You see her standing outside a theatre in the rain.
You walk up.
‘Hello,’ you say.
‘Hello,’ she responds.
‘I couldn’t help noticing that you are pretty. And also very sparkly’ (you point to her sequinned dress) ‘And also very pissed off.’
She laughs.
‘Yeah, well my friend was meant to get home with me and she left while I was in the toilet.’
She stabs at her phone, frustrated.
‘That’s terrible,’ you say. ‘One would expect some camaraderie amongst friends. And it’s especially unlucky to have been stood up after that date rather that before it.’
‘Oh, no—it was my flatmate. We were meant to travel home together.’
‘And now she has abandoned you in the great big city, all alone, a little match girl, part-Marlene Dietrich in that glittery dress, part-waif-and-stray, forced to scour the streets for food and shelter, and beholden to any handsome English gentleman who happens to arrive and gallantly offer to take her for a drink . . . But I think at the same time this is what is wonderful about city life, don’t you? The sense of possibility. All these disparate and multifarious individuals, any of whom may meet and interact at any moment. It’s what gives the city its vitality, it’s erotic frisson, don’t you think? And it is this very sense that anything at all may happen at any time at all that draws so many of us to London from all parts of the globe. So many individual dreams coming together in this great melting pot where all of us can be whatever we want to be no matter what time of day or night it happens to be . . . ‘
The Seducer Must Own The First Two Minutes Of The Interaction
It’s all nonsense, of course.
A bunch of words strung together, cliches from half-remembered movies, specious platitudes strung together, chain-ganged into disgruntled co-operation, atoms magnetically drawn to one another that—at any moment—might explode, shooting off in wildly different directions, destroying the delicate verbal composition that is being extemporised.
But the seducer must own the first two minutes of the interaction.
And to do that you have to talk.
To be honest, it doesn’t matter much what you say.
It doesn’t even have to make sense.
You just have to keep talking.
You have to keep talking and not stop until her eyes light up. Until you sense a shift in the power dynamic. Until you are no longer the supplicant. Until you have given value. Until she has engaged.
The Tipping Point
I was talking to a successful daygamer about precisely this point the other day, and he agreed with me that there is a certain point in a typical daygame interaction (although this works at night, too) where the woman will relax and relent….her shield will drop, and she will become an enthusiastic participant in the interaction, rather than a slightly confused bystander.
But you don’t get there by magic. Not unless you happen to be precisely her type (which happens), or she gave you very strong IOIs (which also happens).
No. You get there by talking.
You just have to keep talking.
Precisely what you say is up to you, and it should suit your particular style. Don’t try to copy the little speech in italics above. It is very specific in terms of time, place and personality type.
Instead, what you should do is have a similar form of words that suits you that you can roll out at the appropriate moment.
This is not a speech to be memorised. Instead, it is an approach, a basic direction that you can take the conversation in under most of the normal circumstances in which you meet women.
Like A Movie
The point of all of this is you are aiming for that ‘rom-com’ moment. You are—as Tom Torero says—‘verbally bamboozling’ her. You need to be extraordinary—in the original sense of that word.
You must use language to break her pattern, to pull her out of the mundanity of whatever she happens to be doing at that moment. You must create an event. A bubble around the two of you. A sense that ‘this is just like in the films’.
And what you don’t see in ‘the films’ is a dude half-heartedly stopping a girl and then asking her a bunch of interview questions.
While this is the default for many men—and we all fall into it from time-to-time—it is nowhere near as effective as a competent demonstration of verbal dexterity.
A Stack
What I am describing here is—in “London Daygame Model” parlance—a stack. But when you put it like that, it loses all colour. It sounds like a bunch of washing that has folded in a pile in the corner of the room at the dry cleaner’s.
A stack should be anything but colourless. It should be flamboyant. It should be surprising. It should be glittering. And—as I said—it doesn’t matter a damn if it doesn’t make any sense.
Stacking—that is, having something to say after the opener, creating intrigue, fuelling attraction, owning the first two minutes of the interaction—is simultaneously one of the most difficult to master and important aspects of game.
But when you get it right it works like a dream. And once you’re reached point where the girl is hooked, everything gets significantly easier from thereon in.
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