For most of my adult life, I was pretty confident that Washington DC was the worst possible city for a man to live in, but I have found a place that is worse: Toronto, Canada. Here are the reasons why…

1. Girls are more excited about getting late night food than having sex

Do you remember how excited you were as a kid on Christmas when opening up the hot toy of the season? Well that’s how groups of Toronto girls act at last call when they realize it’s time to stuff their face with hot dogs, poutine, or diner fare. I thought women in DC were a little weird about getting pizza after the bars close, but the women of Toronto take it to another level—they have a plan to eat junk food before they even start drinking.

2. Girls cockblock more than anywhere else in the world

Good luck trying to have a ten minute non-interrupted conversation in a bar or club if her friends are nearby. If they don’t physically pull her away from you then what happens is that a rotating gaggle of women will come to “check up” on her, as if you’re on the verge of beating or raping her in full view of everyone. I’ve never seen such baby-like behavior in the Western world. I even experienced a case where the fat friend of a girl I was talking to said that I could “proceed” with the conversation. Fuck that.

3. Girls think they are cooler than they actually are

In DC you have a bunch of lame people who think they are important because of their government job. In Toronto you have a bunch of lame people who think they are cool because… I don’t know why. This is even worse because instead of trying to impress you with the work they’re doing, they try to impress you with slang, name-dropping, or commenting on how “busy” they are. I remember when a girl tried to insult me by calling me a “fucktard” and another white bread girl said to “get at” her. Just because you know the words to a Drake song and go to hip restaurants doesn’t make you cool.

4. Girls are obese

I’m afraid that America has to take some blame for this because it seems that the our lifestyle has corrupted Canadian girls. It’s a shame because a lot of them have cute faces (they’re more attractive overall than DC chicks), but once you catch sight of her fat arms and the muffin top she’s trying to hide by wearing black, you start thinking of the porn clip you’ll soon be masturbating to.

5. Girls don’t give eye contact

I know some girls are reading right now and thinking, “They don’t give you eye contact because you are ugly!” This very well may be the case, but in Montreal I got daily eye contact from women who were much better looking than the Toronto specimens I had to deal with. Not only that, but Montreal women would smile at me. Yes, you read that right: attractive women would look at me and smile. In Toronto I might as well have been invisible.

6. You have to be approved by the “mother hen”

Every social circle in Toronto has an overweight woman who acts as a leader of the pack. She is the one who tells girls where to go and who to talk to. Apparently this is how she gets power in life since she’s unable to exert the upper hand over men due to her unattractive and portly appearance. If the mother hen doesn’t approve of you then you will not get laid. She can snap her fingers and her minions jump to attention so that they are not excluded from the tribe. Therefore not only do you have to build attraction with the girl you like, but you also have to charm a fat and ugly girl to give you permission to just continue the interaction.

7. Too many Asian and Indian girls

I think legal immigration is a great thing because it allows people from third world countries to lift their station and have a go at a first world lifestyle, but if you like white girls, a place like Toronto just won’t do. At any bar at least 30% of the female clientele will be filled with minority races that don’t appeal to discriminating men like myself. While the Asian girls weren’t that bad since they adopted a white manner of appearance, the Indian girls were absolutely not attractive.

8. Ugly girls are desperate while attractive girls are inaccessible

It shouldn’t be much of a challenge if you want to bang a Toronto girl who is a 5 or below. She will approach you, smile at you, and be generally easy (though of course you’ll still need game to seal the deal). In the accidental conversations I had with these unattractive women, I wished I had lower standards so that I could have mostly carefree sex that happens a million times a day in most parts of the world. In Toronto, however, once you get into the 6 range, the difficulty of banging increases in shocking fashion. The 6′s and 7′s give you attitude or are encased in huge social groups. The 8′s and above, if you happen to see them, already have dudes.

9. The entrenched PUA culture is raising the egos of all women

I thought that Washington DC had a strong pickup culture, but I hadn’t been to Toronto. PUAs are like rats in Toronto, infecting many venues with their fake high energy, puffed-out chests, loud fashion accessories, and total sobriety. On Thursday night I went to Madison Avenue Pub where I got to see at least 50 of them approach every woman in the bar. As much as I want to hate on them for increasing the girls’ bitch shields, I now understand why they do it: they have to. The best game in Toronto is not being an interesting man but just approaching a million girls with your freezeouts and spin moves and negs until you find the horny girl who wants to fuck.

10. Last call is at 2am

It wouldn’t be so bad if venues didn’t get hopping until midnight, but two hours is simply not enough time to find a good venue, mingle, and meet an attractive woman who you want to take home. By the time you get warmed up, it’s time to go. In Toronto you won’t have enough time for a real seduction, so what you see at the end of the night is a bunch of phone numbers being exchanged before girls rush off to a diner to stuff their face.

11. If you make just one mistake with a Toronto girl, you will be rejected

Your conversation has to be 100% perfect and 100% politically correct. You can’t say anything that can be remotely construed as offensive, weird, or needy. Once I told a girl that I like “feminine women” and she immediately ditched me as if I farted. In Toronto the best game is to speak like you’re a White House spokesperson. And god help you if you utter a lame joke! In one case I was talking to a girl for 30 minutes and had kept the conversation tight enough that we were getting to the kissing stage. Then I made a mediocre joke and she said, “Wow that was corny. I should leave now.” This came from a woman who didn’t say one interesting or funny thing to me all night and thought I would be impressed with her “marketing” job. Toronto women would absolutely never get laid if they were men.

12. It’s very expensive

Food, drinks, taxis, and lodging are all more expensive than DC. Do you get any additional value for paying more? Nope, you only get crappier women and intolerable weather.

13. It’s a suburban city

Most of the people who party within the center on weekends actually live in boring cul-de-sacs. Friday and Saturday nights in Toronto is like how Washington DC is on New Year’s Eve: amateur hour. You get a bunch of office drones with no character or class crowding venues and acting like they’ve never seen alcohol or the opposite sex before. My best night out was Monday because there was a total lack of 905′ers.

14. It takes a lot of work to date up

I never saw an average-looking guy with a hot girl, but I saw many attractive guys with average girls. Toronto is a penis paradise where a woman can date a man much more attractive than she is pretty. If you’re not a good looking guy, you either have to own a nightclub or approach 100 girls a week.

15. It beats men down

I saw too many men who looked like corpses. They had no color, no energy, and seemingly no will to live. Spending too much time in Toronto will reduce your ambition, your horniness, and your happiness. Many guys I talked to said that when they traveled abroad, they couldn’t believe that hotter women made regular eye contact with them and responded with gentle smiles and warm vibes. Toronto is one of those cities that can make men hate life. Staying out of here becomes essential for your mental health.

Both Toronto and DC suck, but I wouldn’t hesitate to pick DC first. The nightlife gets going earlier and lasts longer. More girls live in the city. There is much less cockblocking. It’s not a deal breaker if you say a bad joke. Girls actually want to get laid, and it’s simply easier to get one-night stands. While Toronto had prettier women overall, it’s not enough to make it a better city. You know you’re in a crappy place when it’s midnight and you are more concerned about spending less money than having a good time with a cool chick. For the nights I spent going out in Toronto, I wished I stayed in and read a couple good books instead.

Read Next: A Message For People Who Love Toronto

Wednesday:

The Liquor Store: Upon arrival I went to the liquor store to arm my afterparty move. In the vodka aisle I was debating whether I should get Absolut or Skyy. Seemingly out of nowhere, a tall girl appeared and said something to me in French. I took advantage of this and asked her if there’s a “local liquor” that I should try. She showed me a couple things as I asked her questions. I tried to continue the conversation, but she was with a girlfriend and didn’t stick around to chat.

The Too Good To Be True: My first night out in Montreal was quiet. I walked up and down St Laurent, the main nightlife strip, but couldn’t find a bar with more than ten people. I settled on a lounge that had two girls sitting at the bar. There was another girl, alone, who looked at me and smiled. Immediately I approached and she started asking me questions in a thick French accent. It can’t be this easy! Indeed, it can’t. She was friends with the bartender and DJ, who kept “checking” on her. I had no chance.

The Tall Blonde: A taxi driver led me to a place where a college kid was throwing a party. I was the oldest guy there. I spotted a stunning blonde, hotter than even the top tier of Croatia. I approached, but it didn’t hook so well. I was appreciative of the opportunity on a level of talent I rarely see in the wild.

Thursday:

The Return Of The Coffee Shop: I found a coffee shop with a communal table. There were three attractive girls around me. I approached the one who smiled at me. I asked, “Do you know what time this coffee shop closes?” She was from Vancouver and talked a lot—I barely had to do anything. I left with her number and texted her the next day. I sent “How are you?” and she asked me if I wanted to have a drink. It felt like a trap, and sure enough the date fell apart after I found out she only wanted to talk “about travel.” I didn’t want to waste two more hours to find out if that was true, so I dipped. She was the only non-French speaker I interacted with.

The Pixie: I went to a hipster bar and sat next to a girl. She had a bit of attitude but was cute, with a great body. I ordered a drink and she said that I “could” get one for her, too. I declined, and three minutes later her date arrived.

Friday:

The Tall French Girl Part I: She approached me in another hipster bar by saying something in French. “Can you say that again in English?” I replied. A little taller than I’d like, but thin and sexy. “Let’s get a drink and sit down,” I said. She didn’t want to kiss and went out for a smoke, never to return. I didn’t go with her because I suspected she wouldn’t bang me same night. I wanted to talk to other girls.

The 18 Year Old: I approached a young girl. The oldest guy she had dated was 28. I bought her a shot of tequila, then we went at it, sloppily. Her body was delicious. She invited me to the afterparty with her friends, but the cockblock came, and I was left alone on the street. A wingman wouldn’t have hurt.

The Tall French Girl Part II: I saw her on the sidewalk in front of the bar. “Where did you go?” I asked, feigning mild disappointment. She didn’t meet another guy, and didn’t see me kissing the other girl. “Let’s go for a walk,” I said. We walked straight into my place. It took over an hour to kiss her. Getting her onto my bed took another hour. I was getting tired. She wouldn’t let me remove her clothing. “I have to go home, I have a dog,” she said, “but you can take my number.”

Saturday:

The Petite: At the coffee shop I saw a girl with a perfect body. She was wearing a short skirt and high boots. I got a half boner staring at her. Face was fine, but irrelevant. Once the café was about to close, I looked at her laptop and said, “Is that a good laptop?” It was a good laptop, with internet access. We walked out together and she asked me if I wanted to have a beer. I agreed and on the way over she told me she had a boyfriend. She took me to a bar that seemed expensive, but she was eager to pay her way. She lived in another city and was leaving in two days. Then came one of her friends, a spinster who immediately started talking in French even though she spoke English. I made an excuse and left.

The Thick Hair: At another hipster bar I met a young French girl. She was curious and friendly. I was the first American she had really talked to. Two tequilla shots. I’m touching, getting closer. Sometimes it’s so much easier to game an 18-year-old than a 24-year-old. They get impressed easy. Until her friend comes. I think I need a wingman.

The Romanian: Halloween festivities were hurting me. Bigger groups with fewer people overall. In a bar I approached a hot Romanian girl, but she was with her boyfriend. Her sister was there, a butterface, but body was good. She likes American guys. I’m American. She asked me to come outside to smoke. “Let’s go for a walk,” I said. She bought cigarettes then we ran into her sister and three other guys. One of the guys she knew tried to pull the robbery. He told her, “I was thinking about how great we get along.” Not good. “Hey, I’m going this way,” I said, ready to say goodbye, but she ditched everyone and came with me to my apartment. She didn’t even want to kiss at first, but succumbed eventually. She was nervous and awkward. I took her to my bed, got some clothes off, then suddenly, “I can’t do this! I have to leave!”

Sunday:

The Dream Girl: I went to a club on hip hop night. I spotted a gorgeous girl with wavy hair and green eyes. She was extremely shy and I didn’t make much headway when the first cockblock came. Ten minutes later she stood next to me and I gave her a gentle elbow without saying anything. She resumed the conversation and opened up as I dropped some value. At some point I told her I was a nice guy and she replied, “You’re definitely an asshole. Only assholes say they’re nice!” It was on, but then this ugly Indian cunt came and said, “I’m only here for two days and I want to hang out with her so I’m going to take her away!” They were celebrating a birthday. For the rest of the night she was firmly in the middle of a group of six girls. Access denied.

The Toronto Butterface: I went to another bar, where I talked to a blonde from Toronto who was visiting her friend. She was dressed in a cat costume. Every minute she would break the conversation to talk to the gay bartender, returning with “Sorry!” The bar closed and the lights came on. Her face was rough. She must’ve realized my displeasure when she said, “I feel like you’re judging me.” I replied, “No, I’m just trying to figure out the color of your eyes because I’m… colorblind.” It didn’t last much longer after that.

Monday:

The Student: I settled into a coffee shop and asked a cute French girl what time it was closing. It hooked and we talked for a bit, but she got ready to leave when I announced I was in town for a short while.

I tried my best to get laid with a French-Canadian girl, but I failed. Should I have been more patient with dating? Should I have gotten more numbers? Should I have pipelined? The issues I faced:

1. I was getting great vibes, with many girls approaching me outright as if I was in Iceland, but the sex speed was slower than I expected.

2. I should have researched more venues instead of settling on the one nearest me. I got lazy.

3. I went during Halloween weekend. I never get laid during Halloween. I feel that girls are more concerned with getting validation than getting laid.

4. I should have lied about how long I was staying. Montreal girls are not slutty like Scandinavian girls—they don’t seem to want to put much investment in a guy who is leaving soon.

I got down not just on my Montreal failure but on the concept of the short flag mission. While exciting, it’s a guarantee you’ll have to aim lower and select for sluts (not that I dislike sluts). There were too many cases of nice girls slipping through my grasp when I knew they’d be mine if I stayed longer.

My Montreal experience highlighted the downside of love touristry. Even though I had the resources to spend a week there with solid logistics, I still walked away empty handed. I had one week in Toronto to make magic happen, but the drop in quality and increase in difficulty killed my motivation. My first flag failure was all but assured. I spent two weeks in Canada, had two short dates, kissed four girls, and got three back to my apartments, but in the end I simply could not connect. It was a tough failure to swallow.