There are plenty of game naysayers who are happy to tell you that ‘game’ is useless. You don’t need it. All that early-200os negging and feather boa-wearing—-a load of nonsense. What you need is to be good looking and rich and you will be surrounded by a posse of scantily clad, nubile ladies keen to sleep with you in no time.
This is stupid and guys who tell you this are not getting laid. What really gets you girls is a killer instinct. If you don’t have that then however physically attractive you are you will get passed over for men who do.
I can think of two times when I got passed over for guys who were less good-looking than me. Maybe it happened a great many more times, but there are two in particular I remember.
First, with a girl called Sophie who I was at high school with. Sophie was in the orchestra. She played cello. Looking back she was a typical ‘Troy’ girl: slim, brunette, long straight hair, pretty and artistic. If only I’d known then this would be the type of girl I’d be chasing around the world for the next two decades.
Anyway, Sophie liked me. She was a ‘yes girl’: that is, I didn’t have to do anything and she just liked me anyway. She used to look at me with ‘doggy dinner bowl’ eyes for too long when I was speaking, sit next to me in class and hang on every word I said.
We were in a show together. Well, she was in the orchestra and I was helping out backstage. Even though I was inexperienced with girls, I knew she was into me. It was that obvious. Something would happen—it felt inevitable. I would hang back, I decided. Play it cool. This was in the bag so no point in rushing, right?
The last night of a show there was a party for everyone involved, performers and stagehands. Tonight would be the night. I turned up for that dance in my best shirt, a white Oxford with a flower print on it my stepmother had bought me from a catalogue.
During the evening I hung back. I didn’t dance with the other kids as I was embarrassed to at that point. This would work in my favour I thought. Not for me the shallow pleasures of the masses. No. I was special and different. The mysterious guy who didn’t dance.
Towards the end of the evening I looked out over the party and saw that Sophie was slow-dancing—no, grinding—up against Todd, this waster in our year. Todd wore an ill-fitting fake leather jacket. He had greasy hair. He was kind of ugly.
I went to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. Surely I wasn’t uglier than Todd? No, Todd was definitely uglier.
I was mystified.
There was this other girl called Amelia. This was in college. A friend of mine had liked Amelia but, on a night out at a local club, she’s shown a strong preference for me and we’d ended up kissing.
As with Sophie, this looked to be in the bag. But again, having not learned my lesson, I chose to take things slowly. Amelia and I would hang out, go to clubs in London together. One time, when my parents were away, I got her to stay at my place for the night after we’d been out.
I was still a virgin: it was the first time I’d had a girl in bed with me. We kissed a bit, I was too scared to try to get her undressed. Then we fell asleep. Nothing happened.
It doesn’t matter, I thought to myself. I can wait. We’re getting closer to it. Soon we will have sex. Soon.
A week later I was shocked to find out Amelia was dating a guy called Rick. He was another greaser in a fake leather jacket. And we’re not talking George Clooney here, either. Rick was funny-looking, with tight curly hair and an ungainly, awkward manner.
Again, I looked in the mirror in despair. It had been going so well—how could I have messed things up so badly? Surely I was better looking than Rick?
What I failed to realise in both of these cases is that it was not physical attractiveness that was the deciding factor. Nor, by the way, was it money, since both Todd and Rick came from disadvantaged backgrounds. No, what made the difference was that both of these guys had a killer instinct that I lacked.
You see, it is the man’s responsibility—within the boundaries of consent, of course—to push the interaction in the direction of sex, not the girl’s. Yes, girls do occasionally initiate sex, but it’s rare. They expect you, the man, to lead.
I used to think that it was enough that a girl was interested in me and that I wouldn’t have to do anything else – sex would ‘just happen’. I was wrong. A girl indicating her interest may be a great start, but it’s only that: a start.
This is where game comes in because game is not a set of lines or routines: rather, it is understanding sexual dynamics and how to act accordingly, even if that requires behaviour that is not natural to you.
Had I known that it was necessary to have killer instinct and push things forward then it is likely I would have slept with both Sophie and Amelia. As it is I was forced to watch from the sidelines as other men did what I should have done myself.
There are a number of lessons in these two anecdotes, but perhaps foremost is that if you find a girl attractive you can bet your life that other guys do too. And if you see an opportunity you need to display your killer instinct and go for it.
The bottom line is that girls want to get laid too, but they respond best to men who are upfront, unapologetic and go for what they want. It’s sexier for her. Even if you’re better looking, even if she is a ‘yes’ girl, if you do nothing then she will eventually lose attraction and go for the next ruthless cad that comes along and pushes the envelope.
For a compilation of all Troy’s best game writing, advice and techniques from the last four years buy his new book How To Get Hot Girls Into Bed.