I went to Iceland in the middle of winter. I was immediately struck by the isolation—the city was dead and I had no one to talk to compared to my time in South America when I always had a buddy around. I used to go out solo dolo only occasionally but now I was doing it exclusively. I began to develop strategies to get laid at night without having to use any wingmen.
As my European trip progressed, I decided that rolling solo was the way to go. The proof was in the girls I was banging, often within an hour or two, from all types of clubs. I discovered that there is anxiety in standing alone at the club, and you relieve that anxiety by doing approaches (when you’re with a friend, you have a comfortable home base that actually makes you approach less). My results indisputably showed that I simply got laid much more when rolling solo. Soon, my social life soon consisted almost entirely of banging random girls with little male friendship.
My social skills remained high, because of all the game I was running, but my ability to be a friend declined and I was losing the ability to wing. I became more impatient and insular. I just wanted to get my dick wet as quickly as possible. I didn’t need friendship anymore—I transcended friendship. Not having friends freed up a lot of time: I published 9 books in less than two years, the most productive period of my life. My income rose and I was getting laid. I felt successful.
Inevitably my interest in notches declined. Not that I was becoming less horny, but I was reluctant to put in work to get something I’ve experienced so many times before. I had expected this, and decided that when it would happen, I’d double down on writing with a goal to earn more, even though I was making enough for my needs.
I launched Return Of Kings, which takes quite a bit of time. I was also working on three simultaneous books. I was excited that my productivity was going even higher. I was going to build an empire! Chasing girls too hard was a waste of time, just like friendship was. I had started developing symptoms of carpal tunnel in my right wrist. Instead of taking a step back and thinking about what was happening, I bought an ergonomic mouse so I could work even more.
When I moved to Lublin, I banged two girls in my first month and put them in rotation, not so much because I was in love with them, but because I didn’t want to have to go out much. My first trip to Poland had me going out four or more times a week. Now it was once. I was getting laid at least once a week and making cash. Life was great.
I released Bang Ukraine in January and the launch was my biggest yet. My entire life was going according to plan. At the end of that month I did my usual accounting and was pleased at all the sales I made. It was time to blow a couple hundred and celebrate.
I went through my phone. There was only one male friend in it, but he was in Warsaw, three hours away. All my friends were in random European, American, or South American cities. No problem—I got the two girls to hang with. I texted both. One was sick and the other didn’t reply. No problem—I’ll go to the club and find a new girl to celebrate with. I’ll get some new pussy.
In the first club I got hit with four blowouts in a row. Rustiness alone couldn’t explain that result so I went to another club that was packed with girls. It barely got better. I got out-gamed by teams of guys who could occupy cockblockers when I couldn’t. I used to love rolling solo because it was easy to get laid, but now I wished I had a wing.
Even if I did succeed that night and get laid, which I didn’t, I wondered who would I share the story with. If a man bangs a pretty girl in an Eastern European shithole and has no one to tell, did the bang make a sound?
I thought back to my previous decade of game and how the reward of it wasn’t necessarily in the sex act but in the bonding with men who were either there to witness it or help me. I got more satisfaction banging an average girl with a friend working by my side than banging a hottie alone with nothing but raw effort. I won’t deny that I have a strong biological desire to get laid, but that desire alone doesn’t justify the amount of work I’ve put into game. It was the male camaraderie that made it worth pursuing more than I would have.
I went home that night and logged onto the forum. Lots of activity, like usual. I checked my blog and there were many new comments to sift through. I had several new emails and Twitter replies. Usually this would provide me with some social validation, but not tonight. It felt abstract, almost fake. The money I made the previous month was abstract, too. It was just numbers on a screen that I couldn’t even spend because I had no one to spend it with. I might as well be living my life on the internet in the form of page views, comments, forum posts, and book sales.
I turned off my computer. I thought back to Brazil, when I lived in a favela. I was broke but chased more girls with my Danish roommate than while in Lublin, where I made a far more superior income. I remember how I told myself that I wanted to live in a nice apartment within a city of beautiful women and not have to take buses at night. I accomplished that task, but I was less content than I thought I would be.
I imagined how things would be in ten years if I continued. I would have a lot of money, probably. I would publish 30 books and get 10 million page views a month. But I saw myself alone, in a remote castle in some strange part of the world, with no social interaction besides a rotating door of women who I didn’t care much for and internet friends who would give me e-props via funny reaction gifs. It’s possible to have women, friendship, and money, but it seemed like I was running the common American program of just trying to stack paper because I didn’t know what else to do.
I went to bed that night satisfied. I was satisfied because I caught myself before it was too late to make a change. I knew that my priority wasn’t to make more money. My income was already sufficient. It wasn’t to mindlessly bang more girls in some shithole city, either. It was something that I used to have in the past, but gradually lost. I wanted to get it back, yet at the same time I knew that it wouldn’t be easy to turn back the clock to a time when I had different habits and needs. I wasn’t sure if it was worth fighting a wave that was taking me in a new direction.
The biggest problem I see in men is that they needlessly limit themselves with arbitrary constraints, waiting for someone with courage to attempt what they want to see if the coast is clear or if it “works” or not. You have a lot of men who sit on their ass, waiting for proof of concept, scared to task a risk without a guarantee of a big reward.
“You can’t make money self-publishing. It’s for amateur writers only.”
While one man spends five years getting rejected by agents and publishers, wasting money attending writing conferences, another man breaks the rules by producing books on his own, getting them on top-selling lists on Amazon. One sought to be approved by the gatekeepers while the other took the plunge on his own dime.
“It’s too hard to live abroad. I will continue living in this expensive American city and hopefully travel when I retire early at 45.”
While one man wastes the prime of his life in a job he hates for a future that may never come, another man is making a fraction of his income in internet marketing or English teaching, but still able to travel modestly, have extra time for leisure, and sleep with women who weigh less than himself.
“Game doesn’t work. Only rich guys who are good looking get to experience sex with attractive women. No one is really having sex anymore.”
While one man masturbates on game denialist forums, another man who is short and average-looking with minimal means is approaching girls in the coffee shop, the mall, and the bar to get a varied sex life than men of a generation before him did not.
You can’t approach a girl in a women’s store. You can’t borrow a friend’s dog to use as a prop to approach women. You’re too young to make a lot of money or travel. You’re not experienced enough to start an authority blog. One man lets these doubts prevent him from action while another man uses them to challenge himself into being successful.
No one is giving you homework. No one is forcing you to create something, do approaches, or take risks. No one will punish you if you decide to do nothing, or simply do just enough to have an average existence where you vicariously live through men who are no more skilled or intelligent than you are.
At the same time, no one is telling you what you can’t do. There are some laws that can limit how to make money, but it can’t stop you from going to places where laws either don’t exist or can be lubricated with bribery. Even if you want to start a cocaine empire, there are places in the world where you can apply your intellect and balls to get away with it. The only limitation is what you imagine.
Man has never lived in a time where there are so many countries that give him more freedom of behavior than at any other time in the world. Right now you can start an internet business without need for a permit. You can approach 100 women and get laid, today, not tomorrow, not next year, but right now. Even in the police states of American and England, you’ve never had more mobility and more information to create your own lifestyle, as if you were at an all-you-can-eat buffet. A spoon of sex with Latinas combined with a hunk of internet money and a dash of waking up at noon. Don’t forget the dessert of having big muscles. Whatever you dream can be yours, and all it requires is for you to take the risk and work at it.
It pains me to see men apply self-imposed limits on their own behavior, limits that even their own governments haven’t placed. Instead of breaking the rules in an era where rule breaking is greatly rewarded, they’ve voluntarily walked into a jail of their own making to be shackled and constrained.
I spit on your decision to protect yourself from failure. I spit on your imaginary limitations. Let the market decide if your risk is worth value. Let a woman decide upon your approach if you’re worth having intimacy with her. All you should think about is how to get what you want and how to begin working. Take the risk and begin to work. Break the rules that your mind tries to set upon you and then reap the rewards.
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I suspect life would have been easier for me had I been born a girl. If I was reflecting back on a life lived as a woman during these times, the following is probably what I would have written on my death bed while surrounded by my feline friends…
As a young student in public schools, government programs pushed me into math and science. Even when I did poorly, I got decent grades that indicated I was more intelligent than my work revealed, enabling me to enroll in advanced classes. I even received extra encouragement from my female teachers while the boys were punished for not sitting still. They were put on drugs so my learning was not disturbed.
As a high school senior, ready to apply for college, I appreciated the fact that my male competition was discouraged and shamed into a life of video games, porn, or even suicide. Being favored by an educational system that was ruled by female administrators made it easy to get into college. To outcompete the boys, all I had to do was show up.
As a failing student in organic chemistry, I was thankful that I could avoid receiving a D by turning on the water works to my male professor, who was so creepy and pathetic that I doubt he has ever been laid by a beautiful woman like me in his life. I’m glad he understood my bad grade was a result of not my own lack of effort or personal failings, since I was told since kindergarten that I could be an astronaut if I wanted to, but because the organic chemists of the past didn’t bother to explain the principles of science in a way that women can understand. I ended up getting a B in the class.
As a freshly minted communications major (science ended up being too boring for me), I liked how so many corporations were willing to hire me as an HR or marketing associate. These corporations can only advance through strong communication skills, which men simply don’t have. Not only was I always on time for meetings, but I gave really good ideas while the male engineers and programmers were shy and quiet and sometimes a little rapey with how they looked at me. Even though I was only making $35,000 as an entry-level HR clerk, I loved the power I had in googling all the male applicants and tossing out their resumes if I found out they were weird or displayed a value that went against the corporate culture that women are an important part of (like being ugly). I tried my best to give preferential treatment to female applicants because we have been held down for so long.
As a party girl who has only been with 46 guys (I’m not counting the guys I made love to when I traveled), I enjoyed how I could change my mind about having sex with a guy after I had sex with him. On one morning I looked to the guy on my bed and he seemed a lot more beta than I had remembered when I was enjoying the martinis he was buying me the night before. I was no longer turned on, so it was obvious that I was raped. I called the police and made his life a living hell for violating my body without having been granted 100% full consent. He didn’t get jail time but is on a sex offender list, and had trouble getting a job last time I checked. What’s really interesting is that if I had the same quantity of drinks and drove a car, I would be held responsible for my actions and go to jail if caught, but if I decide to have sex with a guy after meeting him in a bar, I’m not held responsible at all. This is how things should be.
As an empowered woman who achieves spiritual enlightenment by opening my legs to only the sexiest and hottest men, I was very happy that the government paid for my birth control, gonorrhea antibiotics, and later, abortions. You have no idea how expensive it is to be a woman, with the cost of tampons and make-up and such. I wrote many letters to my representative in Congress to ask for my hair coloring and nail polish to be paid, since it’s a cost borne on women and not men, but shockingly I didn’t get a response. It’s true that women now make more than men, but I still think money—from somewhere—should pay for women’s health care and not that of men’s, even if our life expectancy is longer than theirs. No one can seriously think that it’s a woman’s fault that men are stupid and ride dangerous motorcycles and shoot each other. Did I tell you about the drummer I’m dating right now? He’s so hot. I let him come inside me, but he stopped responding to my texts and I’m going crazy trying to figure out why.
As a 35-year-old newly married woman, I’m a little disappointed that things didn’t work out with the drummer. I’m resentful that I had to marry a geek, the only man I could find who was willing to man up. He takes all my shit without complaint, and while you think that that would increase my love for him, the opposite occurred. I hated him more every day. The power of science and in vitro fertilization allowed us to have a child (my womb was made infertile through multiple STDs, in case you’re wondering). This was great for me because due to fem-centric American law, my husband was put in a bit of a pickle. I could have left him at any time, for any reason, while keeping the kids and most of his money—money that I helped him earn by pushing him to go to work every day in his lame job. You can almost say that he was my little hostage, and I loved watching him jump to meet my escalating set of demands.
As a divorcee of a deadbeat father, a piece of shit man, I’m satisfied that he was put in jail. My amazing lawyer, recommended to me by my divorced friend, got an alimony and child support payment that was 70% of his income. He couldn’t pay it and is now learning his lesson behind bars. The high payment is fair if you consider the years I wasted on him when he utterly failed to attend to my emotional needs as a vibrant, dynamic, and empowered woman. I made sure to remind his little brat of a son every day what a loser his father is. I even had to put the little one on medication so his unexplained anger didn’t rattle my nerves and interfere with my pilates training. Thankfully, the government gave me more money in the form of food, housing, and child care. The divorce put me in such a depressive state that I now qualify for disability payments until I die. No more office for me! And finally, after many years, the drummer has realized my worth and moved in. He’s broke right now so he can’t help with the expenses, but I have faith that one day he’ll become the man I know he’s capable of being.
As a recent breast cancer survivor, I was thankful that the disease got more research funding than just about all other diseases combined, preventing deaths of so many beautiful mothers and grandmothers. I’m also thankful to the NFL for making its male athletes wear pink in support of breast cancer and not prostate cancer, which I read only affects really old men who are going to die soon anyway. Anyone who questions breast cancer funding is obviously a sexist, misogynist, bigot, racist, right-wing conservative, and a possibly a neo-Nazi. With my free time I sent angry emails to the employers of such horrible men when I read their evil thoughts on the internet. To my knowledge, no woman has ever lost her job due to proper and just feminist views. This pleases me.
As a dead woman buried six feet under the ground, I’m appreciative of all the privilege I’ve had to live a life where women were cherished and valued above men, who finally understand their role as sperm donors and tax payers and nothing more. But even more can be done, and I pass the torch to young women today and tell them to keep up the fight for gender equality, girl power, and female happiness at all costs. Thank god I was born an American girl.
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1. Her commitment to a seduction
The best type of game to run leans on the aloof side. Girls want a challenge, no matter where you are in the world, but how distant and aloof can you be until you start to lose her? How much effort is she willing to put in before finally giving up and moving on?
My Initial Take:
When I was in Argentina, I quickly learned that a girl will release you back into the wild much easier than an American girl. She will not spring back at you when you withdraw attention. I remember one night I was in a Buenos Aires club, flirting with an Australian girl, when I got annoyed at her and walked away. Not one hour later, she sought me out, something than an Argentine girl would never do.
American girls put in the most amount of work for a guy they like, to the point of desperation. They will send repeated texts or just ask the guy on a date outright. You can be extremely aloof—even disrespectful and insulting—and the girl will still come into you. In Eastern Europe, this is not the case. The aloof line of demarcation is closer to Argentina than America. Not responding to one of their texts can be a grievous error that you may not be able to recover from. Even though her attraction for you is high, and she has no other cock in her lineup, she will be much more reluctant to chase you if she feels you are withdrawing from her.
I need to experiment with girls I have had sex with via dating (not one-night stands). This means that her attraction for me is relatively solid. With these girls I will need to play around with my text reply times or not be in a hurry to ask them out, just to see if they will make moves to gain my favor. My instinct tells me that in Eastern Europe, I have to continually lead the interaction.
2. Receiving advice from other men
For men who get laid with 5s and 6s, how applicable is their game advice for men who want to bang 9s? If I’m in Romania, studying Romanian women, and I meet a man who bangs a new 6 every night, should I listen to his advice?
My Initial Take:
I respect the man who has banged a hundred 4′s. The sheer act of sealing the deal on a woman of any attractiveness takes salesmanship and commitment. This chubby chaser can have advice that helps men who want to bang higher talent. For example, his logistics game could help when trying to bang your 9. Nonetheless, it would be a mistake to duplicate his game. As I’ve gone up in quality over the years, I’ve had to adjust my game in all areas. The fact that average girls use their sexuality to attract men in ways that 9′s don’t immediately tells you that’s a different ballgame. Sometimes it feels like a different sport entirely.
I wrote Bang to get with an American 7. The book has done well because in America, a 7 is close to the high average. But banging model or actress quality requires a different set of tools that very few men in the world have, especially men in America who don’t even see 9′s thanks to the aesthetic de-evolution ravaging the country. For this reason, I mostly ignore all game advice from all men, unless I know that that man specifically goes after girls I want. Otherwise, I’m in my workshop with no choice but to re-invent the wheel for the environment I’m in.
The men who are banging 9′s are not pick-up artists who use copy/paste material—they are men of status who have coveted access to these women. It would be ideal to befriend such a man and dissect his life to see what could be modeled. The problem is that this is more of a structural and lifestyle game than verbal game, and would likely take years to iron out. For you to have this issue, I imagine you would have been in the game for several years and a notch count well over 100. I consider it an “International Player Problem.”
3. When conversations end
You’re in a night venue and approach a girl. You get into a conversation that lasts five minutes and suddenly she leaves with an excuse to dance with her friends. Did you do something wrong? Why would a girl end a conversation that she seemed initially interested in?
My Initial Take:
This issue has perplexed me for years because it brings up a lot of difficult questions related to attraction and how it is perceived by the girl. If you approach a girl and get rejected off the bat, it’s because she didn’t like your look, vibe, or opening line. But if you approach and she talks to you with open body language, that means those three components are agreeable to her. In other words, she is actively considering you for sex, and is now going to see if this positive first impression is matched by your personality, background, and value.
I’ve recently decided to adopt the firm view that if a girl exits a conversation after five minutes, I completely blew it (unless she had a boyfriend). I lost out on a notch, displaying a quality that she didn’t like or a game that is not what she wanted. In other words, I’m interpreting her exit from an established conversation the same as a blow out. This is tough on the ego, because essentially you’re expanding the definition of rejection, but on the other hand it’s needed for me to achieve the next level of game wisdom. Accepting this view is allowing me to test a lot of assumptions I’ve made about game and what it takes to hook a girl and keep her hooked.
When a girl exits an established conversation, I meditate on what just occurred, especially the last minute—to examine the content of my speech and my body language. How did I respond (or not respond) to what she was giving me? Did I show too much interest? Did I miss a cue that she gave me? Every girl is different so what one girl would have banged you for is what another girl would reject you for.
This issue forces me to mentally pull up an idealized blueprint of the path to a girl’s panties within the first minute of a conversation. I have to draw upon all my experiences to very quickly identify the game she wants and then smoothly deliver it without making mistakes. This is no easy task, obviously, but once accomplished, I don’t know what further game mountain is left to climb.
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Chasing happiness works, until it no longer does. I’ve written a lot about how you should make changes to your lifestyle based on how happy the change would make you (as you envision it), but I wonder if I’ve instructed you to chase a rainbow, because once you change perspective from your current location on the way to your perceived happy end, not only does your existing happiness level change, but also the happiness you would now receive from your end goal. Chasing happiness, it turns out, is the same as trying to put a strangle hold on a T-1000 terminator, or trying to keep a beanbag chair in a fixed position. It is forever changing shape, and the harder you squeeze, the more it shifts within your grasp.
This doesn’t mean you shouldn’t set goals and achieve, but trying to catch an emotion and then hold that emotion in a capsule as if frozen in time is an impossible task. When you account for the adaption to your happiness level, whatever you do catch will escape from you not long after you grab it.
Let me give you a contrary indicator why chasing happiness is a poor idea: American women are obsessed with it. Everything in their life, which may include trampling on your happiness, is done so they are happy at all times. To them, happiness should be a permanent condition that never wanes. The doors of happiness should have steel locks. You want to have the same goal as these women, where surveys consistently show they are less happy than a generation ago? I’m starting to believe the mere goal of chasing happiness is a guarantee of unhappiness, especially when your prediction of what you think will make you happy oftentimes doesn’t match the result, as I’ve learned in life.
So what do you do? What can guide you in life to help you make the right decisions on what direction to take? I ask myself two questions:
1. What type of man do I want to be?
Regardless of how happy I’ll be when I get to a destination, I need to be able to look in the mirror and feel dignity, pride, and accomplishment, that regardless if I’m going through a tough time or an easy time, I am who I want to be and can live or die as is.
I want to be an intelligent man, a cultured man, a man who sleeps with beautiful women, and a man who helps his fellow man. I can’t tell you for certain that being an intelligent man will make me happy, but that’s what I want to see when I look in the mirror. Every day through my work, my studies, my leisure, and my actions, I become the man who I want to be.
2. What experience do I want to have first?
Life often throws two options at you that seem to have equal payoffs. Even when you do a cost-benefit analysis, you still can’t identify the superior option. When this happens, simply ask yourself which experience you rather have. You will then pick the option that may give less obvious and immediate happiness, but one which will make you look forward to each day, ready to give your best.
I’m often faced with many options on which country to hit next, made more difficult with the online noise of stories and data sheets. The benefits and weaknesses of one country over another seem to cancel themselves out perfectly. So how do I pick? I pick the country that, if I were to die soon, I would want to experience first before my end arrives. It may not make me happy, and it probably isn’t the easier option, but I’ll more eager to wake every day when I’m there.
I will not fault you if your life strategy is chasing happiness. It’s better than chasing pain or having no strategy at all. But as a man who has been chasing happiness for most of his adult life, I can assure you that there will be no treasure at the end of your rainbow, no matter how many continents you explore and how much pussy you slay. Look at your reflection instead. Study it and ask yourself what type of man you want to see staring back at you. Ask yourself which experiences are urgent for you to have in case of a premature death. These two questions will guide you and make you the best man you can be.
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It’s apparent that the manosphere is giving rise to a new school of thought. Whether you are visiting a game blog, an MRA site, or an MGTOW forum, there are a lot of commonalities in our belief systems that don’t match existing ideologies.
A few months ago I wrote an article on traditional conservativism. Here’s an excerpt:
Traditional conservatives can be boiled down into believing that not all change is good. They look to the past for what was lost and how to recapture it while liberals look to the future for what more can be gained in the form of expanded rights, new privileges, birth control subsidies, and dole money. Both offer a counterbalance to society, with one side hitting the brakes while the other hits the gas.
I think it can be argued that in the past 30 years all we’ve done is hit the gas, with very little thought of how that progress impacts human behavior. The pedal is now to the metal while we all race down the highway in the dark of night without wearing out seatbelts. Traditional conservatives highlight the deadly accidents and say, “Look at this, we need to slow down!” while the left yells, “Fuck it, we need to keep going!”
But how much of the tradcon ideology really matches what you and I believe today? Last time I checked, most of us are not ready to marry a virgin or forgo playing the game. We’re not in a hurry to raise a family. Instead, we seek periods of hedonism to be slightly balanced with more traditional viewpoints that accept reality and human biology.
I thought of what are the most common beliefs in the manosphere. Here they are:
1. Men and women are genetically different, not only physically but mentally. Sex roles evolved in all animals. They did not exempt humans.
2. Free-market capitalism is the most efficient means of economic growth.
3. Libertarianism could be an effective means to prevent government overreach into the lives of citizens.
4. Women are sluts if they sleep around, but men are not. This fact is due to the biological differences in gender.
5. Socialism, feminism, and cultural Marxism will bring down society because it eliminates the family unit and decreases the fertility rate. Entitlements soon outstrip the diminishing tax base.
6. Men drop out of the reproductive game if there is no incentive for them to reproduce.
7. Past traditions and rituals had purposes that benefited family and, in turn, society.
9. A woman’s worth coincides with her fertility and her beauty. A man’s worth coincides with his resources.
10. The most stable family is a man providing the bread while the wife stays home to feed it to offspring.
11. Democracies devolve into welfare states as citizens vote for the candidate who gives them the most money.
12. Testosterone is the biological cause for masculinity. Environmental changes that reduce the hormone’s concentration in men will cause them to be weaker and more feminine.
It’s possible for you not to agree with all twelve beliefs, but chances are you believe at least half if you’re a regular reader of mine. If I were to pull a random feminist off the street and show her this list, she would believe absolutely none of them. In fact, if one of your more liberal friends finds out that these are your beliefs, she will think about ways to start a whisper campaign, either online or off, to deal with your thought crime that goes so strongly against what she believes to be truth.
I’m not a fan of inventing terms or names, and if you read my game literature you’ll notice how I find normal language to be quite capable in describing ways to seduce a woman, but we need a name to describe the world that we think best reflects our shared beliefs. “Red pill” is one, but it often refers to a way of thinking, not the content. I believe the phrase “masculine conservatism” fits better for these specific beliefs.
Now imagine if it was acceptable to discuss these ideas on a university level. Imagine if a men’s rights speaker could participate in a campus lecture without getting harassed. Imagine the volume of data that would be published if we had educational backing. Imagine if you could post your own thoughts under your full name and solicit public feedback without jeopardizing your future employment. Feminism is so strong not because their ideas are strong, but because they’ve accumulated power that limits the development and publication of our thoughts. We’ve been reduced to posting mostly anonymous essays on the internet, disorganized with no guiding mission.
But even in this disorganization is rising new ideas that are challenging the status quo. It’s up to each of us to decide how much farther we want to take these ideas, or if we want to hide them and let only our opponents enjoy free speech while we remain marginalized. The feminists were the underdog once, and look how far they’ve come. I have no doubts that we can do the same.
PREVIOUSLY: Part 1
On a Thursday night I went to a club alone. In order to recapture the glory days where I was the approach machine, I decided to do ten solid approaches.
My first approach was on my ideal type of girl, but ten minutes in her friend dragged her to dance. I did more approaches, not because I wanted to get laid, but because I was supposed to hit ten. The alcohol wasn’t loosening me up and I was getting more withdrawn as the night went on. My opening line felt stiff. My mouth was actively moving but my brain had left the building and was waiting outside. I made it to eight approaches, kissed a girl I only got a half boner for, and left.
There’s no physical reason why I couldn’t do something that I’ve done dozens of times before, but the desire wasn’t there, even though I would have happily banged 50% of the girls present. I’m now only willing to work for a certain type of girl who I know can give me immense pleasure with minimal investment. Otherwise I have to be especially horny, something that may happen one or two nights a month.
I met Kamal once again at the lounge and he told me that the random girl who messaged him on Facebook the other night was coming with three other friends. They eventually arrived and his girl was the cutest. The second cutest wasn’t bad, but she didn’t want to chat and went with the other two to dance.
Kamal and his girl talked next to me and I could tell that he would get far based on how she was smiling and giggling at most things he said. I remembered when she took out her phone to text someone and he said, “Why are you texting me, I’m right here!” He never put out an arrogant vibe or displayed anger. He was a gentleman with style, something that plays very well in a country that lacks such men. He built the foundation with his logistics, personal attributes, and social circle investment, and could now cash it in for years to come. All he needs to do is show up. While he was talking to the girl, I was thinking about which parts of him I wanted to implement into my own game.
I did a handful of approaches but it was tough. In one of the snobbiest bars in Warsaw, the cold approach was getting me less mileage than even industrial Ukraine.
Kamal came up to me and said, “We’re going to a new club. I took a girl there yesterday and bought a bottle but she didn’t drink so they saved it for us tonight. We have to kill it.”
“But how about your girl?”
“She’s going to meet me later. She wants to spend time with her friends.”
“Are you sure it’s a good idea to leave her? It’s okay if you need to stay with her, I can find something to do.”
“No, it’s better I leave. I want to play around a bit and then meet her later.”
We went to the club and got to work on the vodka bottle. In the VIP section there were many guys older than me dressed in suits and smoking cigars. Opposing them were women in their late 20s who seemed like they would accept cash for sex. A couple of them had bobblehead body language, physically present but not mentally. The main crowd had average talent of somewhat older people.
I started talking to one of the club’s dancers, a privilege that the VIP access gave. She was surprisingly receptive, asking me questions and deflecting cockblocks from her fellow dancer friends. She went to dance and actually came back. I offered her a drink from Kamal’s bottle and she accepted, later inviting me to dance. I tried to touch, a suitable move after our 30 minute conversation, but she pulled back and said, “I need space.” I replied, “I’ll give you space” then walked away.
She came back to me later, a huge sign of interest, but there would be no extraction on this night. My need to stay in one city was now stronger than ever. The optimum strategy of scoring top talent was being painted in my head with three colors: game, residency, and local value. As long as I only had one, I would always have to work.
After killing the bottle, we stumbled out of the club and walked to another. Kamal eventually got the text from his girl and left. I went home not long after, alone.
The next afternoon we met at a café to review the night. I said, “Now before you tell me what happened, I’m going to guess that you came close to banging but didn’t get quite there. It seemed like it would take one more date.”
“When I went to the club she was at, she was dancing with another guy.”
“But then when she saw me, she immediately stopped dancing and came to me. She didn’t look at the guy again. We danced for a little while and I asked her if she wanted to come over for a drink. She said she wanted to but that her friend was drunk and needed to come with us. I said, ‘I wouldn’t mind hanging out with your friend, but I just had the maid clean my apartment and I don’t want her puking in it. I can tell she doesn’t look well.’ She asked what she could do. ‘Let’s put her in a cab. It’s the best thing for her.’ The three of us went outside and we shoved her in there.”
“Cockblock disabled, nice.”
“Yes. Then we went to my place. I made drinks but on the couch she was playing really hard to get, like she didn’t want to kiss me.”
“Did you kiss before?”
“Not much, just short kisses.”
“That’s not good.”
“Yeah, so I told her, ‘Look you need to open up, you’re being cold and I don’t like that.’ And then finally she kissed me. After a while she asked me if I wanted to have sex. I said, ‘No, of course not, I’m not that easy.’ So we’re playing this dance, back and forth, until finally I suggested we go to my room. She said yes and then we banged.”
“Boom!” I gave him a high five. “It was nice to be there for most of it to see it go down. She seemed a little aloof but I guess her plan was to get banged all along.”
“She had really sexy underwear, like she knew she was going to get laid. She just broke up with her boyfriend and was ready to be bad.”
“That’s inspiring, man. What you got is what I want. I just need to find my city.”
“You’ll find it.”
“I hope so, but I will say that you were the right person to meet at the right time in the right country. It’s like god put you in front of me, giving me the answer of what I have to do next. It’s like he said, ‘Roosh, I know you’re having problems right now figuring out what you want to do. I want you to meet this guy named Kamal.’”
He laughed, not minding my melodrama.
“What you’ve done here,” I went on, “such as being a regular at a couple good spots and getting in with the staff, I’ve done a bit of in other cities, but it was mostly accidental. Just like how I’m conscious with game, I need to be conscious with being king of a city. I don’t see why it can’t be done.”
“It can be done.”
For the previous two years I was searching hard for poosy paradise. I believed that within the first week a city should slap me across the face and announce if it was paradise or not, but Kamal did the opposite. He went to a city that wasn’t poosy paradise and made it so. He created paradise from something mediocre by putting in his blood and sweat, while I was living the life of a wandering gypsy, expecting paradise to be handed to me merely from my ability to hop on an airplane. I saw the flaw in my approach, and on the bus ride to my next city, I was ready to change the game that I’ve been running for all of my adult life.
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A year ago I got an email from a reader of mine named Kamal. He lived in Warsaw and asked for some advice on getting with the local models. My advice to him was simple: “To get a star you have to be a star.” Even though I wasn’t swimming in models myself, I knew that it took displays of high value to get with women who are viewed upon as having high value. Through the months he sent me short updates about living in Warsaw, but they were somewhat forgotten in the huge pile of mail I receive.
By the time I arrived in Warsaw to continue my exploration of Poland, I was ready to pick a city and stay for an extended period of time. By hopping from city to city, I was not leveraging the value I’ve built up over the years. I became so dependent on the cold approach to get laid that the minute I stopped approaching was the minute all my prospects dried up. I knew that the only way I’d get “passive” sex is if I build up some local status and have girls seek me out based on what they have heard or seen. I was ready for Warsaw to be the place that I stay and work on this new game.
I wasn’t in the same state as my last trip to Poland, when I had very little European women experience and was hungry for notches and flags. Now I was looking for stability and something that resembled a more normal life. Even if I was thirsty for more bangs, Warsaw would have stymied me. The quality was below the Polish average but the male competition was intense. I had written off Polish guys as being duds, but in the first few clubs I went to, they were out in force, approaching like maniacs. There was no room to build up a bit of a mysterious vibe and play it slow like I did in Poznan. It was a race to approach the fastest, spin the girl around, dance, and so on. I didn’t have the will for it.
It didn’t help that the attitude of the women were more sour. I was getting dismissive responses and two girls I approached even asked me to buy them a drink, something that didn’t happen to me in the entirety of my previous stay in Poland. I could tell that the biggest and fastest growing city in the country was having a negative effect on women who I naively thought were immune to that sort of thing. My plan to stay in Warsaw, to build local status and get passive bangs, was cancelled after just a few days.
Kamal responded to my arrival email where I asked if he wanted to have a drink. He agreed and we met on a Friday night. He greeted me with a large smile and a handshake. Immediately I noticed he spoke with a French accent. It turned out he was from Morocco, which has a strong French influence. He led me to one of his favorite lounges where the doormen cordially greeted him. We checked our coats and I noticed that he was suited up. If I knew, I would have upgraded the H&M v-neck I was wearing.
I followed him to a table where he introduced me to four Polish women, one of whom he recently had sex with. More people joined and he always quickly introduced me as his friend. He worked the table like a raconteur, talking enough to show value but not so much that he bored his audience. All eyes were on him while I got the perfunctory “Where are you from?” but with no substantial follow-up to my answer. He made everyone feel special enough but not too special, and he tossed me a few glances that I interpreted as “You’re alright, yeah?” I noticed he would often adjust his cuff links, not because they needed to be adjusted, but perhaps to relax himself, to take the edge off of being in the social spotlight.
“This is only the warm up spot,” he told me. “There’s a club I want to take you to.” After a couple drinks and more introductions with Warsaw scenesters whose names I immediately forgot, we left to the club a few blocks away. It was a mob scene. The line was more than half a city block long. Before I objected to what would be an uncomfortably long wait, he said, “Follow me.” We walked down the line and received cold glares as we passed those waiting in the cold. At the front door the velvet rope gave way and we were whisked in.
Inside the club we went straight to the VIP room. I excused myself to the bathroom and noticed that they had real cloth towels, not paper. The club itself wasn’t bad, but the talent was lacking. Kamal apologized and said that it was usually better. He bought me a round of drinks and we stayed awhile. He showed me pictures of the model he was banging, the one that my advice helped him get, and I made no attempt to conceal that I was duly impressed with the evening, which ended at a local bar down the street with a round of Polish yellow vodka.
The next night we started in the same lounge. He brought one of his fuck buddies. I won’t lie—she was gorgeous, and so refined that I didn’t know Polish girls came in that flavor. The story he told me of how he got here had a lot of detail, with explanation into his early game and how he deflected the cockblock and so on, the type of detail that men who don’t do so well with women wouldn’t even be aware of. I wanted to dig deeper into his success.
On Sunday afternoon we met in a quiet café. “You’ve built up quite the empire here,” I said.
“Thank you. It took two years.”
“Two years?” I asked, surprised.
“Yes, the first year I didn’t do as well. That first time I emailed you I was actually in the middle of a slump, but I took your advice and decided to be the star. I got a beautiful flat in the center, I joined a business club that connected me with the most successful people in Warsaw, and I actively used Facebook to keep contacts warm. Like today out of the blue I got a message from a girl I kissed six months ago. She asked me if I wanted to meet for a drink. I think it’s because she saw all the other girls that comment on my profile.”
“So this wasn’t an overnight thing?”
“No, definitely not. When I first came in the city, I was working real hard. I was going out all the time and approaching girls like crazy. I was banging some but it took a lot of effort for what I got. For a while I was spending serious money on bottles and not getting much in return. I even spent time gaming the bouncers. Now over 80% of my bangs come from that club, where I can sit back and snipe. I had one streak where I approached four girls over a weekend and banged three.” I mused for a few seconds on the logic of such a streak.
“When you approach a girl now in one of your regular spots,” I said, “she has probably seen you before flirting with other girls or talking to the staff. So you’re leveraging the status without knowing it.”
“This is possible. Now random bangs come to me out of the blue. My social circle is big, money is good, and I’m about to buy an apartment here. I love the city and plan on staying.” He’s 27 years old.
“How do you make money?” I asked.
“Just like you. I sell game books but to a French audience. There are not many French ‘PUAs’ like in America, and I was one of the first.” He went on to list some of the technical specifics of his business before the conversation came back to how he created his Warsaw lifestyle.
I said, “I really like the idea of building a social network and getting messages from girls out of the blue. I’m getting tired of actively hunting every night. If I don’t approach for one month, I don’t get laid. I have to always be working. The irony is that my money is passive. We’re talking now and I’m selling a few books probably, but when it comes to getting laid, I use a different approach that’s starting to wear on me.”
“You saw me this weekend. I did maybe two or three approaches. To get this you have to invest hard in the beginning and then you can relax. You can do it very easily with what you know.”
“Yes but there is a problem: I don’t stay in the same place. You’ve been here for two years. I rarely stay in a place for two months. How can I build passive bangs in that short of a time? My travel habit guarantees I’ll have to keep grinding it out, at a time in my life where I’m least motivated to do so.”
“Well that’s a problem then.”
TO BE CONCLUDED