This is a post I had written 60% of on the flight back from New York six or so weeks ago and never published for various reasons, the main one being – it was a bit shit…
Start spreading the news, I left a while ago, I didn’t want to be a part of it. New York, New York.
At the beginning of the year my flatmate, Mr S and I got into a drunken conversation about Saint Patricks Day and where would be good to celebrate it. We settled on New York given that we’re both Irish. American girls would melt in our presence, they wouldn’t be able to resist our lucky cheeky Irish charms and our no fucks given attitude, surely. It didn’t quite work out that way.
Mr S came up with some weak excuse as to why he couldn’t go on the trip, and the American girls did not distort in any shape or form in my presence, but I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s go back to the start…
The day before the trip arrived quickly and I was very up for it. I’d never been to New York and it was a place that pre-game me always wanted to see. Approximately 18 hours before my flight, my excitement levels took a nosedive when I received a message from Airbnb that my host had cancelled my reservation. FUCK.
I frantically searched for other apartments but found nothing as good in the same location (East Village) I had previously booked. I was forced to settle for a place in China Town, which is still quite central but not as good as East Village for foot traffic and night life. The first set-back happened before I’d even checked in for my flight…
As I went to check in online with BA (roughly 12 hours before) I got redirected to a US government website where I was told I must apply for something called an ESTA (authority to travel), but the concerning part was what it said in big red bold text at the top of the web page – “Apply for ESTA no later than 72 hours before departing for the United States. Real-time approvals will no longer be available and arriving at the airport without a previously approved ESTA will likely result in being denied boarding.” FUUUUUCK.
I called BA to see if there was anything they could do, they told me there wasn’t and advised me not to travel to the airport if I didn’t have pre-authorisation. I went to sleep resigned to the fact that I probably wasn’t going to New York anymore, but I set my alarm for 05.30am anyway (my flight was at 09:00am) with a plan to get up and check my emails for an ESTA approval. I barely slept a wink and woke up at 5am to check my e-mail. Nothing. I logged onto the government portal and typed in my details… APPLICATION APPROVED. TFFT. I did a little dance in my room and started packing. The emotional rollercoaster had already begun before I’d even left for the airport.
Approximately 12 hours, 4 inflight movies, 3 trains and a short walk later I checked into my apartment, got showered, changed and hit the streets – no rest for the wicked and all that.
It was around 17:00 in New York and Mr Arrgh (a wing I’ve been on several trips around EE with) was on his way to meet me. I didn’t see any hot girls as I made my way up from Chinatown towards East Houston. I walked West on Houston and the traffic started to pick up, a while later I got my first micro-IOI from a short little girl dressed all in black. It went well but at the end she told me had a boyfriend. It was a decent first set and I was full of optimism for the trip ahead.
We did a few more sets but the jet lag really started to set in so Mr Arrgh and I we went for some food then hit a couple of bars. I got a couple of numbers from bar game, but I don’t remember who they were, so they obviously flaked.
The next day was beautiful out, 22 degrees and a Friday afternoon. I was solo this time, but I didn’t mind as I was full of new city enthusiasm. This was the concrete jungle where dreams were made of, surely something great was going to happen. I walked all the way up to Times square and back and popped off 9 sets along the way getting zero numbers. Only one of them was a good set and she had a boyfriend; the rest were all blowouts and they were almost all the exact same – “oh thanks but I gotta go”. Most of them wouldn’t even smile. What was wrong with these women?! I didn’t let myself get too down as it was only my first full day and I needed a larger sample size. Let’s fast forward to the full set of results;
|Sets||Number||FB/Insta||Flake||Date Flake||idate||D1||D2||D3||D4||Near Miss||SDL||Lays||
Approach to lay count.. 1 in…
Approach to number/FB/Insta close… 1 in …
As you can see, things didn’t get much better. I did 83 sets in total, averaging 7.55 per day in number farm mode until my second last day when I just couldn’t be bothered anymore and ended up getting laid (you can read about that here).
I was in a perennial dilemma; I wanted to do loads of sets, but I couldn’t find the quality, and when I did open ones that were sub-par, they blew me out anyway. In 2018 pretty much all of my sets were calibrated and I didn’t open anything I didn’t fancy. But as each day passed and I still didn’t have any solid leads I had no choice but to keep flogging a horse that was so dead, it was glue already.
I did double my normal sets per session, my approach to close ratio was three times worse than usual and from all these sets I got one proper date from daygame.
Of the 15 closes, only 3 didn’t reply to the feeler. A lot of the girls enjoyed texting back and forth, but they all seemed to lose their phones or remove their profile pictures at the exact same time – when I date requested.
Why were my results so bad?
Here is my long list of perfectly valid, vindicating, reasoned, rational excuses arguments;
- American women are broken. I’m not saying that for dramatic effect, it is the honest impression I got from them. They’re feminist zombies, addicted to their Instagram likes, soy latte frappos and daytime brunching/drinking.
- American women have a very strong frame. Perhaps one of the route causes of why there are broken. I can smash the odd girls frame, but it gets exhausting for an introverted chap like myself.
- There are too many American women. 90% of the girls I opened were American. When I open in London maybe only 50% are English, the rest from all over. Local girls generally find daygame a bit weird, they have a big social circle and they will normally date inside that.
- The weather was terrible – nuff said.
- Uni was out.
- I did my daygame no favours by getting drunk every night.
- The quality was low. I don’t bang fat bitches, and there were a LOT of them.
- The competition was fierce. I saw a LOT of good-looking men (no homo), way more than good looking girls. Another sign of how fucked America and the rest of the West is as the feminists take over.
Despite all this, I had a grand old time. Here’s some of highlights, in no particular order;
My one daygame date
Halfway through the trip I got a pretty girl out on a proper date – obviously she wasn’t American. Marta was from Brazil, a solid 7, but she was a strange one. During the set she was really into me but when I went to get her number, I told her I’d take her out for a drink some evening, she told me “Oh, I’m super busy, not sure I’ll have time”. I text her assuming that she wouldn’t even reply. She replied instantly and we set up a date for two days later.
Marta got a subway to my area and showed up looking hot in high heels, tights and a dress with a big coat over the top. I took her for ice cream (Ice and Vice, a place recommended by Runner) then to a bar that I went to every night and got on really well with the bouncer (more on bar game later). The bouncer gave me huge social proof on the way in “AAAAAH FUCK, ITS MY FAVRIT OIRISHMAN IN NEW YAWK CITY, COME ERE YA LITTLE OIRISH FUCK!!” – no I.D’s required for me or my girl. “Wow, you make friends fast!” said the Brazilian. “That, or I just drink too much” – it’s definitely the latter.
After a couple of drinks I got Marta back to my apartment and I thought it was a done deal – I could bang her then relax for the rest of the trip and do touristy shit… but she had other ideas. We were kissing on my bed and I got her top off. I went for the hail Mary and shoved my hand down her jeans to start fingering her. I got two fingers inside her sopping wet vagina, Marta was moaning with pleasure and squirming about on the bed, she was on the brink of giving in and then she snapped out of it in an instant. “NO!!” she pleaded as she pulled at my arm. I relented and rolled off. I tried a few more times until eventually I went logic mode, not a recommended strategy. I asked her why she didn’t want to have sex, telling her that it was a completely natural thing to do when two people like each other, Marta said she didn’t want to give up her virginity to someone who was going to disappear. FUCK MY LUCK. I walked her back to the subway, we kept in touch daily for the rest of my trip, but I never got her out again.
I met a local daygamer called Runner
Nash from daysofgame.com linked me up with this fella. I’m always uneasy when meeting up with randoms from the internet so I was apprehensive up until the moment I walked to the meeting point. We both eyed each other up and down (we didn’t know what each other looked like) and runner made the first move… “you must be Roy, normal people don’t dress like that”. Touché, Runner, touché.
I could see instantly that he wasn’t one of the internet weirdos and proceeded to have a good session with him. He showed me the best spots to hit for the foreign model girls and we sat down for a coffee and a chat. I was impressed with how well he seemed to be prepared for the inevitable revolution in the West.
Runner had been in the game for about 18 months and I could see he still had so much enthusiasm, which was infectious for me and equally reminded me of me when I was him. “I was once where you are now, and I know that it’s not easy” said me. He meticulously wrote notes into his phone after every set, good or bad. He went over things again and again and would frequently ask questions, most of which I gave the same general answer – “do more sets, you’ll figure it out”. Probably not very helpful, but I’ve never claimed to be a daygame coach, I’d probably plagiarise well known songs and rebrand it as daygame advice.
I went out drinking most nights with Mr. Argh (Surprise!) and justified it as game in my head. Arguably this is where I had the most success, I believe this is mainly because talking to girls in bars is more socially accepted in New York, and societal rules really are THE rules there. I ended up kissing 5 girls throughout the course of the trip and came very close to getting two of them back to my apartment. I pinged said girls throughout the rest of the trip and they’d reply but they were always too “busy” to come out again.
Despite spending a shit load of cash in these bars and not getting laid from any of it, I still had a thoroughly good time doing so. Mr Argh is easily the best bar game wing I’ve had the pleasure of winging. He’s the ying to my yang, he will be the noisy extravagant one spinning yarn after yarn but most importantly, he will DHV me, he will leave gaps for me to come into the conversation and he will genuinely try to get us BOTH laid. I try to do the same back. Bar game wing rules are a messy affair, so when you find a wing that gels with you, keep him.
It made me appreciate London
It’s the only time where I’ve come back from a trip in my 5 years of daygame and noticed a distinct increase in quality on the streets. It’s normally a harsh reality check when returning from places like Belgrade, St. Petersburg and Moscow.
LOL – don’t be silly, of course I didn’t do any. Go on trip advisor if you want to be a chode.
Would I go back?
I would. But I’d wait until Summer, I believe the weather was the biggest factor for the poor turnout on the streets.
Would I recommend it as a daygame destination for fellow Europeans?
Hell no. Ultimately this was an expensive experiment gone wrong for me, but it was one I could afford.