Game, for both typically indicate weakness and supplication on the part of the male.
However, when we discuss these very real pathetic tendencies on the part of most beta schlubs, we often confuse these reflections of weakness with weakness itself. We’ve got to recognize that to many women, perception is reality, so if we’re not really careful, we’ll leave the impression of weakness even when we’re not weak. That’s why we’re taught not to even go there, and usually you shouldn’t.
Yet these are tools, and if used properly, they can get you what you want.
With virtually every one of my successes with women, at some point before getting her, I’ve played the role of confidant or something similar. Only a cursory examination would lead one to believe that I’ve got to be lying (or they’ve all been ugly), but I am telling the truth. How can this possibly be?
I never fall for her crap, that’s how. I don’t help or listen in order to curry favor, I don’t have some deep desire to save her, I won’t even inconvenience myself, and somehow they can smell the difference between me and some dillhole who’s hoping to leverage it for sex, who’s offers of assistance barely disguise a deep need for validation. To me, it’s interesting conversation (or at least a lot more interesting than reality TV talk), and the moment it’s no longer interesting for me, I change the subject. I’ll let her vent to the extent that every woman has to vent, but as soon as I know what’s what, I tell her what’s what. She finds herself able to “express herself” and is left with a viable solution or two, so when I tell her it’s time to move on, that I’m not here to be her damn sounding board, she’s got no choice but to agree with me and drop it. Drama simply isn’t tolerated.
Note what I did with Emma. I heard genuine concern in her voice; she was scared. I wasn’t seeking some way to save her, I simply saw a self-esteem issue and rectified it. Yet along with my concern I expressed anger, ambivalence, annoyance, and I was in control, not her feelings. My push-pull put her in my power, yet she was better off for it.
Proper frame-control renders you the king. Using that control for mutual benefit is what makes you a good one. All women crave a king, but some kings rule better than others.
Bad: Let her take control, do whatever you can to help, hope it pleases her.
Good: Don’t even let her talk about it.
Better (f you’re looking for more than a fling): Make her know that your ability to control her is what makes her happy. It’s good for you to be king.
The same principles apply to compliments. Usually, they’re about “I hope if she knows how pretty I think she is she’ll like me.” That’s why we don’t like them.
When I complimented Emma, that was not my intention. I just thought it was stupid for her to doubt her attractiveness. Then I thought for a moment and recognized that she’s about to take a legitimately scary step, so I made a genuine attempt to reassure her. After that, I made it into a joke, for after recognizing that I had the power to make her feel good, I had to pull back a bit, to put the power back in my court through a humorous threat of dread. She wanted more poetic compliments, so I gave her an ordinary one (“knockout”) and then made it clear, that’s it.
Granted, she was feeling vulnerable, so under other circumstances, the same words may well have put me in the friend-zone. However, the entire rest of the night she begged me to reassure her about her looks. I held back and gave her what she wanted when I wanted, how I wanted, often, but not always, mixed in with negs.
But by morning, she felt beautiful.
I didn’t provide complete context, and none of this stuff is necessary if your goal is to be a player, so in a sense none of my critics are wrong; I entitled the post Eat Crow because for whatever reason I love that phrase.
My problem was that I used these supplementary tools as primary ones; compliments delivered at the proper time and in the proper way can cement a bond, or even accelerate the formation of one, but delivered at the wrong time or in the wrong way, they’ll make you seem weak, even if you aren’t.
But recently I’ve decided that I simply can’t turn this stuff off. This last weekend I met a girl in whom I have only moderate interest, and I used this stuff a bit just for practice. Since then she’s texted me seven times and called me four. I’ve only texted her back once. If I were a prick, I could literally have a slave.
Yet I’m not a prick, and I don’t want to be. I want to use this stuff on a woman who deserves it. When you’re able to back it up, this mix of Game and “beta schlubness”, it gets them attached.
Nobody believed I got anywhere with Emma (except Frank, oddly enough). If I ever explain my Endgame, you’ll tell me I’m nuts, that what I recommend could never work. But it does.
I understand why you voted how you did in my poll, but Emma’s not the only one who knows you’re wrong.