Sometimes I’ll hear the saying, “She’s out of my league”, from the most surprising of men. Couple of weeks ago I was coaching this man who appeared like he should have no problem meeting and dating women. He was tall, handsome, stylish, had a money career, appeared confident…but for whatever reason, he didn’t see himself as the kind of man that hotter girls wanted to meet.
Instead of thinking of all the reasons these girls should want to meet him, he was thinking of all the reasons they wouldn’t. When we reviewed all the ‘reasons’ of why hotter girls were most certainly in his league, it was as if he didn’t realize just how much value he offered, and what his potential was. He wasn’t aware that he was the kind of man that girls leave their house hoping to be approached by.
A girl is a girl is a girl. Whether she’s a frumpy 5 or a stunning 10, she’s going to want to meet cool men. And she’s going to want sex. So it might as well be with you.
After approaching a handful of women inside a swanky club in New York’s Meatpacking District, my client ended up spending the rest of the night with some gorgeous French girl; the same girl he told me was, “out of my league” just a minute before he cold-approached her.
Not surprisingly, the next day I never did hear him say that any girl was “out of my league”. He didn’t need to change, but his perceived attainability of these hotter girls did.
If you think a girl is out of your league, is it really because she’s hot or because you couldn’t think of a single reason why that girl was for you.
Life happens. Sometimes good things happen and sometimes bad things happen, but it’s never the whole story.
Check out this Chinese Proverb to see what I mean:
A farmer and his son had a beloved stallion who helped the family earn a living. One day, the horse ran away and their neighbors exclaimed, “Your horse ran away, what terrible luck!” The farmer replied, “Maybe so, maybe not. We’ll see.”
A few days later, the horse returned home, leading a few wild mares back to the farm as well. The neighbors shouted out, “Your horse has returned, and brought several horses home with him. What great luck!” The farmer replied, “Maybe so, maybe not. We’ll see.”
Later that week, the farmer’s son was trying to break one of the mares and she threw him to the ground, breaking his leg. The villagers cried, “Your son broke his leg, what terrible luck!” The farmer replied, “Maybe so, maybe not. We’ll see.”
A few weeks later, soldiers from the national army marched through town, recruiting all the able-bodied boys for the army. They did not take the farmer’s son, still recovering from his injury. Friends shouted, “Your boy is spared, what tremendous luck!” To which the farmer replied, “Maybe so, maybe not. We’ll see.”
I’ve always considered the terms, “boyfriend” and “girlfriend” really juvenile; words that should be kept echoed within K-12 school halls, instead of being spewed out the mouths of adults.
Why would any MAN ever want to be referred to as a BOY? Or referred to as a FRIEND by a woman he is intimately involved with? In the most literal sense, it makes no sense.
In a society where hookup culture is the norm, it’s as if calling someone your “boyfriend” or “girlfriend” is telling others this- “oh, that’s just the person I’m sleeping with for the time being.” The terms don’t mean much beyond being a placeholder title that may or may not mean more or less in the future. To be boyfriend and girlfriend would then mean an arrested phase of the relationship i.e. being in a relationship, but without any depth or definition.
When I introduced the girl I’m currently dating to my friends, I told them, “this is the girl I’m dating”. After the social engagement with my friends, this girl asked why I never called her, “my girlfriend”. To answer her question, I basically told her what I’m telling every reader now. She understood where I was coming from, and then wondered if “significant other” was a more appropriate term. I told her, “we’ll see.”
Recently I read a post that harshly criticized a forum member for hiring a professional dating coach in order to help him achieve success with women. Since I too hired a professional dating coach when I first started out, I feel obligated to offer my perspective on the matter.
Life is completely unfair. Some people can run really fast while others need crutches or even a wheel chair to get around. When I first embarked on my journey towards success with women, I knew that I needed help. I am not embarrassed to admit that I needed someone to hold my hand when I first started out (and a kick in the ass when the going got tough). I also knew that nobody in their right mind would provide that kind of personal attention for free. So that’s why I hired JT Styles for a very moderate fee. There are a thousand other things I could have spent my money on, but I chose to invest it in my pursuit of becoming successful with women. If it weren’t for JT, I would have quit “the game” a long time ago.
As for the topic of paying people to teach you how to pick up women, that’s the foundation of free market capitalism. If you don’t like the idea of exchanging money for someone’s time and effort to teach you a set of skills that took them time and effort to acquire, then you must be an F-ing communist. I would gladly offer free advice to anyone who asks me for it, but I certainly would not devote an entire night to working with someone in order to improve their chances of getting laid. I also would not endorse myself as a dating coach since I am no where near qualified to charge anyone in good conscience for my services. However, there are people out there as unqualified as I am who do offer their services for money. Therefore it adds value to the forum when people take the time to provide honest reviews based on first hand experience.
For this reason, I have no qualms about recommending JT Styles to anyone looking for help in order to achieve success with women. I have no incentive to promote JT other than to offer the value of a solid referral for anyone who is searching for a dating coach whose service is worth much more than his moderate coaching fee. He will always be a crucial aspect of any future success that I achieve with women.
CLICK HERE TO READ MORE TESTIMONIALS FROM FORMER CLIENTS
This photo came up on my Facebook news feed-
Even if he gets to a million Facebook “Likes”, the sex is going to be terrible. The girl obviously isn’t sexually attracted to him , so this guy will basically just be masturbating between her legs for a few minutes (if that).
Sex is BIG deal for this guy, but to advertise his desperation and beg for sex with an average looking girl? Pathetic.
He doesn’t need a million Facebook “Likes”…he needs some dignity and self-respect (as well as a cyber slap on the face).
I’m sure the girl’s parents are must be proud too. Although I’m sure she’ll ultimately use her parents as an excuse not to have sex with him; in addition to not wanting to be seen as a slut, much less a slut that gives it up to chumps.
Read this story about a wealthy Indian who spent over £14,000 on a custom gold shirt, just to get the attention of women.
Instead, he will most likely get the attention of muggers (gold-diggers included) and those waiting to point and laugh at something ridiculous.
It’s easy to think this guy is a fool (and he certainly is). But his actions reveal a desperation that no amount of fortune or delusion can fix.
I know that he knows he has nothing else to offer a woman. He can only live in hope, using his wealth to showcase a personality. This makes me think about PUAs that peacock their tits off, hoping to accomplish the same thing.
Just something to think about…
I get that “Bandz a Make Her Dance” is catchy and popular, but rappers bragging about paying for sex…what is this?!
I just don’t understand why anyone would boast about hooking up with gold-digging ratchets, especially when they are rappers with a perceived reputation of having “game”.
It takes no “game” to hand over bandz (lingo for $1,000) to a ratchet willing to do anything for money and status.
Disappointing fail for Juicy J, Lil Wayne, and 2 Chainz.
Did a write-up awhile back on the reasons why guys might pay for sex. Check it out: http://www.getgirlsnotgame.com/the-disappointing-tale-of-a-john/
"Empowered Men Empower Women, and Empowered Women Empower Men. We need to remember that being empowered does not disempower others."
What IS “inner-game” (with relation to getting girls)?
Inner-Game means seeing that girl and having no doubts as to why you approach her.
If you don’t believe girls would be excited to meet you, then work needs to be done. Your “inner-game” is not dialed.
Men struggling to approach and meet women need to understand that achieving “inner-game” doesn’t magically come from reading a book (or two) or watching a DVD (or ten). And it certainly doesn’t come from chanting affirmations in front of the bathroom mirror.
The approach anxiety men experience is because they’re unsure of themselves and how the girl will respond. Instead of the thousands of reasons why the girl will be excited to meet them, they think of the thousands of reasons why the girl will brutally dismiss them. They let the girl and situation define them.
When someone else (especially a girl) is left to define who YOU are, you’re being a bitch and you will never be confident. Your emotional states will be whimsical, depending on the approval and validation of some girl you don’t even know. Crazy, right?
When dialed, Inner-Game is an unshakable belief in yourself, plus the courage to take action.
You don’t need the Inner-Game of Eckhart Tolle to approach girls!
You just need one foot in front of the other; mind follows the body.
Social isn’t sexy. It can help win friends and influence people, but it won’t get you girls.
Sure, social skills are a foundation of picking up women, but “being social” isn’t seduction and it doesn’t equate to getting girls excited at the chance to sleep with you.
Here’s a female perspective (link below) about two men. Jack, her boyfriend, is social and funny; Kent, her boyfriend’s close friend, is aloof and mysterious. Withhold any judgments about her cheating and promiscuity; just understand how she responds to the actions of both men and the attraction it triggers.
So, Jack’s the man I’ve been kind of seeing for the past month, meaning we text constantly and hit happy hour together. He’s hilarious. Everything he says makes me spit beer out of my mouth. I actually really like him, and I never really like anybody. And yes, sometimes we sleep together… but the sex has been kind of, um, lackluster? As hard as Jack can make me laugh in real life, we cannot get it together in the bedroom. We don’t have the same rhythm or something. He’s just kind of… floppy?
Kent is a close friend of Jack’s. They’re complete opposites. Where Jack is boisterous and gregarious, Kent is reserved and stoic. Jack will be the one in the center of the room with a beer, claiming his crown as the life of the party; Kent will be quietly swigging Johnnie Walker Black from a bar stool on the side, making all the women in the room wonder what’s going on inside his head. Also, Kent is an Army staff sergeant and Jack is… well… floppy.
So I found myself with the two of them on Saturday night, after a girlfriend ditched me and I texted Jack to see what he was up to. He invited me to come meet the two of them for drinks, but when I got there he got mad at me for some reason (long story that doesn’t need to go in this story) and ignored me for most of the night. I would have left and found other things to do, but then there was Kent, talking to me in Jack’s place. He bought me a drink. And then another. And another. And by then Jack wasn’t pissed off anymore and I didn’t care that he’d been pissed at me to begin with. That’s when we left the bar, cabbed to Kent’s place and Jack figured out his credit card debacle.
Kent and I got out of the cab and took the elevator up to the seventh floor. I was behind Kent in the hallway when he pushed the door open into his apartment. He walked in first, and as I came in and took off my heels in his entryway, he turned around and reached his right arm to close the door behind me. He left his palm against the door, his muscular limb outstretched. And he was staring at me.
I was unnerved by how close to me he seemed to be. But he didn’t stop there. He took a step forward, backing me against the door. He was looking directly into my eyes. I shivered and inhaled deeply. My breath sounded ragged in my lungs.
Kent slowly reached out his left hand, and touched it to my right hip. He gently traced the side of my body, up to my neck, and cupped the nape with his palm. Our faces were inches from each other. I was breathing so hard I thought I would hyperventilate. We were locked in this stalemate for what seemed like hours. But we both knew what was about to happen.
"Don’t tell Jack…" I whispered.
With that, he pushed me against the door and began kissing me with an urgency I have never before felt. And, oh God, could he kiss. I lost all sensation in my toes. He was running his hands all over me, tugging at my clothing. He slipped one hand up the back of my top and undid my bra, then grabbed the backs of my thighs. With one smooth heave, he hoisted me up, wrapped my legs around his waist and carried me to his bedroom. He threw me down on the bed and ripped my jeans off.
There was a voice somewhere in the back of my head that was saying, this is wrong. Kent is Jack’s friend. Kent doesn’t care about you; Jack does. What are you doing, Samantha?
But I just couldn’t stop. I was lying perpendicular on the bed, and Kent was standing at the side. He peeled off my panties and stripped all his clothing off seemingly in one fell swoop. Then, still standing at the side of the bed, he slipped his thick, Army-strong arms underneath my thighs once again and pulled my whole body toward him. Where Jack had fumbled with me, Kent took me like a man.
Here’s the funny thing we sexually active women know about sex: It really isn’t about penis size. Or, well, it is — just not in the way you think. A dick doesn’t have to be huge to get us off. It just has to fit. And some dicks fit better than others.
Kent? He fit. Oh God, does he fit. I have never felt anything like that in my entire life. He is not the biggest penis I have ever seen, nor is he the smallest. But he fits.
I was nearly ready to orgasm from that position (Kent standing, me lying sideways on the bed) alone, but Kent had more surprises in store. Ladies and gentlemen, the hottest moment of my entire life: While still inside me, Kent leaned forward, circled his arms around the small of my back, and whispered, “Wrap your legs around me.” He picked me up and spun around to sit on the bed, with me on top of him — a complete position change with no need for reinsertion.
And that is when I came.
We lay there in silence for a while. Mostly because Kent and I have nothing to talk about. Jack and I always have an easy banter back and forth; with Kent, it’s like pulling teeth to have a conversation. Factor in that the post-sex conversation can be awkward anyway, and we both know our relationship to Jack… I can’t speak for Kent, but as good as I had felt mere moments before, I felt that amount of terrible then. Jack certainly would be back any moment. I gathered my clothes and quietly said I needed to clean up. Kent lifted his chin and cocked his head in the direction of the bathroom.
I tiptoed in and closed the door, catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I was flushed, perspiring and my hair was tangled. I rested my palms on the sink and stared into my own eyes, softly muttering, What did I do, what did I do, what did I do…
Happy Thanksgiving to all!
I never expected to get into blogging about and coaching men to become better with women, but I’m certainly thankful to be in my position. It’s beyond my wildest imagination that just over two years ago Get Girls Not Game was a personal blogspot site detailing my adventures (and misadventures) pursuing hot women in NYC.
I appreciate the support from everyone: my coaching clients that have put their trust in me, the mentors that molded me throughout the journey, my blog readers that follow me, the women that have inspired me to write, and everyone I’ve met along the way that I’ve developed a relationship with.
There’s A LOT to be thankful for. For us all.
You’re a single bachelor in a major city. And it’s Friday night.
What can possibly be more fun than going out to meet hot girls?!
Whether it’s the prospect of waking up next to a beautiful stranger or misadventures in that pursuit…
It’s always a good time.
To many, the man holding up a “Please Date Me” sign reeks of desperation.
However, this desperation is a sign of hope that he will inevitably succeed.
Rather than being at home masturbating, clicking away on pornography, hiring prostitutes with his $55k/year salary, or numbing his emotional pain with drugs & alcohol- he’s going out to do whatever he thinks he needs to change his situation.
It’s easy to mock and ridicule; and call this man a loser. Just like it’s easy to laugh at a sight of a grotesque fat man jogging around the block, hoping to lose weight.
Instead of seeing the visible sign of a man that’s lonely and pathetic, start seeing the invisible sign of a man that is hopeful his life will be better because he’s taking action.
His efforts are sincere, and like everyone else in this world he’s looking to fill the void of loneliness in his life. But unlike everyone else, he’s actually doing something about it. Respect.
Desperation is a sign of hope.
Desperation inspired this man to risk humiliation and negative feedback, just so he can better his life. It was an impetus for change.
Read more about his story by clicking the link below:
A basketball in my hands is worth about twenty bucks. That same basketball in the hands of Michael Jordan is worth about a BILLION dollars.
I’m not blessed with the talents of Michael Jordan, but what can I put or already have in my hands to generate billion dollar value?
A value that’s recognized, celebrated, inspires others, draws support, etc. All while having fun too!
For the guy working a 9 to 5 desk-job, what if he aspired to be the Michael Jordan of his organization.
For the guy writing a blog, what if he aspired to be the Michael Jordan of the blogosphere.
For the guy living a mediocre life, what if he aspired to be the Michael Jordan of something he was passionate about.
It’s something to think about. There’s skill involved, but equally involved is will.
How many people aspire to be the absolute BEST in what they pursue?
It may may not be a billion dollars, but it can still be something special.