Unattractive Women

I’m sure every guy has read or heard the idea that girls who are 5’s or 6’s aren’t easy to hit on because “they get hit on all the time, it’s easier to hit on girls who are 7’s, 8’s, or even 9’s because guys are afraid to approach them”.

I’ve always taken this for granted, but I’m confident now that this reasoning is fundamentally flawed.

Men think that women look at prospective men the same way they look at prospective women. They think girls have a threshold of attractiveness, and every guy above that threshold (in looks, wealth, wit, charisma, etc.) is passable for them. Because, of course, if a man would bang it out with a 6 he wouldn’t hesitate with an 8.

But this isn’t true. Girls like to match themselves with men who equal them. In other words, men whose combined qualities (looks, wealth, with, et al) equal their attractiveness. If the man is overqualified for the position (girls are surprisingly realistic when it comes to what men they can get with their looks), the girl won’t hear him out. In other words, you better step down your game if you plan on slumming it. Hopefully you’ll never be in such a desparate situation.

It’s worth noting that the attractiveness ratings of girls (1-10) are based on your current level of game. In other words, every guy has “tight game girls” (8-10) and “no game girls” (5-6) which vary in objective attractiveness based on his personal attributes. This idea fits in with One Man’s 6 is Another Man’s 8. So when you look at a girl and decide that she’s an 8 or a 9, that’s a girl who probably is on your aforementioned level. Tight game to her will be well received. Tight game to a 5 or 6 will be met with nervous laughter, genuine fear, and an overall air of skepticism that will derail your trolling fantasies. Don’t bother.

Oh, and another thing. Whenever you see girls dancing with their friends (but not in a tight circle) and lip-synching the words to the music, those girls are game for almost any guy to come up to them. I think that’s the only club-game there is.

Bakku-Shan

Bakku-shan is a word I read in The Meaning of Tingo that means “a woman who seems pretty when seen from behind, but not from the front.” The word is Japanese, which is hardly surprising because an abnormally high rate of bakku-shan occurs in Asian girls (90%). Remember, ‘doggy-style’ and ‘Asian-style’ are synonyms. These girls always have beautiful long hair. You can read on how I think girls should have short hair and note the small feminist revolution in the comment section.

Girls who are 14 years old are also a big source of bakku-shan. The fact that 14 year old girls and Asian girls have something in common is NOT a coincidence. Everyone knows the feeling of checking out a girl only to find out that she’s a moistie cadet. After that you get a light feeling in your stomach and a sour taste in your mouth before you just accept it and put the smirk back on your face where it belongs. You’re damn right.

So what is the opposite of bakku-shan? What should we call girls who seem pretty from the front but not from behind? Well, their characteristics are: short hair, no ass, no side-curves… I don’t know, pretty Plain Jane. Oh yeah, that’s what models look like. Let’s just call them models.

Vintage is Dead

I was out last weekend in an upscale bar looking chest-level at everyone to maximize my intake of boobs and Vintage T-Shirts (the 2 greatest things on the planet outside of a hot woman on a cold day, which beats the hell out of a cold beer on a hot day) when I realized that the Vintage T’s outnumbered the Save-A-Ho Army standard-issue striped button down. After such a life altering realization, I had to back up a little bit and set my cup down.

After thinking about it for a little bit, I realized that the Vintage Era is dead, or is at least slowly dying. The Hipster revolution has gone too far, and now even Georgetown prepsters are embracing the faded 80s lookalike look like they’re competing in the Hipster Olympics. But the end of this amazing trend could have been seen by anyone because all trends have to end sometime. The real question is: what’s next?

I can best describe it as the “spiffy” look. Think of what it would look like if hipsters had an event where they had to wear collared shirts. Maybe that’s a bad analogy. Just look at the damn picture:

Of course I don’t know anything about fashion, but I’m pretty sure about this one. And for the record, I’m not a huge fan of the shirt in the picture, but it does illustrate what I’m talking about pretty well. Look how those zigzag lines say “I’ll play by your rules, but I’ll modify them slightly to achieve a satisfactory level of independence”. That’s the real hipster motto.

Dancing at Marvin

In a Saturday Night Stroll on U St. not atypical of others I’ve taken in the past year, I found myself on the porch of the fabulous Marvin. With the soul-food/Belgian kitchen (that may very well rip Roscoe’s) long closed, Belgian beers are the clever remnant of this strange Northern European culture for the night crowd. The outdoor porch area’s bar is much better suited to dealing these beers than it’s smaller indoor counterpart, which I suppose is the main reason I immediately migrated onto the porch after entry.

In a moment of pause and epiphany, it came to me how the female ratio was lower on said porch than I had anticipated. My partner in crime suggested a relocation indoors, where female ratios were much more favorable. After initially wondering why these young women would prefer to be in a louder and darker indoor arena over a more open area outside, I realized this was due to a fundamental difference between the sexes I had observed many times in many different places.

Of course, a pack of women on what could easily pass for a dance floor will not spontaneously dance when music is put into the air. If you ask them why they are not dancing in spite of their clear desires, they will reply simply: ‘because no one else is dancing.’ The inertia of women is truly something to behold. Inspired by pictures on the wall of the great entertainers from yesteryear and perhaps by the spirit of the Prince of Motown himself, I found the closest married woman I could find (married women have an strange relationship with dancing I can’t quite put my finger on) to put the dance party in motion. With the Dancing Sickness spreading through the room like a new strain of syphilis, the hands of Chaos were starting to guide the young women through the night.

It felt like the room was opened as the weight of non-dancing was lifted off of everyone’s shoulders. Of course, it also could have all been a figment of my imagination. Clearly.