Dating and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder

Deep down I’m a romantic at heart, brought up on a diet of fairy (and lion (Simba!!!)) tale Disney stories. I was lured in by the sweet candy of happily ever afters, indoctrinated from an unfair age by an animated army of goons and their leader Walt himself.

The street rat always gets the girl, and people with unsymmetrical faces are bastards. Armed with these infallible values this awkward geek set out into the world and never got the girl. I debated purchasing a powerful evil staff! I questioned turning to the dark side. Well I suppose I did for a while. Not before my heart was broken when my first love didn’t turn in to an all singing all dancing carnival of colours bouncing over the horizon.

" Deep down I’m a romantic at heart, brought up on a diet of fairy tale Disney stories. I was lured in by the sweet candy of happily ever afters, indoctrinated from an unfair age by an animated army of goons and their leader Walt himself . . ."

By the time my first real relationship ended I was already worshipping another God. A Seduction Magician named Mystery. This magical mentor and his posse taught me the Venusian Arts (like martial arts, but much sexier). Unlike many attracted to the Pickup Artist community I had already lost my virginity in an organic manor (I’m proud it was a little late in life. I’m sure Simba would beam with joy too, saving that first postcoital embarrassed face (and tears) for somebody I truly loved). I was drawn in by their social grace and mastery over all social situations. ‘No appearance of Anxiety . . . Ever’ . . . I’m in! ‘Get any girl you want should you be back on the dating market’ . . . Where do I sign?

A little hesitant with an inkling my Guru’s where Lucifer personified, I persisted down the rabbit hole . . .  these guys delivered. I flirted my way through local bars and clubs, creating crazy storylines and saving all my conquests in my phone as silly animal names.

'No appearance of Anxiety . . . Ever’ . . . I’m in! ‘Get any girl you want should you be back on the dating market’ . . . Where do I sign?

This underground society was exposed by Neil Strauss in his must read book The Game. The Game chronicles his raunchy adventures through the Seduction Community. The missing piece to my puzzle, it turned social dynamics into an art, and ready for when I was next single transformed seduction into a science, with rules and patterns that could be mastered. Want to put down all the girls that snubbed you in high school? No problem, night game armed you with a list of rebuttals and insults. I became the bad boy in the clubs that I used to despise . . . but this was too much fun. Want to get a girl you can introduce to your mother rather than slutty whore club girls? Easy they have day game for that! Suddenly libraries and your local shopping centre become training grounds for your new found love alchemy.

I was empowered. For the first time in my life I was in the driving seat.

It seemed a little wrong, but the women loved playing along, willingly assuming the role of the victim for this dandy in his seduction marathon. So long as they consent nobody gets hurt right? I educated myself with all the theories and material I could get my hands on . . . and then some. My core text of choice, the seminal work by Mystery himself – The Venusian Arts Handbook. The Annihilation Method DVD by Neil Strauss and a healthy dose of Audio Podcasts by Andy Yosha and Yad from Daygame.com. The Art of Seduction by Robert Greene polished my saucy character and I was good to go.

I was empowered. For the first time in my life I was in the driving seat. I was armed with a way to create attraction from the sweeter sex and desire on their behalf before I qualified them like a sales lead and decided if they met my standards or not and potentially revealed my own cards. Who needs luck when you have game?

To quote Jay from The Inbetweeners ‘it was like shooting clunge in a barrel’. These pickup wizards are cloaked nerds with charming powers; they also come complete with action figure outfits. I joined their ranks ‘in field’, ‘suited up’ and ‘peacocked’ to the fingernails. They cast a spell over unsuspecting females, and promise men any woman they want. And they deliver.

It becomes an obsession in itself; you breathe game and shit numbers. Every meal at the watering hole is an opportunity to sharpen you skill set, try the new NLP trick you have read, or the bespoke compliment that just popped into your head. You sleep on the couch of the high rise city centred bachelor pad of the guy you only met an hour ago, who has just smashed his one hundred and twenty something cutie, leaving the crib at gone midnight to hit the club for round two. You spot other players in the game as you share a bath tub, drinking a beer in a ruin bar in Budapest with a Scottish girl who claims she knows Noel Fielding and has Bill Bailey on speed dial. You change career to implement your new skills and fund your new lifestyle. This is your life and you sleaze your way to victory.

It’s a catch 22 as it gives you what you want, but when you have scored a number off a girl whose boyfriend is in the next room, or watched you mate pull her friend whose lover is at home, the Disney drapes hurtle to the ground, exposing a Darwinian environment where Scar is King with blood dripping from his fangs.

It becomes an obsession in itself; you breathe game and shit numbers.

Each trip to the clubs widens the rift that opens up between your respect for women, and how easily you can get them to loose respect for themselves. Each indicator of interest, contact of skin, sweat drip on the dance floor you eat away at any chance of trusting a female again. It’s painful, its reality and you fucking love it. Just like Peter Parker – ‘With great power comes great responsibility.’