Stop. If you want to see the world through rose-colored glasses, stop reading right now. Seriously, what I’m about to write is going to be raw, brutal, and hurtful for most people. So, please, if you like “feel good” dating advice articles, just leave now and go check out David Wygant’s blog or something.

Because this going to be dark—real dark. My inspiration for this came when I was sweating on a treadmill, listening to Tool’s “The Grudge”, and realized most of my greatest life achievements have come as a direct outgrowth of my anger, frustration, and desperation.

So, one last time, if you’re looking for a “feel good! let’s all be friends!” message, this isn’t for you. Leave. Now.

Alright, you still want to read this? Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’entrate.

The Dark Times

Let’s begin with a grim and hilarious moment from my life. Most dating instructors have some variation of the “I knew my dating life was fucked when I hooked up with the nasty chick” story. Well, I have one better than that. I’d just broken up with my girlfriend of 5 years—5 fucking years. I’d spent the better part of my adult life with one girl, and when that ended, everything fell apart. I had no idea what to do.

Not only did I not know HOW to meet women, I didn’t even know which women to meet. Do I go online and troll online dating sites? Do I try to salvage the girls in my extended social circle? Do I just throw in the towel and look into a mail-order bride service? Approaching girls I didn’t already know seemed completely ridiculous to me, and so that wasn’t even an option.

I decided that reviving my old America Online screen name would be a good start, so one cold December night I found myself online, looking over my old “buddy list”. Miraculously, a girl I’d dated briefly when I was 16 was online.

Jackpot, I thought, and sent her a message. We chatted for about an hour, catching up on what had changed in the last 7 years. Eventually I worked up the courage to ask if she wanted to see a movie. She agreed. I was ecstatic.

When I drove to her house, I couldn’t help but feel nervous. This was my first “date” in 5 years. I thought that if I could just attract this girl, all the pain of my recent breakup would magically dissolve. I rang her doorbell with the highest expectations and stood waiting with the stupidest grin on my face.

Enter: Jabba The Hut

If my life were a movie, here’s where the ominous music chords would start chiming in. It was like that famous scene in Jurassic Park where the t-rex is coming and the water glass is gently rippling as the dinosaur’s mammoth stomping gets closer and closer.

When she opened the door, it looked like she’d spent the last 7 years trapped inside a McDonalds. I couldn’t believe how humongous she’d gotten. It wasn’t like this girl had put on the “freshmen 15” or even “gotten fat.” This was outright obesity.

I was too timid to even change my facial expression. That stupid grin remained plastered on my face as I led her to my car. I drove to the movie theater trying to make small talk, but I couldn’t get my mind off how huge she was.

When I pulled into the parking lot, I saw a crowd of people outside. I suddenly realized that if I was seen in public with this girl, people would think we were dating. I was so concerned with other people’s opinion of me that I didn’t even want strangers to think I was dating this girl. I slammed the gas pedal, speeding off.

Let’s drive around and look at Christmas lights instead.

I panted, relieved that I narrowly avoided the shame of being seen with such a wilderbeast. Although, deep down, I knew that I was trying to do more than just “avoid shame”.

Back in high school, my “go-to” move for making out with girls was to suggest we “drive around.” At 17 or 18 years old, driving around seems like a really cool activity to most girls, and it allowed me to navigate the car into some secluded location where I could make an easy move.

The problem was that I was now 23 and with a girl I found repulsive. But hey, my “dating repertoire” hadn’t been updated in 5 years; plus, as I drove around, I convinced myself that if I could just attract this one girl, all the pain of my recent breakup would magically dissolve.

I’d spent the better part of my adult life with one girl, and when that ended, everything fell apart. I had no idea what to do.

My car zigzagged up and down suburban side streets until I found my spot: a dimly-lit dead end. I put the car in park, and tried to remember what to do next. I guess I should try to kiss her, I thought, and lunged awkwardly forward.

She jumped out of her seat and leaned as far back as possible. I’m sure my car was probably suspended up on two wheels as all the weight had shifted to the far end of the passenger side. Her face looked disgusted and horrified.

What do you think you’re doing,

She boomed,

I didn’t think this was a date! I don’t mean to sound mean Bobby, but I’m just not attracted to you…

Ouch. I’d gotten rejected by a girl I wasn’t even slightly attracted to—a girl I was trying to “force” myself to hookup with. After I drove Jabba back to her hut, the realization of what just happened sunk in. I can’t even hook up with fat chicks, I thought to myself. I’m pathetic.

In terms of dating, there’s no lower low than the low of not being able to attract a girl who’s not even attractive. I felt like a Little Leaguer who dreams of playing in the Major Leagues but can’t even hit the ball off a tee. I was pathetic.

I resolved to get my dating life sorted out—and I went at it hard. Whenever I tell people about the shit I did to improve my ability to meet and attract women, they always say, “Wow, you were really motivated,” or “Wow, you must have been really disciplined.” But it wasn’t motivation or discipline at all—it was desperation.

By sinking to an all-time low, by admitting to myself that I was pathetic, by trying to hookup with a fat chick and failing, I realized I had no way out other than complete success. Literally, I had no choice but to get good at cold approach pickup. It wouldn’t have mattered if I had to approach 100 women or 100,000 women, I wasn’t going to give up because I didn’t have any other options. Well, maybe I could have accepted living celibate. But I love hot women way too much to live like that.

Whenever I hear some pussy whining about “how hard it is” to learn this stuff, or worse a pussy who has given up all together, I know I’m talking to someone who’s very mediocre. Notice: these pussies are not failures. I actually see more potential in a guy who has outright failed—a guy who’s hit rock bottom in his life—rather than the guy who’s “doing okay” with women, but thinks he’s going to learn cold approach pickup by trying it occasionally.

He won’t.

Why won’t he? Because the first time he gets his ass handed to him, he’s going to scamper back to his comfortable little cocoon of mediocrity. He’s going to huddle around his social circle where everyone is cordial to him, and rejection is just a little pinprick rather than an epic embarrassment.

Fuck those guys. They’re all pussies.

If you actually want to become good at cold approach pickup, face the facts: it’s real fucking hard. You’re literally walking up to strangers and trying to get them to have sex with you. It’s the Major Leagues of dating. And if you want to play in the Major Leagues, you better have thick skin.

Most guys don’t have the guts to persevere the early months of learning cold approach pickup. I didn’t have the guts. Still don’t. But I also didn’t have a choice. I didn’t have a comfortable little cocoon of mediocrity to scamper back to. I couldn’t even scamper back to fat chicks. My only option was to walk through hell or to live in hell.

Maybe you can relate. If you’ve hit rock bottom, if you think your life can’t get any worse, if you can’t even attract unattractive girls, then you’re damn lucky. You have no excuse for not spending every possible moment devoted to improving your life. The pain of rock bottom is the most potent form of motivation, inspiration, and dedication. Your pain is your fuel. Embrace it rather than avoid it. Admit you’re pathetic, and feel fantastic about it.

You Won’t Like This

Once I realized that raw truth, I started to loath the self-help industry. It’s also when I decided to “correct” most of the bullshit taught by other instructors in the dating advice space. I started exposing these frauds for what they are: embracers of mediocrity. Rather than tell dudes the truth about cold approach pickup, they sugarcoat it. They keep the comfortable little cocoon of mediocrity nice and warm so that everyone feels all fuzzy and good as no one gets real results.

We don’t play by those rules. Zack and I have been openly cursed out by other instructors in this industry at conferences, in nightclubs, and, of course, over the internet. I don’t give a fuck what anyone has to say about me, my message, or the way I teach. I only concern myself with results, which means getting guys to where they want to be in their dating life. I don’t settle for getting “a little better” and I make no attempt to shield guys from rejection. Getting your ass handed to you is a good thing—it means you’re on the right track.

Typing that last sentence reminds me of a student I recently coached. I remember sitting across from him in a café at 3 in the morning after our Friday night out. He’d had a brutal night of harsh rejections. I took him to a very high-end nightclub and he got spanked. Hard. And not in a kinky awesome way. In a way that left him on the verge of tears, gazing at me from across a table, and whimpering,

Is tomorrow going to be like this, too?

Part of me wanted to lie to him, or take it easy on him, or even just comfort him. But I knew that would be wrong. Down to the core of my being, I knew it was wrong. And that wrongness was why I got in this industry. So I informed him,

Yup. Probably worse, to be honest.

He slumped lower in his chair.

When was the last time you kissed a girl?

I can’t even remember…A long, long time ago.

He sighed,

A long, long time ago.

Here’s all I’m going say, I was sitting exactly where you are only a few years back. And I’ve coached dozens upon dozens of guys who have sat exactly where you are now. Guys who got absolutely slaughtered their first night out. And often, those are the guys who become the biggest success stories. You have a choice to make right here, right now. Do you want to walk through hell or keep living in hell?

Maybe if there was a nice little sliver of mediocrity waiting for him somewhere, he would’ve gotten out of that chair and scampered back to it. But there wasn’t. His only option was to come back Saturday night, and walk through hell.

The pain of rock bottom is the most potent form of motivation, inspiration, and dedication. Your pain is your fuel.

It always breaks my heart to watch our students get massacred by girl after girl. But I know that it’s part of the learning process. It has to happen. To actually become good at cold approach pickup means facing the facts: it’s real fucking hard. And often it’s only the guy with nothing left to lose who can face those facts. That’s why the guys who eventually “get it” are the ones who don’t scamper away from me when I reveal the choice they face. They accept walking through hell.

I think of this student because I bumped into him a few days ago. He told me that he’s now dating a few different women and he’s happier than ever. I may have coached him, but he didn’t learn how to get there from me. He learned how to get there by enduring the pain period necessary to learn this stuff. The world pushed, but he pushed back harder. He won. He won like Charlie Sheen’s winninggggg!!! (Sorry, couldn’t resist making the obvious Charlie Sheen joke.)

So, what about you? Would you have continued to sit across from me in that café at 3 in the morning? Or would you have scampered back to your comfortable little cocoon of mediocrity? If you want to learn cold approach pickup, you have to choose to walk through hell. But if you’re not living in hell, you may find hell is too hot to walk through—especially when mediocrity is so warm and fuzzy.

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