I want to share two quick stories with you now of failures, so you know that I get my share of crash-and-burns, as well.

It’s true that I have spent time developing my strengths, particularly in the areas of attitude and fashion. My style often works for me, and since I’m in the business of females, I spend a considerable amount of time, energy and money looking my best. I also have the luxury of experimenting and trying new looks, techniques and wardrobes.

While it’s true that all this has a positive effect on “game” it’s false to assume that I can get any girl, or that they all respond. I encounter rejection just like other guys do.

Girl #1: Met her in Chicago last weekend. I was at a popular nightclub and Angela was outside smoking a cigarette with her friend. She had on a tight white dress and a large, visible tattoo on her back. She had a trashy but sweet look to her. I talked to the two girls for a few minutes about Hollywood, Chicago, tattoos and the nightclub scene.

She was interested in me, which was clear. I took her number. She told me that she couldn’t really hang out that night because she was at another dude’s table. She wanted to meet the next day, though. I gave her a hug and went into the club. I could feel by running my hand down her side that she wasn’t wearing any underwear.

Later that night I saw her dancing on the banquet with her shoes off, obviously drunk.

I texted her late night but she wouldn’t come over. Saturday was a busy work day, so we traded few texts. When I got back to the hotel room, I called her and she sounded eager to meet me for a drink. I told her after my late dinner at 10PM.

Fast forward: she’s at my hotel door, having valeted her car in the parking garage below. She comes in and sits in a single chair in the large hotel room. She does not sit on the bed – not a good sign. I have to pull up a chair and sit next to her. It’s an awkward angle.

I start massaging her and slide off her dress straps. She doesn’t let her 24-year old breasts spill out like I hoped she would.

Eventually, I get her shoes off and she’s on the bed, but she’s reluctant. We kiss and she pulls away. This girl is clearly a slut, and I don’t say that because she’s in my hotel room. It’s just her attitude. A girl who wants to have sex right away isn’t a slut, she’s just horny; a slut is a women who is sloppy in terms of her thoughts, emotions, goals and attitude. Ironically, I don’t do well with these types. I think they can feel a player and they get guarded. I have, many a time, been shut down by girls who are easy for everyone else. Isn’t that funny!

Long story, short, she wanted me to take her downstairs for a drink and then “maybe something will happen.” I had to laugh. She was trying to bargain with me. I also know from experience that if they are talking that way they’ll take me for a fool and then back out after the drink. She clearly wasn’t into my vibe, which was fine.

Oh, I forgot to mention that she let me pull her panties down, but then reversed course. Nonsense.

The most interesting thing about this is that she said at one point, a few minutes before she left, “You don’t know how to play this game,” indicating with her gesticulating arms that she meant “seduction.” I played dumb and asked, “What game?”

No booty, but no associated expenses, either. That’s what I call a “no deal” meeting. Neither party benefits,  and neither party loses.

GIrl #2: Much shorter story. On my way to Brooklyn this afternoon, I was walking down a busy street towards the subway and a hot brunette fumbling with a cigarette walked towards me. I looked good: scruff, shades, long hair, sexy new leather jacket.

I thew out a causal question: “Hey, you know where the subway is?”

She walked right past the bait. All I got for my efforts was a half head-turn and a, “I’m sorry.”

She didn’t even break gait. And I’m a professional!

Be easy on yourself. We’ll never know why that hot one we saw yesterday didn’t stop.

It’s part of the mystery. But….there’s always “Next!”

Keep in mind, Attraction Formula was written at the peak of my hustler days, over a year ago. Since then, I’ve gotten busy with a lot of business-related activities, and my attention has broadened beyond just bedding women. Also, I have some really great women in my life whom I see regularly, so that’s slowed the velocity of new women into my life. Nevertheless, as you read in these articles, I still do fine and I am about to embark on a 3-month world tour with the express purpose of chasing and bedding women in some of the world’s swankiest settings…

So, this young lady, J., just bought my ebook. She’s a very smart girl that works as a software engineer at a company that is the boon/bane of my existence: Google. It’s a boon because it drives our business through paid-search; it’s the bane of my existence because almost every girl I meet uses it as a research tool in her quest to identify and snatch the “ideal” guy. I get disqualified early on in the process because of….well, because of my Google-ability…

So, J. (who, by the way starts every sentence with, “So,…” a common trait among engineers who like to start thinking from first principles) was telling me the other night in bed about Ladder Theory.

From a man’s point of view, women are always on a single ladder: they can always be considered sexually and most men spend time and attention on women they find sexually desirable.

Women, on the other hand, view men either on a one ladder or another: the “friend” track of the “lover” track. And, according to J., ladder jumping is prohibited and almost always impossible… In fact, when a patient man who has been biding his time on the “friend” ladder tries to make the jump, the outcome is invariably AWKWARDNESS.

I subscribe to this model, but personally I have burned the “friend” ladder – there’s never a chance a women will consider me a friend, first and only. I’m too aggressive, and I won’t hang around an attractive women for long if she wants me to sit politely in her “friend” category.

I rather have a women become disgusted with me and throw me out then for her to feel “safe” and “cuddly” with me, when I have a strong libidinal desire for more…

News of a crush made its way down the grapevine and I was soon having mint tea with Nicole in the shadowy recesses of Café Noir. We said this-and-that, touched here-and-there, and kissed over-and-again. She was a radiant beauty with flowing dark hair, brown eyes and beautiful olive skin. The hot summer night forced her into a skimpy tank-top that revealed graceful shoulders and nice, smooth arms.

Tea can only take you so far; we needed to move it along. My game was in the early stages of development and I didn’t really know how to escalate things or move a night along. I had one idea that night – Café Noir – and I was now out of options. We left the place and fell into the humid New York night.

We walked a bit making small talk. It helped that we’d stop every few feet and kiss and grope. That kept the energy moving forward. In a flash of boldness, my 25-year-old self grabbed Nicole and thrust her against a wall. We ducked into a dark alcove off the street so passersby couldn’t see our lust.

This turned her on. She started rubbing my stomach and chest; I licked her neck and up by her ear. Things were getting hot. I felt her hand migrate below the equator and pay attention to Brazil.

Being the innovator, I decided to go for broke. The combination of night air, her perfume, the tea and my emerging sense of entitlement allowed me to lift her arm, take a deep breath and go for it. I took a long, forceful lick of her hairless armpit.

In the ensuing eight years, I haven’t experienced anything similar. It’s been almost a decade, and I have yet to repeat such a foolish and distasteful move. Halfway through the lick, my tongue scraping against her shorn hair follicles and grazing over her many sweat pores, I hit anti-perspirant. It was like a Formula-One driver hitting an oil slick. I lost control.

My tongue recoiled. My head heaved. I stumbled back. My eyes teared. My thoughts glazed over. Nicole, freaked by the whole incident, remained frozen, arm raised above her head in some kind of perennial sexual salute. I was doubled over, coughing, using my fingers and sleeve to remove the desiccant from my tongue.

You see, anti-perspirant contains chemicals that remove moisture from skin. And my tongue, great, long, pleasure-giving creature that it is, is coated in saliva. The two don’t play fair. I have never had such an unpleasant physical sensation. It was if the all the water in my mouth was being sucked out and it kept going; I couldn’t get the stuff off my palette.

Doubled over in agony, I managed to look up and through tear-stained eyes saw Nicole raise her arm one last time.

It was to hail a cab.

Because of my line of work and the fact that I don’t need to shave or wear a suit for work, I’m able to wear some outrageous and fun clothes…

Lately, I’ve been rocking a pair of TOM FORD Shelby brown aviators, leather-wrapped. A green Dolce & Gabbana leather jacket, and Diesel jeans. Yesterday I bought a cheap Chinese polyester fedora/bowler’s hat. Throw it all together, and it’s a good look…

The beauty of it (aside from the fact that it’s just fun to rock cool threads…) is that women eat it up. It’s like catnip. I don’t have to do much, and they show interest.

This is similar to the seduction advice of “peacocking” – the only difference being that I hope to achieve an element “cool,” that will draw women in, whereas some of those other folks seem like participants in a silly circus act.

Cool clothes and fashion – including tattoos, of which I have none – can do a lot of the heavy lifting for you. This works well for a guy who may be a bit shy or wants to go out into the “field” with an advantage. Don’t get me wrong, though.  Clothes can only take you so far. I have a friend who has sex with tons of girls and he dresses very blandly. But he’s got solid “I don’t take shit from anyone” game.

The reason for female attraction to unique style is two-fold:

1) It indicates that the man has strong resources of some sort (intellectual, financial, social or character) because he can risk stepping outside of the group. It’s the same reason that women are physically attracted to rebels (meaning that they get w*t at he sight of James Dean): if a man has enough confidence to risk ostracism from his peers for being “different” then he must have some sort of inner strength. She wants to get to know what it is…

2) I’m stealing this from The Manipulated Man by Esther Vilar: if you strip down both sexes and shave their heads, man and woman are fairly indistinguishable. Sure, our sex organs are different, and women have breasts, but have you ever wondered why so many females are “beautiful,” whereas men are rarely so becoming? Statistically, it’s impossible that there’s any difference in objective physical health/robustness. What’s going on here? Well, women have learned and been inculcated by society to adopt practices that “trick” men. They grow their hair long, they depilate, they wear ornaments (jewelry) and they paint their faces every day: mascara, foundation, eyeliner, lipstick. All of this creates a sense of “other” to which man is attracted.

Imagine 20,000 B.C. when the females with short hair and hairy legs and pits were squatting by the fire mashing yucca plant. They were unsightly and not that much different than men. Picture it for a second – you wouldn’t want that thing in your bed! Now picture a Playboy Playmate. See the difference? As heterosexual men, we’re attracted to what we’re not.

So, when a rock star grows his hair long, paints his nails, and wears eyeliner he communicates a message to women: I’m different, somewhere between you and all those other men – Come find out more about me!

That scrambles a woman’s radar and she, always the curious feline, will come closer to sniff it out…

I was with a guy on the subway on Monday and we were talking about his business. The train pulled into my stop and I exited, saying good-bye. Waiting on the platform, about to enter the train was a very cute redhead with a ponytail. She had on an IPOD and was standing, waiting for her opening. On Manhattan subway trains, there’s only about 7 seconds between the time the doors open until they close. I contemplated turning around and approaching her, convincing her to miss this train and chat for a minute or two (she may have resisted and I wasn’t about to go uptown just to chat to a girl). So, I let it go.

This type of situation accounts for 75% of pick-ups: situations in which I have a 5-7 second window to make contact before she’s gone, meets her friends, gets on the phone, or has past me on the street (requiring me to chase her down). It’s also about proximity: sometimes the girl is getting off the train as I’m getting on and there’s only a foot between us, but she moves too fast. Or she passes on a downward escalator; I’m going up.

It’s really a matter of seconds and inches, no joke.

Pick-up is very much like battlefield combat. If you hope to be effective you have to be quick without being sloppy, you have to be precise, you have to see your target quickly and be decisive and deliberate. On top of all that, you have to have the mental acuity and flexibility to open the girl and keep the conversation “bouncy”. If that weren’t hard enough, you have to have a backbone to deal with offensive, rude and the most common type, the socially inept girl. This game is not about pride, it’s about results.

The results speak for themselves, but few men are really good at this. It’s easier to settle for the one girl you’re seeing, or to wait for an introduction, or to rely on bar/nightclub scene where lights are dim, the music loud (to cover poor verbal game) and the senses dulled by alcohol.

If you’re reading this, you’ve decided to work on this part of your game and I commend you. Don’t give up, even though it may get frustrating at times. These skills – decisiveness, emotional strength, detachment, and verbal proficiency – will serve you well beyond pick-up in the areas of business, finance, friendship, performance and deep relationships.

Good luck to you.

I made a spreadsheet a couple of weeks ago, because I was curious about dinners. My buddy Jeff and I have long-since known dinner is the death-knell for getting laid, but I had never taken a statistical look at the stuff. Out of about 30 girls I could think of off the top of my head, I only had sex with 2 or so. Really shitty hit rate. Dinner is a terrible approach if you want to get laid, and I will explain later why. It’s fine in a relationship, or after you’ve had sex, or with a girlfriend, etc., but never initially, and never if your goal is to get the girl naked.

On the other hand, drinks at a sexy lounge after 10pm is always the right move. Lounges are ideal for a number of reasons, and when I look at my hit rate there, it’s significant. Of the roughly 40 girls I’ve brought to my favorite spot on the Upper East Side, about 30 have come home with me and about 25 of those have banged. That’s a much better hit rate than dinner, and yet I am always amazed to walk down the street on a given night, especially Friday night, and see all these eager guys sitting across from a smirking woman. The usual end game there, in my experience, is a fat bill, a bloated stomach, some yawns and a peck on the cheek, with the guy standing foolishly by as the girl steps into a cab waving good-bye. Home to porno. Why? Because women know how to play the game better than men do. Think about all the time they spend reading dating and relationship magazines, and books – you think they don’t know more about the playing field than men? Come on.

Stay tuned. There’s a lot more to come.