A sharp rise in your game from a hot streak makes you overconfident and arrogant, causing you to forget all the things that were getting you laid in the first place. This has recently happened to me twice:

1. In Iceland I was getting silly fast one-night stands in under an hour. I quickly got spoiled and felt like I didn’t have to work anymore to get laid. I went to Denmark, fully expecting to continue my one-hour bangs. I didn’t even come close. I had a chat with Virgle Kent and he told me to “go back to basics.” I stopped focusing on the goal of sex and instead wanted to have long, interesting conversations, which meant I had to go out earlier and be more thoughtful with the girls I approached. I got laid within a week.

2. My first two months in Poland was nonstop banging. Polish girls were supposed to be conservative but I was spending most of my time changing bed sheets. Then summer came and all the students left. Instead of taking a step back and re-evaluating the situation, I doubled down and tried to go even more direct to get faster bangs. The results were dismal, including one frustrating night where I brought two girls to my door within a couple hours of each other but couldn’t seal the seal with either. I went back to focusing on good conversation and customizing my game to their reactions instead of going HAM on each approach regardless of what they were giving me. Within two weeks, in the dregs of summer, I had a new bang.

Back to basics. That’s what you have to do when nothing seems to be working and you’ve become entitled that you should be having easy sex with quality women. Just like how we complain when women get entitled, thinking they should be dating Prince Charming, the same can happen to us with sex. When you hit those inevitable rough spots, where nothing seems to be working, humble yourself and think about all the things that led to your success so many times before.

If a man says, “I have standards,” I guarantee that not only does he fuck few girls, but the ones he does are no prize. You’d think it’d be the opposite, that a man with “standards” would be fucking model quality all the time, but it’s never the case. He fucks average-looking chicks and then rationalizes it by saying things such as “She has a good job” or “She’s not a slut.” A man who harps about standards is using that as an excuse for a poor sex life.

The quality of girls you fuck fit a standard bell curve. For me the meatiest part of the curve would be around 7, meaning that’s my typical lay. Some high 5s and high 8s may get squeezed in, but it’s reliably centered around a 7. When I first started in the game, the meatiest part of my curve was lower, closer to a 5. With tighter game, my average shifted to the right.

If I went out right now and said to myself, “I have standards; I’m only fucking 8s,” then what would happen is I’d get laid less with no guarantee of fucking more 8s, especially since they are in short supply. It would be like an unemployed man refusing to accept jobs “beneath” him in a tough job market. As you know, it’s much easier to get a job when you already have one, so putting yourself through a cold spell because of your ego actually prevents you from getting what you wanted in the first place.

I believe in having flexible standards. When I go into any environment, whether it’s a new city, bar, or shopping mall, I quickly evaluate the talent. What is the average beauty present? I then adjust my standards based on what the environment is giving me, starting at the top and then working my way down. At the bar I identify the top two or three girls I want and go about making those approaches. If it hits with them then great, but if not I lower my sights so that I still get laid. If the 8s don’t bite I move to the 7s. If the 7s don’t bite then it’s on to the 6s. If the 6s don’t bite then I go to the 5s to see if they are capable of giving me a boner. This process ensures that on any night I get the best that’s coming to me while still getting laid in quality-poor environments like Washington DC or Copenhagen. In theory, with relative standards I should be getting laid the same amount anywhere I go.

Sometimes I hear a man say something like, “I rather not get laid than fuck an ugly girl.” He doesn’t understand how the bell curve works. He doesn’t understand that no man is fucking only hot girls, that they only sneak in every now and then. To fuck hot girls, you must fuck lesser girls to properly play the bell curve game. I’m fucked hotter girls than most men, but I’ve fucked some hogs as well. I’ve fucked them all.

Guys who claim high standards are no different from entitled American broads who post Craigslist ads listing a grocery list of positive qualities they desire. As you already know, it’s unreasonable to think that your dream girl will be served to you on a silver platter. You have to sift through a lot of stiff avocados until you find the dark ripe one in the back of the bin. What’s great about the sifting process with women is that fucking is fun. Even those hogs I banged gave me my nut for the night and a funny story to tell my friends. There was no opportunity cost because I only went after them when I knew I couldn’t do better for that night. Sure, a tiny part of my soul cried in exchange for those notches, but my dick gave me a double high five. If I could go back in time I wouldn’t change anything.

You can’t go from not getting laid to fucking hot girls without accumulating a lot of sexual experience that comes from banging girls who aren’t as hot. Having high standards rob you of that experience, ironically forcing you to date uglier girls for even longer had you not eliminated your ego from the start. Understand that lowering your standards is a temporary cure-all to whatever game or sex problem you’re facing, whether it’s in the approach, flaking, getting numbers, or sealing the deal. As long as the girl passes your boner test, and you didn’t get anywhere with the hotter girls in the room, you should get with what you can. Fuck that hog and keep fucking them, until the day arrives when you’re done putting in your dues and don’t remember the last time you banged one.

Not only is beauty relative, but the way you perceive the same girl is relative. Imagine you just broke up with this girl from a year-long relationship:

And then you were told that you had to move to a deserted island with this girl:

You’d be disapointed, right? Now how would you feel if you had to move to the island with the above girl after dating this:

You’d probably feel like you just won the lottery. It turns out that the girl you were with yesterday directly influences how you feel about girls you see today. It can also affect how you see women of an entire country.

The Bolivia Effect: You will overvalue women of any country you visit if the previous country had uglier women.

I’ve experienced three Bolivia Effects. The first is when I actually left Bolivia for Argentina. I was so floored by the beauty of Argentine women that I was ready to renounce American citizenship and permanently move there. While the women are indeed beautiful, the Bolivia Effect made me miss out on a lot of their flaws. In my second visit to the country (after living in Brazil for six months), I couldn’t believe I thought they were so amazing. I only lasted one more month until leaving.

My second Bolivia Effect was going from Washington DC to Iceland. Because Icelandic women dress sexy, something that DC women don’t know how to do, I initially thought they were above average when in fact they have the same problems shared by their Scandinavian cousins. They were of respectable stock but nothing special.

The third Bolivian Effect was going from Denmark to Poland. I was so repulsed by Danish women that I could have stepped in North Korea and thought it was paradise, but thankfully Poland really is a place where horny man dreams come true. Still, it has its weaknesses. The Bolivia Effect caused me to ignore a butterface problem that didn’t begin to register until three months into my stay. Only when I forgot about how bad Denmark was did I start to see Poland for what it really was.

The problem with the Bolivia Effect is that it prevents you from objectively comparing your exploits for choosing an end game location in order to sow your wild oats or settle down. If I originally visited Argentina after Brazil, would I have still stayed for three months? If I went to Poland after Argentina, would I have been able to tolerate the butter? When it comes to women, there is no truth except for relative truth. Our most recent experiences color current ones, which is why I overhyped Poland and Argentina while underhyping places like Colombia and Brazil.

Unfortunately, the more experience I rack up the less confident I feel that I’m being objective. The best I can do is tell you my stories, relay facts (not emotions), and let you make decisions on where to visit yourself. Even then, it is impossible to make the absolute best decision possible for you’ll always be deciding from incomplete and impartial data. Not only will no two men ever see a country the same, but with separate visits, you’ll never see the same country the same.

Feminists and their apologists do all they can to convince people that the world is better off with their ideology. They have one specific argument they like to use on guys who study game in an attempt to make them appreciate feminism. It goes something like this:

“It’s feminism that allows you to sleep with a lot of women. Without it your game wouldn’t work. You should thank feminism instead of bashing it, because you are benefiting from it.”

This is a lie that I actually used to believe. The truth is that feminism does not allow you to sleep with a lot of women, something I discovered during my six months in Poland.

Poland is a country that has been untouched by feminism. The movement completely passed over it, along with neighboring countries that were part of the Soviet bloc. But is getting laid harder here? Nope, it’s even easier. How can this be explained?

Game, the sum of tools meant to increase a man’s sexual worth, and not feminism, opens up those legs. In Poland I have a system to screen out all Polish girls that either sympathize with feminism or share even the smallest character trait with their feminist counterparts in America. I’ve terminated any interaction with a girl who is even 5% feminist, and yet the lays come fast and furious, with more than half of my bangs resulting from one-night stands. Yes, I’m taking girls home the same night in a “conservative” Catholic country that has no feminist harps screeching on television and where nun sightings are a weekly occurrence. By having the right game, I create opportunities that would supposedly be impossible to achieve without glorious feminism.

You can argue that the Polish girls I got with are sluts, or that I’m using my hairiness to get them, but you can’t say it’s feminism. Because of feminist attempts to brainwash the masses, you may think that sluts only exist in the Western world, that only they are “empowered” enough to fuck around. My dick is laughing at that premise. You don’t need feminism to have a healthy sex life with a lot of women. Mixx is fucking dozens of women in Colombia. Does he need feminism to do that? Naughty Nomad is banging nubile African princesses, racking up more flags than anyone I know. Does he need feminism to do that? Credit our success on looks, money, game, easy sluts, or what have you, but definitely not feminism.

I will reluctantly give feminism one thing: among the common man they sped up the dissemination of game, an art that has been taught for over 2,000 years, starting with Ovid’s The Art Of Love. The anger they have inflicted on this generation of men has caused game teachings to be more accepted into the mainstream, but feminists are not the only women who enjoy sex with men who have their shit together. Approaching, having tight conversation, being confident, and being aggressive with sealing the deal works anywhere in the world at any point in history, not just in modern Western culture. Maybe in some places it may take an extra date or two to get the bang, but unless you’re talking about ultra-conservative countries where women wear a hijab and extra-marital relations are punished by the state, your dick will not suffer just because it’s in a country not dominated by feminist cunts.

When an American girl tells you to thank feminism for being able to play the field, tell her your boy in Poland is fucking more than his dick can handle, even though the country has not been afflicted by the culture of obese, masculine women with fattitude who think they’re better that men. Western-style feminism, a movement that didn’t stop after suffrage and equal pay, serves absolutely no benefit to you or society. Don’t let them make you believe otherwise.

“The hipster movement did not produce artists. It produced tattoo artists. It did not produce photographers, but snapshot and party photographers. It did not produce painters, but graphic designers. It did not yield a great literature, but it made good use of fonts.” —Mark Greif

In the USA there still exists a niche where men can find reasonably attractive girls: hipsters. Girls who run in hipster circles are concerned with their appearance much more than the average girl, meaning she will not come out of the house looking like she has given up on life. Most importantly, she’ll be skinny. Yoga chicks and hipster chicks are the last remaining skinny breed of American girl left.

Unfortunately, besides her average weight, the hipster chick will possess a lot of downsides:

• Ugly prescription glasses
• Stupid tattoos
• Complete lack of femininity
• Unpainted nails, often chewed down to stubs
• Overconfident even though she’s only knowledgeable about music and fashion
• Outfits that make you wonder if she’s trying out for a position in the circus
• Always trying to be witty and ironic

Nonetheless, she’s still better than the alternative, a “mainstream” girl who is 20 pounds overweight, speaks in LOL dialect, and wears flip flops everywhere. Hipster chicks are like the lesser of two very horrible evils.

Now you can’t just roll up to a hipster bar with a stripped shirt from JC Penny and expect to get good responses. You’ll have to make a few cosmetic changes. First, grow out your hair and beard. You don’t have to adopt a Jesus look, but you should not look like you’re about conduct a job interview at Goldman Sachs. Second, buy a couple deep v-necks along with a snug pair of jeans. It doesn’t have to be skinny jeans, but it shouldn’t be baggy in the 50 Cent style. Congratulations, you now have a basic look that will not be objectionable to hipster girls.

One way to stand out from the other hipster dudes without getting a lot of video game tattoos or being in a band is to have some muscles. Hipster dudes are frail with concentration camp bodies, so having a more athletic build—that your v-neck will undoubtedly highlight—will do a better job of tapping into her ancestral desire for a strong man. Just don’t be jacked because hipster chicks don’t like that. Even though hipsters are obsessed with their look, making sure each strand of hair is strategically placed across their face, the trick is making it seem like you don’t really care.

As for what type of game to spit, I’m confident you’ll quickly adapt as you start approaching them. At first you’ll feel unprepared to talk about their favorite venues and music, but after 20 approaches and some basic internet research, you’ll be able to discuss their interests. Other than that you can run your normal game, so there’s no need to reinvent the wheel.

I unwittingly tapped into the hipster niche after buying a $7 white v-neck in Brazil. I came back to the U.S. with my already shaggy hair and scruffy beard and did quite well with them even though they were nothing like the Latin women I was banging in South America. I remember how the first American girl I fucked after that trip was wearing bright red pants. Until then I had never had sex with a girl who owned such an item.

The hipster niche will not be exploitable for long as that subculture becomes increasingly homogenized with the mainstream (I’m sure you remember the time before plaid became popular). Plus, hipster chicks are getting fatter. Or maybe fat chicks are becoming hipsters. Anyway, I estimate you have about two or three years to rock it out with some pseudo-anorexic hipster chicks until fatties completely take over the country and smother us all.

There was a time where the only way you could exploit the hipster culture was to wear a cape and a monocle, but that time is no more. Put on a v-neck, build glorious scruff above your neck, and enjoy sex with some weird and self-absorbed women.

At the grocery store I ran into one of the first Polish girls I ever approached. Five months had since passed. She asked me what I was up to, surprised that I was still in the city. I said, “I fell in love and got married.” Her eyes and mouth opened wide until I let her know I was joking.

I thought about that little encounter afterwards, particularly how my whole strategy with women for the previous ten years is to bang them as quickly as possible with the least amount of work and bullshit. I’ve created an efficient factory assembly line that is custom-made for fucking and almost nothing else.

I don’t want to go for daytime hikes or romantic walks.
I don’t want to go to museums.
I don’t want to dine in restaurants.
I don’t want to solve a girl’s problems.
I don’t want to go on little vacations to the beach.
I don’t want to spend quality time.

On any given night I want to have a couple drinks, a couple laughs, and then fuck. I’m so dedicated to this goal that one outcome keeps repeating: short relationships that usually die after the second or third bang. There are no hard feelings, no tears, just a silent, non-dramatic end that quietly fades from both of our lives when it’s clear that two fucks was all I wanted from her. Then I go out and find another girl who is similar but different enough to keep me interested in order to repeat the same process over again.

Have I lost a part of what it takes to be happy in a long-term relationship of mutual sharing and companionship? I’m not sure, but when you’re a man with options who can fuck as much as your dick can handle, you don’t lose sleep wondering whether you’re on the right path or not. When you have a solitary life in strange cities without friends, you don’t care for much more than drinking and fucking. The particular lifestyle I’ve signed up for is making it increasingly unlikely that a monogamous relationship will happen for me.

It doesn’t help that the more I become the man I’ve always wanted to be, the harder it is to find a woman who stimulates me both intellectually and emotionally. It’s as if my experience is pricing me out of the world dating market, which was best explained by commenter Begby a few months ago:

The supreme irony of it all is that as soon as you’ve [become accomplished] and met all of [your] goals that make you interesting, funny, strong, attractive, and alpha, you are going to be WAY better than any potential woman you will end up with. You will be dumpster diving for the rest of your life because no woman can really measure up to a fully developed man. It’s called penis envy.

Why on earth would you treat them as anything but disposable toys, to be used 3 or 4 at a time and then discarded in short order? They are all inferior to the self-possessed man, so why would we want to spend our lives with inferior people? You let them stick around long, and they start working to ruin your life and keep you emotionally unbalanced so they can control you. Then when you are worn down enough to give them some of that control, they feel they “conquered” you, and are no longer attracted to you.

When is the last time a woman entertained you for hours, made you laugh, said witty things that she made up on her own, etc? Like never? All they are good for is sex, and even that is boring after a few times with the same girl.

Men really did get the short end of the stick on this planet—having to bust our ass 24/7 in a misguided effort to impress people who are far inferior to us.

The Polish girl at the grocery store believed my joke because she barely knew me. Otherwise she would just roll her eyes, because the outcome I told her would simply never happen.

You made me learn game. You made it very clear that being nice, chivalrous, and patient was not the way to have sex with you. You let me know that being your friend, listening to your problems, and supporting you through hard times would only result in me getting to hear you fuck other guys. You pushed me to approach a million women to improve my ability to get laid.

You made me a selfish asshole. You rewarded me with sex when I treated you poorly. Your pussy got wetter the less I respected you. You made me go against my kind nature by being more cocky and arrogant.

You made me emotionally cold. You punished me any time I told you my feelings. You lost interest in me whenever I showed you basic human affection before you gave me affection first. You showed me that the less I concerned myself with your well-being, the more you did what I wanted.

You made me go for shallow one-night stands. You wouldn’t return my call even though we had what you admitted was a great conversation. You would flake and disappear for no obvious reason, making me feel like a piece of shit. You made me view sex as a numbers game where I treat you as nothing more than a “prospect” towards my sexual needs, an entry in my cell phone that represented possible sex, not a human being I wanted to build something with. You gave me no choice but to speed up all interactions at caveman speed so I could at least get a nut.

You made me leave America. Your entitled attitude become unbearable and your appearance disgusting. You have lost what it means to be a woman and what it takes to make a man happy. You have so little value to give yet you still expect Prince Charming to one day sweep you off your feet. You are a corrupted and damaged female, and have tried your damnedest to bring me down to your level.

The more game I learned and the more women I approached, the more sex I got. The more I worried about my needs and the more I treated you like crap, the more you went out of your way to please me. The colder I was to you, the more likely you’d want to be with me. The faster I went for sex, the less you flaked on me. The more time I spent away from America, the happier I became.

You made me hate feminism. You made me forget about marriage. You made me a voice for men who have gone through the same struggles that I have. The interactions I have with a woman tomorrow is entirely due to your influence and how you’ve treated me the past fifteen years. Who I am stems from your responses to my attempts at fulfilling my biological urge of sleeping with you. You’ve shaped my game and views towards women every time you rejected me and every time you opened your legs. You made me who I am, and every day you create one thousand men who are just like me.

This Saturday night I’m not going out not to practice my game, build my skills, make a girl laugh, entertain her friends, or have a good time. I’m going out to fuck. Everything I do after the moment I leave my door will be to find a girl who is open to having sex with me that same night. During the day I’m content with phone numbers, but at night I intend to go all the way, even on weeknights. Anything less than that is a complete, utter failure.

There are two things that need to be in place for me to fuck same night: the right game and the right prospects. The right game on the wrong prospect will lead to rejection. The wrong game on the right prospect will also lead to rejection. It’s when you have both that sex will happen. I already got the right game for girls in America and a handful of other countries, so getting laid for me is now entirely dependent on finding the right prospects.

To maintain a high one-night stand conversion rate (one for every three or four times going out), I remain hyperaware of my fuck funnel. The word funnel comes from web marketing. Here’s a definition:

A ‘funnel’ is a series of pages through which a visitor must pass before reaching the goal conversion. The name comes from a graph of visitors who reach each page—the first page counts the most visitors, and each successive page shows less visitors as they drop off before reaching the final goal.

Your fuck funnel is the series of steps you take from the approach all the way to sex. Most girls will drop out as they go through your funnel by losing interest, declaring they have a boyfriend, flaking out, throwing up, or a multitude of other reasons that prevent sex. This means that for ever one girl you fuck, you have to approach a lot of girls. This is the basic law of averages, where no man fucks every girl he interacts with (even serial rapists have a failure rate).

Most guys allow the girl to remove herself from his funnel. For example, a guy will talk to a girl for two hours in the club and then have the girl disappear to the bathroom. Or maybe he will kiss her at the bar, be content with it, then not get a response when he texts her a couple days later. In either situation, a whole night is wasted.

Now imagine that you can predict when a certain girl will allow her ugly girlfriend to cockblock. Or you can predict if a girl is flakey when it comes to going on dates. Or you predict that a girl is not interested in one-night stands. What happens? Well, if you like fast casual sex like I do, you drop her from your funnel. This means that you walk away from the interaction at an early stage well before she does, all for the goal of saving your time to focus on another girl that will be a better prospect. My goal is to get laid every night I go out, something that can only be reached by passing on girls who are not good prospects.

How do you know when to walk away from an interaction? How do you know when a girl is not a good candidate? First, you’ll need at least twenty notches of experience from cold approaches. You will then pick out the patterns of how those twenty girls responded to your game. If you meet a girl who responds in an opposite way from the pattern, stop talking to her. In essence, you’re testing her to see if she responds in a way that other girls you’ve fucked have responded.

Let me give you two examples from my foreign fuck funnel. When I’m abroad, all girls ask me the same types of questions, which I have scripted answers for. I have found out that girls who want to fuck me the same night tend to give eerily similar responses to my stock answers. This is how I know whether I will fuck her soon or not. If she gives me a response that strays from the optimum, I politely wind down the conversation and find another girl.

Example 1. A girl asks me what I’m doing in her country. My stock response is “Sex and drugs.” If she laughs or says something like “And rock and roll?” then it’s possible she may fuck me that night. If she doesn’t even smile and says, “No, really, what are you doing here,” or gets clearly offended, then she will not fuck me within the timeframe that I desire. Because this question comes within the first five minutes of every approach, it’s a reliable way to quickly eliminate bad prospects before I invest a lot of time.

Example 2. About 30 minutes into an approach, well after touching has commenced and I’m getting close to the kiss, I ask her if she’s getting drunk. She’ll say no and then I respond, “Well then how about I buy you ten shots of vodka and then take advantage of you?” She’ll laugh at this and say she doesn’t want ten shots of vodka. Then I joke, “How about I put a drug in your drink?” I mime the act of drugging her drink. If the girl stiffens up and says, “No drugs you rapist!” then she will not fuck me that night. If a girl laughs, and then soon leaves her drink unattended in my presence, I guarantee you I’m fucking her. It has happened to me countless times where I hit her with my drug joke and she asks me to watch her drink while she goes to the bathroom. Think about that for a second: she’s leaving her drink unattended with a guy who just joked about raping her. Guess what she wants to do in the not so distant future?

With the use of several other tests, I will know within 30 minutes and with 75% certainty if I will get the one-night stand or not. Compare this to my past, where it was common to waste over two hours on a chick to only get a number and not even a kiss. Today that simply doesn’t happen to me because I have my funnel tests that I stick to regardless of how pretty or interesting she is.

Even if you read Bang frontwards and backwards, my game will not be identical to yours. Copying and pasting my tests will not work. What you must do instead is identify the responses that girls you’ve fucked gave to your early lines and routines. Unless you have a sample size of twenty bangs this will be hard to do, but if you’re a beginner you can create newbie funnels that deal with getting numbers or kisses instead of one-night stands. For example, what pattern of responses did the last twenty girls who threw you digits give to your beginner game? The only thing you have to keep in mind is to make sure your tests are all executed within the first thirty minutes, the longest amount of time you should waste on any girl.

The hardest part of a good prospect strategy is walking away from a girl who is warm to you but not giving good funnel responses. Players are so used to pressing on until a girl walks away from them that it’s almost foreign to walk away first, but truth is approaching ten girls a night is easy. Plowing is easy. Walking away from a girl who your history dictates is not a good prospect takes guts. Yet this is what you must do. It stings when a pretty girl takes offense to one of my tests in an otherwise solid interaction, but I have the history of all my bangs at my back, reminding me that I’m making the right decision. Continuing to talk to a girl who fails your test is the same as putting her on a pedestal, meaning you definitely won’t fuck her. The irony is that more that I walk away, the more girls I fuck.

Study your previous bangs, identify a handful of tests to sprinkle in your early game, and then follow them to make one-night stands as common as getting numbers or kisses was for you in the recent past. A sign you’re doing it right is when all your bangs start to look like copies of each other, as if you’ve cracked the code and developed a template that works powerfully well for your game and personality at your current location. This is what has happened to me.