This is a continuation of the story, How I Became a Famous Pickup Artist Part 1. If you haven’t read that already, you should do so before reading this article.
Papa was notorious for being in contact with everyone in the pickup scene. I couldn’t blame him, either – he was the business side of “Real Social Dynamics”, a company that taught seminars and workshops to aspiring players. Not surprisingly, he was the only person at the seminar that I knew.
In order to extract every last precious second out of my experience, I had gotten on the earliest flight to Chicago that I could book. I called Papa when I arrived at the hotel at 10am. I could hardly make out his voice. He’d been out in the clubs until very late and was still sleeping.
“Well, is anyone awake yet?” I asked. Papa had arranged for me to stay with someone, but he hadn’t arrived yet.
“Yeah. Call Mike. Let me get his number for you…”
I called Mike, also known as Sickboy, a pick up legend in his own right. Very hospitably, he came downstairs to meet me. I had a million questions to ask, but I know how annoying that can be, so I shared some of my own stories instead. After we became aquainted we went downstairs to meet some other pickup artists, including a man named Clifford.
Clifford is older than your typical PUA, but is well respected and runs a list called “Cliff’s List”. It was a monthly (or so) digest of techniques and commentaries from the top pickup artists in the community. I had no idea when I met him that later one of my techniques would be featured in his list.
We all went to lunch and shared stories. What I lacked in pickup prowess I made up for in creativity. Everyone had heard about some of my more amusing antics – including one in particular where I would go to a book store and pretend to be reading lines from a “dating for dummies book”. It never got me anywhere, but it separated me from the hordes of faceless guys posting online.
As the day went on I met more and more of the superstars of the pickup world. They all worked together to form a company called Real Social Dynamics. Along with their original teacher and mentor, Mystery, they were known to be the best in the world. One of the principals of the company, Tyler, was thought by many to be the best in the game. I was particularly excited to meet him.
Since Sickboy was a member of Real Social Dynamics and had too much social grace to remind me that I wasn’t part of their group, I was integrated into RSD for the night. Interestingly, everyone just assumed that I was good. The truth is that I had very little tangible success, other than feeling more comfortable in social settings. I went to dinner with them and was wowed by their stories from the field. They were all so cool. Things that would be considered the pinnacle of my pickup career were common place to them. Getting a number was a small but noteworthy triumph for me. For them, getting a handful of numbers was expected.
There was one thing they were excited about, Papa especially. That thing was “Project Hollywood”. It was a pipe dream project that Papa had concocted. His plan was to rent out Dean Martin’s old mansion, located right on Sunset Boulevard, home of the hottest clubs in Hollywood. Better, the house had five bedrooms, each to be inhabited by one of the best pickup artists in the world. The individuals who had signed on so far were :
- Mystery – King of the pickup artists, and later called “The greatest pickup artist in the world” by New York Times, Mystery had taught nearly anyone who was anyone in the pickup scene. He taught himself, though, through nightly trips to clubs for ten years. Over the years patterns emerged, and his methodical and most-likely genius mind recognized and codified them into a powerful system.
- Style – One of Mystery’s first students, and a writer for the Rolling Stone. He was known for being particularly good at creating lasting attraction that would make any girl be his girlfriend… even if she knew he had several others as well.
- Papa – Papa was, of course, the muscle behind the project, if not the brains. Despite later disputes with him that clouded my opinion of him, I can’t deny that he is a harder worker than anyone I’ve ever met. RSD was largely a result of his persistance, and if it was to become reality, Project Hollywood would owe its success to him as well.
That left two spots empty. Rent was high – around $3000/month each, but in the pickup world, it was the most prized piece of real estate available. I didn’t even consider asking for a room myself. I knew that they were likely spoken for, and I had just bought my own house in Austin, TX.
It was hard not to be enthusiastic about the house, though. Not being one of those destined to call it home gave a feeling of being left out. Papa had big plans for it – parties, businesses, and pickup conventions. It was going to be the next Playboy mansion.
After dinner RSD was conducting a workshop that night, which I was invited to join by default.
It wasn’t that I didn’t believe the stories they told. I did. But my subconcious mind didn’t recognize these things as a possibility. Instant attraction from ANY girl, stealing girls from boyfriends, girls begging them for their phone numbers. I was eager to see them in the field.
We went to a club in Chicago at Rush and Division. It was packed full of amorous young men and women oblivious to the fact that cupid’s army had just stormed the building. Like many others present, I stuck close to Tyler. He was the best of the bunch, and I wanted to see what that meant.
With his characteristic devilish grin, he pointed out a girl to me and said, “watch this.” But she wasn’t just any girl. She was certainly a model, and even more certainly – taken. Her broad shouldered boyfriend sat next to her. He was almost certainly a model as well. Was Tyler actually going to try to pick HER up?
From a few feet away he engaged her in conversation. She seemed interested in the conversation, but barely. He didn’t seem to notice. He kept talking , and within a minute or two, her interest was piqued. Tough as it was, I tried not to stare at them. I assumed that what he was doing was very difficult, and worried that if noticed, my mere observation might ruin things. The boyfriend noticed, but didn’t care. He knew that Tyler was some punk kid who his girlfriend would shortly dismiss.
Every time I looked back, things had progressed.
He tentatively sat next to her on the couch.
He put his sunglasses on her. The boyfriend looked somewhat uncomfortable.
She was facing him, rather than her boyfriend.
Were they holding hands? The boyfriend looked worried.
Soon they were lying next to each other on the oversized chaise lounge, facing each other, obviously deep in conversation. The boyfriend felt so ignored that he actually left the chaise lounge and made short conversation with another guy. Tyler seemed not to even notice, but I knew that he was keenly aware of everything happening.
Eventually he left, but his faux-Chanel sunglasses remained on her.
“Dude. That’s Miss Indiana,” he said. His voice was matter of fact. Mine would have been rather excited.
“I’m just leaving so that she knows I don’t really care. She has my sunglasses, so I have to come back”
I followed him on a lap around the circular bar. He spotted another beautiful girl. No one in the club was as attractive as the first one, but this girl may have been the runner up. I couldn’t tell exactly what he said or did, because it all happened so fast. All I know is that within a minute or so, she was staring deeply into his eyes and holding his hands. I would have never believed it if I hadn’t seen it myself.
Soon her boyfriend noticed what was happening. His policy wasn’t quite as “hands-off” as the first boyfriend. He shoved Tyler backwards about two feet. Tyler stood there and stared at him. He wasn’t scared – he was ready to fight if necessary. The boyfriend seemed intimidated and stood motionless in the showdown. His friends grabbed him and broke up the fight before it happened.
“That was impressive,” I said.
“Oh, I’m not done,” replied Tyler.
He got a pen from me and a found a reciept in his pocket. He handed it to someone else to get to the girl, who was being loosely restrained by her boyfriend’s friends. A few seconds later she squeezed her way away from her group and returned the paper. It had her number, her work number, her e-mail address, and her full name spelled out.
“Call me!” she pleaded.
I’d never seen anything like it in my life, but as you can imagine, I was in. What would have happened with Julie if i had those skills? I chuckled just thinking about it. I was now ready to commit to the Pickup Artist lifestyle, and do whatever was necessary to get those skills.
The next few days were more of the same, equally impressive, but no event stuck in my mind as sharply as that night. It was my first exposure. The last night over dinner, Papa said to me,
“We should get you on the lounge.”
I knew what the lounge was. It was a highly guarded online forum occupied by the top 100 or so pickup artists in the world. They shared war stories and tactics that were too powerful to give out indescriminantly. They were a tight knit group, and anyone who was anyone was a member. There was an unspoken rule that any lounge member would host any other lounge member who was in their city.
I was puzzled by the invitation, but flattered. Maybe if Papa had seen me in action he would have changed his mind. Maybe he saw potential. Maybe he just liked being generous. Either way, I quickly accepted the invitation.
The next morning I got on my plane, eager to get home to digest all that I had experienced, and more importantly to delve into the encyclopedic history of the lounge.
To Be Continued… [now written – continue to Part 3