I might wear my red trousers……..or maybe my purple ones………..I think maybe purple and my new white shirt. I see all these guys and they’re in jeans and some kind of dull, drab looking t-shirt and then there’s me with some outrageous colour on. Literally I don’t have to approach women; I just wait for one of them to say something like “That’s a very loud shirt you’ve got on” and I’m like “Not by my standards it isn’t. I love your shoes, where did you get them? I have a friend with a birthday coming up that loves shoes just like that and I was thinking of getting them a pair.” deliberately using “them” because then depending on the situation it can run into “We’re getting serious” i.e “I have been preselected by another woman, I have value” or “Yeah Dave’s a bit odd like that but I love him like a brother” which always gets a laugh or “Well I’m a cynical person, I buy her shoes she gives me sex, it’s a fair exchange I feel” which in the right circumstances and delivered with nonchalance also usually gets a laugh and usually she has to then tell all her friends and it generates this sort of mock outrage and suddenly I’m there with a crowd of women which has multiple uses. I can use them to grab the attention of other women who I’m really after or play them off against each other; endless options.
If you’re dressed like a lunatic with a crowd of women around you other women want to know what’s going on and who you are.
Like my stripper game: just ask questions while being nonchalant and disinterested, answer none of hers to build up mystery and have a good wingman who will give her vague answers. Plato calls this “bad boy tactics”. Then when they’re like “Yeah you’re a player” I’m like “Actually I’m shit with women………” and then go into the Dakota sob story. You have no idea how often the Dakota sob story has gotten me laid.
Which is so odd because usually I’m so quiet and so often in my life I’ve watched women that I really like go for the louder guys around me but you see on my good days with a little bit of hypomania, I’m something else. She’s there shit testing me and I basically have my hypomania shield up; you’re not going to break my confidence. They’re there and I’m just agreeing and amplifying “That shirt’s terrible” “I know, it’s awful, I don’t know what I was thinking when I put it on. Maybe I need you in my life to pick better ones. What do you think?”