Since July, I’ve been learning how to pick up women. I now know how to coerce two hot chicks into a threesome, what to say if my best friend is totally cock-blocking me, and how to get a stranger to kiss me in less than 10 minutes (give or take). I’ve sought the advice of internationally known experts like Mystery and Neil Strauss (pick up alias “Style”), and even observed experts live and “in the field.”
Since July, my brain has been crammed with so much information about women-what they seek in a partner, how they interact with their friends at clubs, what kind of syrup they like on their pancakes next morning-that I’ve forgotten several important plot points of Ulysses. This would probably be incredibly worthwhile information, except for three things: a) I’m female, and b) I’m not gay. Which leads me to me to: c) I’m totally incapable of being in a relationship with the opposite sex.
Now you might ask yourself, what sort of normal 19-year-old girl spends a summer interviewing sleazy dudes about their seduction skills? The seduction community is a murky territory of 30-year-old virgins wearing cowboy hats and leather pants, all clamoring for a girl’s phone number with the same opening line. But after eight months of unrequited love on yet another off target-there’s nothing’s more satisfying than being in love with your roommate-desperate times called for desperate measures. Or so I thought, when an editor at The Varsity pitched me this inspired idea.
“I want you,” he said. “To investigate this so-called secret community of pick-up artists and see what you can discover.” And so I went, seeding my way on community message boards, testing out openers at Kensington cafés and grinding against randoms at the Dance Cave. It’s been a thought-provoking and occasionally sweaty few months, but an important experience nonetheless. The following is a semi-cultural exposé of how I got my groove back by investigating the world of male pick-up artists. At least, what might constitute a groove if most of what you listen to is composed by Elliot Smith.
The art of seduction is nothing new. Since the dawn of time, men have been telling men how to get women into bed, from the strength-training days of the caveman, to the romantic troubadours of the 16th century, to guys who grew their hair into mullets and joined heavy metal bands in the 80s. But the seduction community didn’t fully form until two self-help gurus, R. Don Steele (an Ayn Rand fanatic) and Ross Jeffries (the inspiration for Tom Cruise’s character in Magnolia) concocted their own methods from a seminal 1970 book by Eric Weber entitled How to Pick Up Women. With the rise of the internet, a vast array of seduction-themed message boards and websites sprang up, with competing theories and branded tactics, all promising instantaneous results.
The theories are ridiculous, yet fascinatingly interdisciplinary. Jeffries, who calls himself a linguist, prides himself on planting conversations with subliminal sexual suggestion. (Eg.: He tells men to ask a woman if she’s “adventurous” and then, at the end of the night, will remind her of this claim when she refuses to go to bed with him.)
David DeAngelo takes another approach by way of the frat guy, encouraging guys to be “cocky funny” in front of women. “Gunswitch,” a zoologist, insists on projected “animalistic sexuality.” And Toronto-bred pick-up artist Mystery, employs the self-titled “Mystery method,” a sociological tactic contingent on demonstrating “social proof” to a woman’s peers and friends in a club (“field”) setting.
The community became an international phenomenon after Rolling Stone writer Neil Strauss wrote a feature for the New York Times, eventually spinning it into the bestseller The Game. The book, a Joycean investigation of Strauss’ own inability to get it on, publicized the seduction community to such a degree that services like email list alt-seduction-fast now boasts a membership of 20,000-plus. Being a pick-up artist is now a viable profession, combining nightlife and hot chicks into a day job garnering thousands of dollars per “workshop.” And through popular culture and Canada’s own Keys to the VIP, picking up a woman appears to be as easy as changing your socks.
Or is it? While technology has made the community’s secrets more accessible than ever, it wasn’t helping people like my 16-year-old brother. Or my best friend Dan. Or even the creepy guys who insisted on buying me vodka sodas at the Brunny last weekend. What the game does offer men is a play-by-play guide of how to meet another human being, an exact formula that guarantees them something they’ve probably never had before: an actual conversation with the opposite sex.
The terms and techniques are all amazingly engrossing. Women, once actual human beings, become “targets.” AFC’s (average frustrated chumps) go out in sets, with “wings” to “sarge.” Once they hook their target with an “opener”-usually something snide and off-the-cuff like “Did you see those girls fighting outside?” The goal is to win the attention of the target’s friends and hangers-on, diffuse opposing “cock-blockers,” ignore and “neg” the target while searching for “IOI’s,” and then slap on some “kino,” all to eventually “number-close,” “kiss-close” or even, “fuck-close.” For men who probably spend a lot of time playing World of Warcraft, this kind of detailed strategy is appealing. But for women, our own defense seems to be our mediocre “bitch shield,” and eventual ASD (anti-slut defense) when things get hot and heavy. Luckily, a PUA (pick-up artist) can always pull a “caveman,” acting extremely assertively to initiate sexual contact.
But my favorite concepts were LSE and “one-itis”-two appropriated occurrences in the dating world. LSE’s are girls with low self-esteem and a lack of sexual experience, and are, according to The Game, not worth the time it takes to pick them up. “One-itis” is the occurrence that people sometimes get in the game (of love), where they become incredibly obsessed, awkward and nervous around their singular object of desire. According to an expert like Style, the stronger your case of one-itis, the less likely you are to ever date that person. Which brings me back to my high-school crush on the Grade 12 AV President, and my unfortunate trip to New York City with the aforementioned roommate, which ended in a panic attack at a New Jersey bus terminal.
Their solution? That “every woman is practice for the next.” The only way to cure one-itis is to score like Michael Jordan, hang out with people who make you feel hot, and never ever buy a woman a drink. Detailed hypnotic games like the “Sex and the City NLP” (“You seem like a Charlotte, which means that you are very detail orientated and have traditional values”), and yes, “pick a number between 1 and 10,” where everyone chooses seven if you ask them fast enough, strike a seemingly spontaneous spark with someone you’ll probably never see again.
“How do you make someone want something?,” one message board post asks. “You give it value, you make it difficult to obtain, you show that other people like it and make people work for it.” Another post responded, “Never have a straight answer.” Another, “Don’t be afraid of humiliation or rejection.” And all insisted upon a demonstration of Colbert-like “self-worthiness.” I wasn’t sure what was going to be more difficult: approaching strangers or learning to love myself. Either way, my feminine peacock attire consisted of maybe one sweatshop-free tank top and a pair of my mom’s high heels. This is what I dressed in as I set out to interview my first PUA (pick-up artist), MC Maax.
MC MAAX
I found MC Maax in a NOW Magazine ad, touting his “seven-point model that calibrates the approach and game for each woman separately, thereby increasing the consistency of my success in closing the deal.” His “primordial model of triangulated attraction” allows MC Maax (née Omar Khan) to teach seminars in Las Vegas, Montreal and New York that cost $1,200 (with a $300 deposit). I told MC Maax to meet me at Eat My Martini; a Little Italy bar that I hoped would be good target practice. I got there early, gave the waitress $20 for drinks, and told her to serve me water in a martini glass. I wanted to see MC Maax crack.
Ten minutes later, I spy someone who I think could be a pick-up artist. He’s about 5’7″, medium build, with dark black hair slicked back into a small ponytail. He’s wearing dark jeans that look like they came from Sears, brown dress shoes, and a zip-up Hang 10 sweater with two acrylic footprints and “California Dreamin'” on the right nipple. It only half-disguises the truly hairy chest that lurks beneath. A scorpion ring has been slid onto his middle finger, and he wears two terry cloth wristbands on each wrist, one of the Rolling Stones emblem and the other of the film The Crow.
MC Maax grabs a silver cell phone and pretends to talk into the receiver loudly, while staring over at me in quick, two-second shots. “Where the hell is this guy?,” MC Maax fake talks to his friend on the phone. “I don’t have time for this shit.” “Yeah man,” he says, punctuating his pseudo-conversation. “Total HB8.” Finally I call him over. “Excuse me, are you MC Maax?,” I ask. He pretends not to hear me. I have to ask him three times. “Are you MC Maax?” “Who wants to know?,” he replies. “I’m Chandler…the journalist.” “You’re Chandler?” he exclaims, now sauntering over. “Whoa-I thought you were a guy!” Story of my life.
As we move over to a quieter location, I ask MC Maax if he doesn’t mind me recording our conversation. “You know, I’m recording you too, right now,” he says. “It’s true. I’ve got a tiny video camera in my eye, do you see it? So you better behave.” I fake laugh. “Don’t worry, I’m just kidding, sweetheart.” I point out his wristbands.
“My style is very gothic, mysterious,” says MC Maax. “I mean, when I go out I’ll peacock it and wear dark sunglasses with cowboy hats and shit. But my cowboy hats are like dark red, with spider webs on them.”
MC Maax (who has very fluid hand motions and will sometimes perform a technique I’ve read about, pointing down at my chest to seed in certain words like “trust” and “sensual pleasure”) used to meet women off phone sex chat lines and meet up with them for quickies. He claims that he could talk to a woman for ten minutes on the phone and they’d want to come over to his house. This is how MC Maax lost his virginity at age 17 to a woman he met on a chat line, taking two trains and buses to meet her in Mississauga (“That was the best part actually,” says MC Maax, laughing at his own joke). “She wasn’t very attractive but she was very nice… It wasn’t that great, but hey, beggars can’t be choosers, right?”
“You know how women always say that they want us to be ourselves? Well I think that’s true but not completely. Which is why I never listen to a woman’s neo-cortex anymore.”
“A woman will say that they want you to be yourself, but they don’t want you to be yourself. They want you to be your best self. The best self that you can be.”
I look MC Maax over. “And is this your best self?”
“Fuck yeah!” he replies.
Men, says MC Maax, have evolved from a strong and capable alpha male model in hunter-gatherer society to what he calls “the Industrial Revolution pussy.” He continues in this vein for quite some time, delivering a weirdo combination of sociology, anthropology, and the anatomy of the brain. Intercourse, he says, is heavily dependant on “spermonomics,” the fact that men have millions of sperm but women, only a few select eggs, which predisposes women to be choosy about their sexual partners. He claims that he has internalized the game to such an extent that he is the game. Of course, it doesn’t stop him from pursuing his other love, photography. MC Maax’s work can be seen on his erotic website, www.maaximumbutts.com.
“I used to be obsessed with sex. I had a real hatred of women because I guess, I thought that the things they were looking for, high status, good looks, money, where the things I could never give them. But now I know the truth.”
“And what’s the truth?” I ask.
“Money can’t buy women. Women want a guy who’s not afraid to touch her. Women want a guy who makes her feel more like a woman…. I used to have the idea that women don’t want sex, they’re saints. Now I know that women do want sex, more than men do. And you know what? I’m going to give it to them.” With that MC Maax smiles rakishly.
“Are you a feminist?” I ask him.
“I don’t understand that question. I don’t think men and women are equal at all. I mean, okay yeah, when it comes to rights and laws and shit, sure. But men and women want and need very different things. Do you want to know my personal philosophy? That every woman is practice for the next.”
MC Maax shares two cool moves with me that always get a woman’s attention. The first is asking her for a “handshake analysis,” which of course gets you seductively touching a woman’s hand. And the second is the “centre of attention,” where you shift between two girls at a bar, so that you have a girl on either side of you, and the attention of every girl in the bar. When dealing with a target’s boyfriend, MC Maax says to “just pretend that you’re Joe Pesci in Casino.” And when it comes to women, you can either provide for her or seduce her. “I learned that if you’re always buying a woman stuff and treating her right, she’s going to eventually leave you for the next guy who seduces her on the spot. So I changed. Hello? Can someone say big balls here?” MC Maax’s last one-itis was over a girl named Gilena, a Russian/Israeli girl he met over a chat line. He was 22 and used to hold her coat while she made out with other guys.
“So what do you do now about the girls who have one-itis over you?”
“I usually leave them,” says MC Maax. “I want to be with women on my terms.”
So what can women expect from MC Maax? “I’m probably, no, I am the most sexual man you’ll ever meet. I’ll add value to her life make her feel like a real sexy woman. I’ve had women tell me that I’ve made them feel the most like a woman they’ve been in their whole lives. People often come to me that have had their hearts broken. And I understand that. My heart is broken, too.”
Just then, two HB (hot babe) 8’s enter the bar, wearing sparkly tank tops and glossy lipstick. The brunette wears glasses and looks like a more attractive version of Sandra Bullock. The blonde is thin and angular-more of an Uma Thurman.
MC Maax looks over at the girls drinking candy-flavoured martinis. They stare back and him and look away laughing. I tell MC Maax that it’s time to show me his game.
“Hey,” MC Maax says to the brunette. “Did you know you have a water hand?”
They pause in conversation. Then in the most intimidating icy-cool, bitch-shielded voice I’ve ever heard, she asks, “What the hell is a water hand?”
He moves his chair closer to the girls. “Well, I’ve noticed that when you talk to your friend that your left hand tends to point down, forming the shape of like, a watering can. See?” MC Maax sticks out his left elephantine palm, making the shape of yes, an upside down watering can “It just means you’re intuitive, that’s all.”
There’s a pause. “I am intuitive!” exclaimed the amazed brunette.
“Well hold on,” says her whippet-like blonde accomplice. “I’m intuitive too.”
“Yeah, but you don’t have a water hand,” says the brunette.
“But I’m intuitive. Like, really intuitive,” she says.
“Ladies,” says MC Maax. “You’re both intuitive.”
Imagine seeing Jesus walk on water. This is just as amazing.
A glossary of the game
AFC, noun [average frustrated chump]: Everyday Joes without pick-up skills, tending towards non-alpha male and subservient behaviour around the women they have not nailed. Origin: Ross Jeffries
ASD, noun [anti-slut defense]: The way some women react in order to avoid responsibility for initiating or engaging in sexual activity. This behaviour can be pre- or post-coital, or can stop intercourse entirely. Origin: Yaritai
Cock-block, noun and verb: Someone who interferes with a pick-up artist’s game, whether intentionally or not. Cock-blockers can be male or female, friends or enemies, or even strangers.
Fluff, verb: Small talk between strangers. Subjects include neighbourhoods, occupations, and general interests.
HB, noun [hot babe]: Terminology employed by the community according to the physical attractiveness of a particular woman, traditionally followed by a beauty rating between 1 and 10. Eg.: HB10. Origin: Aardvark
IOI, noun [indicator of interest]: The subtle clues women give off revealing an attraction to a man. Examples include interested body language and directed questions towards the speaker. Origin: Mystery
LSE, adjective (low self-esteem): Term employed for women that are insecure and possibly sexually inexperienced. These women are typically undesirable targets. Origin: MrSex4U NYC
Neg, noun: Any seemingly unintentional (yet hurtful) comment given to an attractive target by a pick-up artist, intention is to deliver a lack of disinterest, Eg.: “Nice hair-is it real?” Verb: Accidentally insulting a beautiful woman with intent to seduce. Origin: Mystery
One-itis, noun: The singular subject of one’s desire. The community believes that the stronger one’s fixation, the least likely anything will romantic will occur. Origin: John C. Ryan
Peacock, verb: Dressing in a flashy or noticeable manner for feminine attention. Clothing options include: cowboy hats, assorted jewelry, “loud” shirts. Origin: Mystery
Target, noun: The desired woman in a group, the person whom the pick-up artist is pursuing. Origin: Mystery
TO BE CONTINUED IN THURSDAY’S VARSITY
